"Hello?"
I panicked. You actually picked the phone up.
"Hey," I piped, fiddling with the stray strings of my shirt.
"Oh hey." You repeated casually, and I wondered if you could hear the strain in my voice. Probably not.
"Yeah. What are you doing?" God, I was actually trying. My voice sounded fake and forced. What did I call you for again?
"Nothing."
"Oh, okay." I twisted a small string around my finger to cut the circulation.
"What are you doing?" you asked. I shrugged, then realized you couldn't see me. Doofus. I unraveled the string.
"Just playing the ps2." It was partly true. I had the controller sitting in my lap at the moment. The screen was pitch black with the word 'pause' written in small letters. I balanced the phone between my ear and shoulder, playing again. I didn't want to lie to you over something stupid.
Ever since you've been in my life, in a more personal way than best friends go, I always tried to kick the habit. To me lying used to be an okay thing to do, what they didn't know couldn't hurt them bullshit. But now I find myself more than often stretching my neck out to tell the truth. This bothers me in more ways than one. Now I can barely tell a little white lie without it sounding false. I'm getting very rusty.
"Final Fantasy?" you ask and I agree, with a little chuckle and a nervous scratch to my neck. I'm waiting for you to call me a dork.
Instead you yell away from the phone to someone who I can only assume is your sister. I frown just an inch.
"Hold on," you say, that hint of irritation in your voice.
"Okay." I'm moving the character around on the screen, not really doing anything but trying to pass the time. I take a sigh. Okay, I say to myself. Evaluate. I don't want to have another long conversation about "us". I could probably get away with some half-assed reason.
It's late, I'm feeling sleepy, My mom's bugging me, I really have to finish that report on Odysseus.
The argument in the background is still animated. I tap my fingers on the controller absently.
If I left, would I get lonely again? No, I said to myself. When I consider ending the phone conversation with you, I keep having to convince myself that no way in hell would I feel alone afterwards. Lonely, whatever. I don't need awkward conversation to fuel my emotion state.
Right then. It's settled. I nodded to myself and went back to the Wu currently pecking at my protagonist.
"Hello?" you say into the phone. Doubts about ending this are flooding into my mind. I shove them in the back along with the Quadratic Formula and other various Algebra equations.
"Yeah."
"Oh." Silence. This is a main reason I don't enjoy our conversations. Any other person could come up with some witty remark about how our talks always die. Instead, I sit there in silence, thinking about how you're probably busy but too nice to say anything. I believe that. I remind myself halfheartedly that I need to hang up soon.
"So why did you call me?"
This line irritates me to the fullest. Not enough to get me angry. I never get angry around you, or at least I try not to. If I do, I hide it. I don't like my anger leaking out when you're near. It makes me feel idiotic, like my reason for anger is stupid. Or I simply never want to lash out at you. I can count on one hand the number of times I've almost snapped at you.
But what I don't like about the way you say that line, is that you assume I need a reason to call you. Did I forget my English assignment? Did I not understand my Algebra homework? Why can't I just call you to call you? Your other friends do it, why can't I? I give a small sigh to myself.
"I was wondering if you had the homework for I.P.C."
I didn't need the homework for I.P.C. My homework for I.P.C. was done. I needed to hear you voice, maybe try to catch a pitch that gave away something. I'm always trying to analyze your actions. Trying to figure out if you're lying to me, telling me the truth.
"Sure, hold one."
"Okay."
Our phone conversations aren't as exciting as others, I'll admit. But since I've established this is school related call only, I don't think we'll be laughing at anything soon. You return.
"Okay, what did you need?"
"Uh…" Damn. "Just number eighteen and twenty." Was there even a number eighteen and twenty in the workbook?
You give me the answers and I thank you. Painfully. "Thank you," probably has to be the most difficult words in the world to pronounce. Well, not so much pronounce as to say willingly.
"So what are you doing?" I ask. I almost bang my head against the wall in an attempt to pound out the stupidity.
"Uh…giving you the answers to the homework?" You give a small chuckle. The sound of your laugh makes my muscles relax. I don't know why. This reminds me of that time we went to Gatti Town and you wrapped your arms around my waist. I tensed up like…well, like things that tense up. This in turn reminds me of my fifteenth birthday party when you were trying to persuade me to dance in the dark halls of my cousins wedding reception.
"Oh, haha, right."
"Dork," you say.
"I'm not a dork!" I retort. Am I?
"You're the biggest dork I've ever met." I guess I am. Gawd, I can't even leave a voice message on the phone.
"So how was Steubenville, or whatever, that thing."
"It was fine," I say.
I don't go into certain details. If I did, I think they could count as bitching, or maybe something else. I don't want you to worry or anything. I can take care of myself. Even if it doesn't include arguing or actually solving the problem. I'm more of the person who won't do anything about it. It's my style.
So I don't say how kind of horrible it was, how that old feeling sort of resurfaced. Just bobbed up from the deep and unknown. Instead I tell you about how I fell on the stairs. Twice. And about the breakfast, and the bus ride, and the movies we saw, and how horrible I got car sick.
You laugh, throwing in your two cents, and at once we begin play fighting over our opinions.
This lasts a while before my mom tells me to get the hell off the phone, so I say my good-byes before you can start to hear the yelling in the background.
I made it through this phone call, but I don't know how many more I can survive.