Status: Some aren't at all like they seem.
The Unforgettable
Phone Call
It’s been a few hours since Chris left for work. I’m watching a muted competition of Chopped and filing my nails into a point, they’re getting longer. My mind keeps wandering, work is never fun but at least it’s not in his house.
The show goes to commercial so I start flipping through channels. The wind blows in through the window behind me, my hair rustles as well and I get a chill, shivering. The front door beats from the wind as well and it startles me a bit. I stop on a channel that’s showing a cheaply made movie. The wind bursts again harder than before making me shiver again. With a sigh, I switch the TV off and untangle my legs from underneath me.
I don’t know what to do, I’m not hungry I made a BLT about an hour again. I’ve already showered, my hair’s still wet from washing it and I went back to sleep again as soon as Chris left so I’m not sleepy. I’m just sad and bored, somewhat restless. I check my phone for the time it’s 12:04, a notification pops up saying my phone has 1o%.
I guess I should hurry before it dies, the wind blows in and bangs against the door. I shut the window before it blows anything down. I go to the bedroom, put the nail filer back into the cabinet and rummage through my purse.
I can’t find the charger the first time so out of frustration I dump all the contents out. I see gum, ye drops, tissues, coins, receipts, small papers with little notes scribbled on them and crumbs.
“God damn it,” I huff.
I look into the purse and notice there’s a pouch zipped closed, damn I always forget about that. Hurriedly because my phone is going to die at any second I stuff my hand into the bag, unzip and pull out my charger. In my hand wrapped in the cord is a crumpled card, Carlo’s card. I toss the card into the pile on my bed and finally plug my phone in at 3%.
Picking up my purse I put my things back in a more organized fashion and I get to the business card again. Reading over his inviting slogan again I let out a light chuckle. I kind of want to call, but I’m a bit hesitant I don’t want to disrupt if he’s in a session with someone or something. I sigh and toss it back on the bed, I don’t even know what I would say.
I wander back into the kitchen, looking through the fridge to see what I can mindlessly munch on. I grab a blueberry yogurt and twenty minutes later between the yogurt and flipping through channels I just find myself back in my room sitting on my bed scrolling through Instagram. After ‘liking’ probably 50 pictures a text pops up from my sister.
“Hey fruitcake, wattup?”
I laugh a little and open the messages window. Instead of responding I scroll up and through our past conversations, smiling at the memes we send each other like when she sent me a picture of a dog watching a someone eat while lying it’s head on the person’s lap, the caption says, "every bite you take, every spill you make, I'll be watching you." And Roslyn says, “haha omg, this was so Millie!”
Millie was our pet dog we got for Christmas one year, I was five, Roslyn was seven, Millie ran away when I turned 11 though, we never found her. I told myself that she found a new family so the dark thoughts of her being run over wouldn’t bog me down.
Finally I respond with, “Hey nutbar. Just hanging out, what about you?”
“Gigi! Please tell me you have the day off! We totally need to get together for a Sister’s Day! Talk about our problems, talk shit about our husbands lol, shop and stuff our faces.”
I smile and sigh, I want to see my sister but she’ll know instantly that something’s wrong. That I’m not being myself and she’ll hound me over and over until I cry it all out and I’m not ready for that yet. As soon as I tell her she’ll tell our parents about how my marriage is in shambles and that I’m a failure as a wife. Then mom will preach to me about how I should’ve just gone to school like she begged me to do, she’ll say ‘I told you so’ and ‘I knew he wasn’t any good for you.’ Then she’ll try to get me to move back home with them and I’m definitely not ready for that.
I reply, “no I wish :( just on break. . . Let’s try to get together later in the week or next though.
“Ughh, for sure.”
I sigh and go to curl up in bed, my leg scrapes against something, I reach down and it’s the card again. I run my thumb across the phone number. . . He’s the only one I can talk to and not feel pressured into telling all of my business. . . I want him more as a friend than I do as a therapist. I do not want a therapist, never thought I would need one . . . I need a distraction and break from thinking. I just want someone to talk to, he probably would appreciate someone that doesn’t drown him in all their problems. I pick up my phone, type in the number and press the call button to listen to the ring.
