Listen to the Casual Reply: A Collection of Short stories

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You have never called me before. Your name showed up as an emoji. You ask if I know who this is and I act like I do, while my brain tries to correspond the emoji with a person. I had saved your number in my phone years ago. You say your name as if you know I am not connecting the dots and though I heard your accent, I'll be honest, I thought that it was a telemarketer and I wondered however did they get an emoji on my phone.

"Can I come see you? Are you home?"

Your questions shoot off so fast my mind is still reeling that it's you and how the emoji brings clarity as it's the most you, but it could, also, have a sweeter double meaning. And I wanted to relish this moment and my brilliance and soak in the sweetness of you, as I have at last made the connection and it's better than I could have thought.

I reply in the affirmative before you have any thought of rain checking or rescheduling. And before I can get nervous that I am wearing clothes that aren't my best. I was at a friend's house putting together furniture and I didn't expect to see anyone. I hadn't showered. I was slightly sweaty. I don't even think I'd brushed my teeth that morning. You'd hung up as quickly as you called and I had to text you the address as I ran up the stairs to brush my teeth and my hair and deodorant check that I wasn't offensive. I changed my clothes, but I didn't have anything cute. I worried about the shape of my legs and ass in the pants I was wearing. I hated that I looked like me.

When you arrived your smile melted away any worries I might have had. You parked and bounded up the steps into the house. You were taller than I'd remembered. Maybe our previous meetings we never stood like we were standing now. No, that couldn't be. Maybe my friend's house had low ceilings. And door frames. You were so large that you seemed too big for her furniture. A lifesize doll in a dollhouse. You must have known as you only sat on her couch for the briefest of moments.

Your long legs pulled you slow motion down to the floor and I was awkwardly still sitting on the love seat. Bad angled and disheveled and it didn't matter. You spoke so fast and so loud. Your voice filled the whole space, I loved that you took up so much room. It was easier to breathe you in. You were the only oxygen in the this small space and all I needed. You would go on about your problems, ideas, and life and then stop. It would be so sudden, mid-sentence even as you realized, as if someone had told you too many times that you talked too much or that you only talk about yourself and you should inquire about someone else. You would ask me a question. I found it hard to even find my voice. I only wanted to hear you. I hear my own thoughts all the time. I didn't know if I would ever be with you in this capacity again.

You are so animated. So larger than life. Oh! I just remembered you hugged me and it was too short. I wanted to never let go. I wanted to hold on to you, clutching to you forever. The story of the woman with the the issue of blood that touches the hem of Jesus's robe would have nothing on me. A fraction of a second was too short to be healed by you just being near you. What I wanted you to ... I have nothing to heal. But you bind broken wings I didn't know I had. You ask me questions or say things that make me rethink life.

I love how your brain works. In many ways like a grown up who chose not to grow up. I want to know you. I want to be with you in whatever position I can fill.

You talked about your muse. I knew you would. You talked about your childhood and your family. And your parents. And your home. And your dreams. Your travels, foods, people you've met. People that changed you, that saw you, that helped you find you. Ways you grew and changed and wanted to change. How you wanted to live and who you wanted to be and how you got where are you are and how you wanted to have more.

I left the life I had. I was so unhappy. I wanted to die. I wanted to stop existing because I couldn't fill the role my ex husband wanted for me. I suppose he didn't fill a role I wanted for him either. I don't know that I asked too much. Maybe he didn't feel he asked too much of me. I know that in choosing to walk away. In that choice. Choosing the heartbreak, the death of a relationship... It's worse. I was the one who chose to kill the thing we tried to build together. I called the time of death on our marriage, but I also was the one who pulled the plug and took it off the oxygen machine. In a sense I am the reason it ended. I came to terms with being a sort of villian. I don't feel bad about it anymore. And I wonder if I made it look easy. Or if I remember it wrong. I don't think I do. I remember the pain around this loss. You cannot leave a marriage unscarred or unscathed. It is a death and you will go through the grief -- no matter the circumstances- because it was a living thing. It was something that permeated my life. You cannot walk away without battle scars.

But what I have found that leaving was the best. I think it was easier than living some half life. I realize it makes me look bad. It makes me look like a quitter. A person who doesn't understand what love really is. Love is about sticking through the hard times. And never giving up. But to me love beat me until I crawled from the ring. Dragging my battered soul and I fought to live again. And now that I am out and free. Bruises gone, cuts healed, scars fading. It looks easy.

Hearing you talk about your plans of what freedom would look like and what you would do... it makes me sad that you don't choose freedom. I don't understand why someone would stay in a place devoid of any happy emotions. Mental health is so important. Feeling smothered by a life to the point you don't want to be here is so unfair to anyone.

We went to one of your favorite restaurant. I don't speak Spanish but you trilled off in Español beautifully and the food matched the energy you execute: divine.

Later went to the park. You told me stories of friends and life and your sister. How women who are raised by terrible fathers never get over it. As nice as a time it was you left me with things to think about. When you mentioned your sister you mentioned her being divorced and childless has hurt her and created a demon for her. I found that's not my demon. I feel unfettered-- which I love-- and instead I found my demon was found there. Sitting in the park with you I realized I haven't sat in nature or been out during day light hours. Working 9 to 5 I find myself trapped in buildings made of brick and contempt. I work so much I am never outside. It made me sick to think I am wasting my life in an office.

You mentioned that losing everything, losing everything and having to start over is sometimes a necessity.

I think of this often, since you said it. It has resonated in my soul. I have felt I already went through challenges and I never want to go through more. I have learned to understand my demons, my dragons, the triggers -- I do it so I become invincible and yet, I believe you. I believe you are right.

The more time passes and this thought fills my anxiety I know you are right. And yet I can do nothing about it, except to know that I am strong and capable and should I need to start over... I can do that.

I have pushed you from my memory however. Your pearls of wisdom are like a necklace I wear, but I dare not think of you.

I can have you only in a small capacity. And I mustn't think of you more than these small ways.