karenika - tidbits of conversation

< | >

Tidbits of Conversation

I pick up the receiver and put it back down. I want to call. I think I want to. I know I want to. But I can't. A call I made thousands of times, a call that used to be a routine part of my day.

Not this time. Not anymore. Now it comes loaded with 'issues.' Bits of conversations we never had, words that will not be exchanged. And each time I dial the digits, I wonder how the conversation will go. Will it be lively and fake or cordial and short? Will I play along or will I blow up? Should I play along or should I push it?

It feels like it's been so long. It's well past the irrevocable stage. I try to recall the past. More than anything, I remember the laughter. And then the tears. The problems. The distance. I wonder whether I'd been imagining it all along. Maybe it was never more than what it is now. It's so easy to fall into the pit of self-pity. So easy to stop fighting. So easy to back off. To stop dialing.

Yet it's so hard to let go.

~~~

"Are you lonely?"

The words sound so odd coming from this practical stranger. I act defensively. "I'm not lonely," I say, hoping he didn't hear the tone of indignation in my voice. "I mean not really," I add, smiling. I list my friends, all over the world. Ireland, Canada, Missouri, and Turkey. Some I haven't talked to in over a month, most I haven't seen in over a year. "I have two really close friends in New York," I say. But I don't add the recent downturns in either. "Not to mention my wonderful boyfriend, who's my best friend."

He nods kindly. We both know that's not what he means.

"In some ways, " I relent. "Maybe."

Someone interrupts and we never come back to it. Almost twenty hours later, I'm still pondering the honest answer.

~~~

I promise myself that I won't ask. I repeat it over and over again. Not this time. I'll just sit there and wait until he feels ready to share. I've never been good with silence. Not with him.

As if to prove my point, I blurt it out several minutes into the evening "What're you thinking?" I make a mental note to kick my ass when I get home and smile awkwardly.

He smiles back. I wonder if it brings back memories for him, too. I already know his reply before it leaves his lips. "Nothing." It's always is. I don't know why I bother. Yet I do, time and time again. I squeeze his hand and give up. Only to repeat my question ten minutes later.

I simply can't let it be.

~~~

Previously? UBC.

November 11, 2001 | previous | friendship | share[]