The show goes to commercial so I start flipping through channels. The wind blows in through the window behind me, my hair rustles as well and I get a chill, shivering. The front door beats from the wind as well and it startles me a bit. I stop on a channel that’s showing a cheaply made movie. The wind bursts again harder than before making me shiver again. With a sigh, I switch the TV off and untangle my legs from underneath me.
I don’t know what to do, I’m not hungry I made a BLT about an hour again. I’ve already showered, my hair’s still wet from washing it and I went back to sleep again as soon as Chris left so I’m not sleepy. I’m just sad and bored, somewhat restless. I check my phone for the time it’s 12:04, a notification pops up saying my phone has 1o%.
I guess I should hurry before it dies, the wind blows in and bangs against the door. I shut the window before it blows anything down. I go to the bedroom, put the nail filer back into the cabinet and rummage through my purse.
I can’t find the charger the first time so out of frustration I dump all the contents out. I see gum, ye drops, tissues, coins, receipts, small papers with little notes scribbled on them and crumbs.
“God damn it,” I huff.
I look into the purse and notice there’s a pouch zipped closed, damn I always forget about that. Hurriedly because my phone is going to die at any second I stuff my hand into the bag, unzip and pull out my charger. In my hand wrapped in the cord is a crumpled card, Carlo’s card. I toss the card into the pile on my bed and finally plug my phone in at 3%.
Picking up my purse I put my things back in a more organized fashion and I get to the business card again. Reading over his inviting slogan again I let out a light chuckle. I kind of want to call, but I’m a bit hesitant I don’t want to disrupt if he’s in a session with someone or something. I sigh and toss it back on the bed, I don’t even know what I would say.
I wander back into the kitchen, looking through the fridge to see what I can mindlessly munch on. I grab a blueberry yogurt and twenty minutes later between the yogurt and flipping through channels I just find myself back in my room sitting on my bed scrolling through Instagram. After ‘liking’ probably 50 pictures a text pops up from my sister.
“Hey fruitcake, wattup?”
I laugh a little and open the messages window. Instead of responding I scroll up and through our past conversations, smiling at the memes we send each other like when she sent me a picture of a dog watching a someone eat while lying it’s head on the person’s lap, the caption says, "every bite you take, every spill you make, I'll be watching you." And Roslyn says, “haha omg, this was so Millie!”
Millie was our pet dog we got for Christmas one year, I was five, Roslyn was seven, Millie ran away when I turned 11 though, we never found her. I told myself that she found a new family so the dark thoughts of her being run over wouldn’t bog me down.
Finally I respond with, “Hey nutbar. Just hanging out, what about you?”
“Gigi! Please tell me you have the day off! We totally need to get together for a Sister’s Day! Talk about our problems, talk shit about our husbands lol, shop and stuff our faces.”
I smile and sigh, I want to see my sister but she’ll know instantly that something’s wrong. That I’m not being myself and she’ll hound me over and over until I cry it all out and I’m not ready for that yet. As soon as I tell her she’ll tell our parents about how my marriage is in shambles and that I’m a failure as a wife. Then mom will preach to me about how I should’ve just gone to school like she begged me to do, she’ll say ‘I told you so’ and ‘I knew he wasn’t any good for you.’ Then she’ll try to get me to move back home with them and I’m definitely not ready for that.
I reply, “no I wish :( just on break. . . Let’s try to get together later in the week or next though.
“Ughh, for sure.”
I sigh and go to curl up in bed, my leg scrapes against something, I reach down and it’s the card again. I run my thumb across the phone number. . . He’s the only one I can talk to and not feel pressured into telling all of my business. . . I want him more as a friend than I do as a therapist. I do not want a therapist, never thought I would need one . . . I need a distraction and break from thinking. I just want someone to talk to, he probably would appreciate someone that doesn’t drown him in all their problems. I pick up my phone, type in the number and press the call button to listen to the ring.