The CallingYou said you'd call. I haven't gotten anything done in the last couple of days because of that.
You spring up all out of nowhere. I haven't seen or heard from you in a year. Not in real life, anyway. But suddenly you write to me. "Hey little lolpop", goes your email. "Send me your number. Will call asap."
I haven't gotten anything done since then.
I write back within a minute of reading it. I conceal the bubble of excitement that's sprung inside me. "Hi A! My number's ...". I send it. I forget to ask you your number. Obviously, I can't make international calls - well, I can, but think of the hassle! But if I knew what your's was, I wouldn't feel the hammer inside my heart when I hear my phone go and see an unfamiliar number backlit in green.
But you don't call. You said you would. In fact, no one has called in the last three days. For three days, my cellphone is conjoined to me. I make no move without it. I switch it off when I take my bath - I don't want to risk you calling when I can't pick up and leaving me a trail of your attempt. I reckon this way you'll try again and not assume I'm too busy to take your call (I'm not). (Oh god, did you call when I had it switched off and did you assume I was too caught up even to keep my phone switched on?) I could have emailed you again, but then can I, do I, should I assume I have the right to smother you with my desperation, my craving? If only you'd call and if I had the guts to ask and burn your answer on my frozen self.
Where are you? What are you doing now? You have my number. Unlike the phone, my life's on hold here. Call me.
It's a week now and the gravity of my situation is slowly dawning upon me. How does one describe seven days spent simply reacting - to sounds, to movements, to voices (mostly inside). I look at it objectively and I realise I have made demands and expectations of you that were unjustified. You clearly have a life and you have no right to cause any suspension of anyone else's. I'm downgrading the alert level. Thanks for this week - my mind has grown in the tepid vacancy of waiting for something to happen, while it was happening all along. Thanks - for not calling. I couldn't have done this with you.
Which is when you call me. "Hello!", you say, in your sunny tones. It's been a barren week. I have spent it clinging to an edge and I had finally let go. "I'm so sorry I couldn't call you! It's been so weird here - you have to hear all about it. First, tell me: how are you?"
You said you'd call. You have. You actually have. "Hi", I whisper back shyly, completely failing to conceal my bubbles.