I was searching for dinner recipes on my phone the other night when you called. I paused, letting your initials dance across the screen for a moment, trying to determine if this was accidental or intentional. I swiped to answer, then clicked the speakerphone. I put my elbows back on the countertop, and continued scrolling, “Hey.”
The other line was quiet for a full second before, “Hey.”
“Whatcha doin?” I tried to sound casual.
The line was quiet. I stood up from the counter and began to walk through the house. I still haven’t figured out where the best cell reception spots are; they all seem to be pretty bad.
“Hello?” I asked again. I was halfway to the front door.
“Yeah, I’m here…” he began to say.
A few days ago, I’d been watching videos I took on my phone from the week we were moving into our house. The railing on the stairs hadn’t been installed yet, but the tools for it were laid out on the steps. The windows had the manufacturer’s stickers in the corners of them still, and we’d just finished polishing the wood floors a few days before. I was recording myself walking from the bathroom to the kitchen and for a few seconds in the video, I could see you squatted down in the garage doorway as I passed by, talking to probably Mike in the basement. In that moment, I’d realized I hadn’t actually heard your voice in years. It sounded foreign to me at the time, and it made me feel sad.
Last night I was sitting atop a steppingstone in my backyard, pushing my fingertips into the freshly watered soil while I listened to you talk. You didn’t sound foreign to me now.
I could hear the hurt in your voice, the weight in your words, the slur in your speech.
Each time we talk, I know you try to hide the fact you’re still drinking. I guess I appreciate it.
“It’s my first beer in a long time,” you told me last night as I rolled my eyes.
I can’t ever help but to feel close to you, even after years of distance. I can’t ever help but to think of you and imagine only the nights I’d wake up and sleepily sneak an arm under yours. You hated the way the cats were always in your face, and it always made me laugh when I woke up and found them both surrounding your pillow. What I miss most is getting to bring you coffee in bed the mornings; you rarely stayed in bed after waking up, but it was such a treat for me when you did. I remember calling out to you from the shower at 10:00pm, “baby the sprinklers are still on!” and hearing you clamor down the stairs, through the back gate to the garden. Why didn’t we ever install a drip system?
“I like being able to have you as a friend. I didn’t think I would. I’m glad I was wrong.”
Wild Little Hare 