"Nobody in this family answers their fuckin' phones," she said, slamming the car door, her new boyfriend laughing politely, even though she was already out of earshot.
I recall her as a baby. A child of three. She moved away when I was 19 and she was still too young to say things like "fuckin' phones" - an unnatural utterance, even now.
It's cold comfort, because I know why that particular phone isn't being answered today, and so does she. I know why, but I don't know why. I'm not sure there's a true answer, or at least one that would speak to a shared reality.
I was going to start a blog today. Somewhere new to come out to, before remembering that nobody reads here anymore. It's okay. I don't need readers so much as a space against which to throw these materials - to try once more to divine the entrails. It's at least a little better than trying to divine the silence of an unanswered call. Isn't it?
05 November 2013
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