Thursday, October 17, 2013

10.17.13 | Dial Tone

She bit her lip, fumbling with the phone cord. The dial tone blared like a heart monitor.
"Hey sweetie. How've you been? Did you get my email last week?"
"Oh yeah. Sorry. I've been busy... I thought you follow me on Twitter though. Didn't you see my Tweets? Or my Facebook posts?"
"Sorry, I don't go online much... Want to Skype this weekend?"
"I can't. I told you, I'm busy."
"Oh. Okay then. How about next week? Or whenever you're free? Let me know."
"Yeah, sure, I'll let you know."
"How are you though?"
"Good, I guess."
"That's good."
"I won't bother you then."

A month dragged on. No response. She called again.
"Oh, hey."
"Do you know what day it is tomorrow?"
SLAM. "Geez, you called me for that? Tomorrow's Sunday. Don't you have a calendar?"
"I see you still haven't read that email, then. Or you've forgotten already."
"What e— Oh. Oh, fuck. Is tomorrow the 6th? It's April the 6th tomorrow, right? Fuck. I'm so sorry."
"I was wondering if you're free tomorrow. I could catch the 9-o-clock train."
"Yes, of course I'm free. I'll see you tomorrow at the station. Give me a call when you're there... I miss you, babe."
"I love you."
She looked hard at the ceiling. "Mm-hmm."

The next day.
She waited for two hours. Her eyes were red. He didn't pick up any of her calls.
Exasperated, she deleted his number and took the train home. She removed the knife from her purse and placed it back in the cupboard.

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