Dead Flowers

“Baby” She said, the minute he picked up the phone. While he answered with his usual “Hey”. He was simplistic that way.

She could hear the bustle of a crowd surrounding him. “What are you up to?”

“Oh just finished a game of volleyball. Some of the guys came over to play, but we finished, so I invited them in to hannnggg”. He said, just like that. He always added emphasis to his sentences by lingering on a syllable too long.

“Fun!” she said as she cringed trying to hide the darkened state she was in. What else could she say?

“What are you doing?” he said automatically.

“Nothing, just laying in bed watching TV” She lied. But what good was it telling him otherwise. She noticed he was hurrying her off the phone so she said casually. “Well you have people over so I won’t bug you”.

“Are you okay? You sound saddd.”

“Hmm.” she said aloud without thinking. “Yeeaaa, I’m fine. Don’t worry about it”. She tried her best to play it off, but he must have finally noticed her uneasiness. She wanted to blurt out, ‘I’m sitting in bed crying, unable to sleep’. But that seemed like a mouthful. 247 miles away, anything other than “Fine” was always irrelevant.

“You sure?”

“Yea, I promise”.

“Well, come on tell me now, hurrryyy”

“It’s nothing babe” she tried sounding reassuring.

“Hurrryyy”

“I promise, I just miss you, that’s all.” She sighed deeply, and bit her lip, by habit, and for her own sake.

“I miss you too…. kkk. Well I will talk to you later cause I’ve got to attend to the guys”

“Okay, definitely! Sounds good! Have Fun! I will talk to you later!” she tried to sound cheerful.

“Okay …later”

His words trailed off, as he hurried her off the phone, and she tried to slip an “I love you” before hanging up. But the call ended.

She sat for a moment baffled as she held her phone in her hand. And in a sweep, from the pit of her stomach, a rush of sadness came up, and a sea of tears burst through her eyes. The way a dam breaks, without a warning, and without grace.

She was alone; not any different than when she picked up the phone in the first place. Like dead flowers in a vase that have been out too long. Present and maybe surrounded, but never rescued. She was pleading and praying to be noticed before all her leaves turned gray.

But it wasn’t his fault, was it? How could he possibly have known that it was absolutely imperative that he’d said 'I love you'? How could he have known that it was utterly vital that he’d been there, that night, that phone call, that time?

That’s the thing about trying so hard to hold yourself together quite often than not by the time you want to say something, frankly just anything, the moment has since passed. Oblivious to the hurt, the longing, and the hurricane she was driving though, 247 miles away, the distance and the abyss between them had no choice but to simply grow.

So she sat in silence, the argument hardest to refute, in the dead of a torn and wretched night, screaming inside without being able to say a word. And outside, it started raining. The lightning, casting dreary shadows. The thunder, shaking her rickety bones. While HE 247 miles away, on a cloudless night, in the bustle of a carefree night, tossed his head back in careless laughter.

And that, that made all the difference…