Sequel: Palm Trees ›
Seashells
cheers to the new year
January 1st, 2006
So I guess you're wondering why I'm writing a letter to you that isn't dated in the summer. You probably don't remember, but this was the first time you ever called me on the phone.
I didn't do anything that year. No parties, no celebrations, no fireworks or anything. All because I had the fucking stomach flu. No one wanted to come near me because they didn't want to spend the next few days sleeping by the toilet just in case they needed to puke their guts out.
However, there was no way for me to transfer my germs through the phone to you. Though I probably would have if I could have. You called my house, I remember. It would have been weirder if you called my cell, since I barely used it and I never gave you my number. Even if I kinda wanted to.
I'm going to assume you just asked your mom or your uncle or something, rather than stalking me in the phone book. I was on the ground on a towel next to the toilet when the loud ringing startled me. I hit my head on the bottom of the toilet bowl. For some reason there was a house phone in the bathroom so I picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hey, can I talk to Cassidy please?"
"This is her," I said, my voice a bit hoarse from all the stomach acid that had traveled through my throat. It was nasty, really. You don't wanna know. "Who's speaking?"
"Hey, Cassie, it's Aden."
I remember my heart jumping a bit. I wish I could blame it on how surprised I was that you were calling me, but I know that wasn't it. "Hey, Aden."
"Hi. You don't sound so good," you said, pointing out the obvious.
"I know. I've been sick for the past few days."
"Oh, well get better," you said, as if you actually cared. Maybe you did, but I know too many people who say "get better soon" without actually meaning it.
"I'm trying," I said. "Why are you calling anyways?"
"Just wanted to say happy new year," you said.
"It's past midnight already?" I asked. I looked up at the clock on the wall and answered my own question.
"Yup, it's 2006 now."
"So why aren't you out partying or something? Going to Times Square like all you New Yorkers do."
"Because I don't actually live close to Times Square? And no parties for me because no one likes me, obviously."
"Yeah, obviously."
"Anyway, Cassie, I'm sorry about last summer."
"What do you have to be sorry about?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer to my own question.
"I ditched you on the last day. I just... yeah. I should have been there."
The sweet part of me wanted to accept your apology right then and there. But the proud part of me just said, "Well, you weren't."
"I know. I wish... yeah." A long awkward silence followed and I got a sudden wave of nausea. I really hoped that I didn't throw up (I didn't, but worrying about it was almost just as bad). "So... I should go now. I gotta watch fireworks with my family. Maybe I'll talk to you some other time."
"Yeah," I said, though I really doubted that we would talk again any time soon. "Bye, Aden."
"Bye." I was just about to hang up the phone when you shouted, "Wait! I almost forgot!"
"What?" I asked, bringing the phone back to my ear.
"Happy birthday, Cass."
So I guess you're wondering why I'm writing a letter to you that isn't dated in the summer. You probably don't remember, but this was the first time you ever called me on the phone.
I didn't do anything that year. No parties, no celebrations, no fireworks or anything. All because I had the fucking stomach flu. No one wanted to come near me because they didn't want to spend the next few days sleeping by the toilet just in case they needed to puke their guts out.
However, there was no way for me to transfer my germs through the phone to you. Though I probably would have if I could have. You called my house, I remember. It would have been weirder if you called my cell, since I barely used it and I never gave you my number. Even if I kinda wanted to.
I'm going to assume you just asked your mom or your uncle or something, rather than stalking me in the phone book. I was on the ground on a towel next to the toilet when the loud ringing startled me. I hit my head on the bottom of the toilet bowl. For some reason there was a house phone in the bathroom so I picked up.
"Hello?"
"Hey, can I talk to Cassidy please?"
"This is her," I said, my voice a bit hoarse from all the stomach acid that had traveled through my throat. It was nasty, really. You don't wanna know. "Who's speaking?"
"Hey, Cassie, it's Aden."
I remember my heart jumping a bit. I wish I could blame it on how surprised I was that you were calling me, but I know that wasn't it. "Hey, Aden."
"Hi. You don't sound so good," you said, pointing out the obvious.
"I know. I've been sick for the past few days."
"Oh, well get better," you said, as if you actually cared. Maybe you did, but I know too many people who say "get better soon" without actually meaning it.
"I'm trying," I said. "Why are you calling anyways?"
"Just wanted to say happy new year," you said.
"It's past midnight already?" I asked. I looked up at the clock on the wall and answered my own question.
"Yup, it's 2006 now."
"So why aren't you out partying or something? Going to Times Square like all you New Yorkers do."
"Because I don't actually live close to Times Square? And no parties for me because no one likes me, obviously."
"Yeah, obviously."
"Anyway, Cassie, I'm sorry about last summer."
"What do you have to be sorry about?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer to my own question.
"I ditched you on the last day. I just... yeah. I should have been there."
The sweet part of me wanted to accept your apology right then and there. But the proud part of me just said, "Well, you weren't."
"I know. I wish... yeah." A long awkward silence followed and I got a sudden wave of nausea. I really hoped that I didn't throw up (I didn't, but worrying about it was almost just as bad). "So... I should go now. I gotta watch fireworks with my family. Maybe I'll talk to you some other time."
"Yeah," I said, though I really doubted that we would talk again any time soon. "Bye, Aden."
"Bye." I was just about to hang up the phone when you shouted, "Wait! I almost forgot!"
"What?" I asked, bringing the phone back to my ear.
"Happy birthday, Cass."