Thrilled that my mother and I are in the same time zone, I called the house phone. Finally, I can actually tell my own mom about my day and hear about hers and just have a conversation that isn’t typed out on a little screen. This would be the best feeling! I had 30 minutes of free time (rare) and didn’t have to mentally do any math to figure out if I could connect with her.
It rang, and rang. It went to voicemail. I tried again the next day, same story.
Weird. So I call my grandmother’s cell. She was recently with my mom here in the states. “Where are y’all?” I asked cheerfully. “I’ve been calling the house phone but y’all must be out having fun or something”. “Oh honey…” I could hear the sorrow in her thick, southern drawl. “She didn’t tell you? She changed her flight, she went back to Europe on Monday”. “But,” I thought aloud, my voice stammering, “she wasn’t flying out until Thursday”.
She left the country and didn’t even tell me.
“You sound like you have the sniffles,” my grandmother muttered over the phone. “Are you coming down with a cold?”. I lied, saying it was just allergies and made my excuses, ended the conversation and drove home in tears. First they came just thick and salty, welling up in my eyes but not daring to streak down my cheeks. By the time I got home, however, they were impossible to ignore.
Ow. This actually hurts. Like a physical pain, my feelings are actually aching. What is this bullshit sorcery? Make. It. Stop.
It’s the weirdest fucking thing and I am actually upset. She hasn’t even iMessaged me… I think I will just wait until she does. I better hold on… it might be a fucking week.
Chronicles of the Chronically Confused. 