Operator

“—and now I have no idea where my brother is, we used to be best friends, you know? And like…”

Honestly, I don’t know how a man can have so many problems, ranging from a father who committed suicide to an addiction the ecstasy.

I’m sure the ratio is a lot wider, but I’m way to tired to pay attention, sitting here with my eyes screaming from the lack of sleep and my brain telling me to hang up the line and just get on with my life, seeing as he’s been talking non stop for the last two hours.

“So when I was twelve?” he says in a slurred voice, “yeah, twelve. Some dude raped me in an alleyway when I was lost in the bad parts of town… it wasn’t a very good experience.”

His voice is almost inaudible and there’s a clinking sound in the background on his line. I furrow my eyebrows, blinking.

“Are you… are you drunk?” I ask in disbelief. He sniffles.

“I’ve had a few shots of Jay Dee,” he replies, his voice cracking before his sniffles again, “what of it?”

“You’re serious? When did you start drinking?”

“Fifteen... I think.”

“No, I mean in this conversation, dipshit.”

“Oh!” he says, “uh… when I started talking about my shit life in high school.”

My mind replays back and I recall him briefly talking about some girl breaking his heart by taking candid pictures of herself and her boyfriend. I check the time.

“That was nearly an hour ago.”

“Really?” he slurs in shock. “Wow, time flies by.”

I nod, even though he can’t see and I let out a loud obnoxious yawn, which furthers my inability to keep my eyes open.

“Look, dude…” I say, yawning again. “I’m really tired and I need to sleep right now. So… I’ll talk to you later, alright?”

I remove the receiver from my ear, only to hear him shout loudly. I cringe.

“What?” I groan into the phone. He coughs and sniffles even louder than before while making quiet whimpers that make him sound like he’s crying.

“Don’t go,” he says quietly. “I haven't finished yet.”

“So go blab your problems to someone else!” I snap, my ‘I’m a bitch because I’m tired side taking over. “I’m fucking tired, okay? I’ve been listening to you talk for almost three hours now and I’m fuckin’ wiped!”

He remains silent and I almost feel like saying sorry. But only almost.

“Oh,” he replies in a monotone voice though the edges of his words are rough. “I didn’t mean to bore you… I guess I’ll hang up then.

Guilt pounds through my head and my conscience tells me to apologize. But I can’t do that, my ego gets the best of me so I contemplate with a compromise.

“Look,” I say, trying to sound reasonable. “Call me tomorrow or whenever, alright? It’s just that I’m just a real bitch when I’m tired and I don’t want to take it out on you.”

He seems to chipper up real fast when I say that. “Oh, okay then!”

“Yeah," I sigh in relief, “later.”

“Wait!” he calls. I crunch my teeth together and resist the urge to bite his head off again.

“Uh huh?” I mutter through my clenched jaw. His tone turns shy.

“Could I get your name?”

I sigh again, hoping this is his last question, “it’s Frank.”

“Frank?” he says in question before saying it in another tone, like he’s testing it out on his tongue. “Frank.”

“Yeah,” I say in a quick one-syllable. “Bye.”

“Wait!” he stops me again. I feel like I’m going to hyperventilate or something.

“What?” I snap.

“Gerard,” he says randomly. I don’t understand what that means.

“Huh?”

“My name’s Gerard.”

“Oh,” I reply in realization. “Alright… bye Gerard.”

“Nighty night, Frankie.”

I flip the phone shut and set it on the kitchen counter, making my way over to my bedroom. It's not until after I brush my teeth and all comfortable-like in my sheets that I realize he's called me Frankie.