The Call

Sylvia starts talking immediately.

“Hey Nathan, I’m just calling to say ‘hey’, I guess.”

Nathan clears his throat, it feels unnaturally tight. He tries to dig a finger between his neck and the starched collar.

“Hi, Sylvia.”

She sighs on the other end, collecting her thoughts. It almost undoes him. The tinny tone of her voice is faint and he knows she is in the car, using Bluetooth. He can tell her windows are open, the wind competing with her words. She’s driving back to her campus after the fall break, after the mini-reunion with all of their hometown friends.

“I don’t really know why I’m doing this, I guess I just wanted to hear your voice. I…I miss you. Not just as my friend, you will always be my friend, I miss you. You weren’t yourself at dinner last night.”

“Sylvia I...”

He doesn’t know what to say. He has always deflected Sylvia’s probing into his well-being, kept things light. Even now, after everything, he doesn’t know what to say. The pause stretches, he almost hangs up.

“I know, I know. College changes people. It was more than that though. You seemed so deeply sad. I mean, you laughed at the right times and asked the right questions, but something seemed…I don’t know, off.”

“I know. It is. I don’t know how to feel better. Not without you.”

Nathan’s eyes start to burn. Despite the authenticity of his feelings, the honesty of his words, he still feels shame at the tears and glances around the train car. An elderly woman is sitting across from him and is staring at him with something that looks dangerously close to sympathy. She gives him a small smile full of creased skin and he looks away, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his hand. His mother had insisted he carry tissues, You never know. He wishes he had listened, regardless of his childish claim that he never cries.

“Nathan, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you this on the phone, I’m just worried. I hope you know I will always be here for you. I guess that’s all I’m trying to say.”

Nathan’s stomach clenches and he suddenly feels as though he might be sick all over his dress shoes. The acidic taste of bile floods his mouth and he struggles not to hurl. He runs a hand through his hair, breathing deeply in through his nose, out through his mouth. If she meant it she would actually be here, not just saying empty words through his phone speaker. He hates her in this moment.

“You’re a liar. You are a LIAR!”

He slams his fist into the empty plastic chair next to him. The elderly woman is startled and her sympathy transforms into a look of fear tinged with disapproval. She snatches up her plastic grocery bags and shuffles further down the car, choosing a seat near a sleepy-looking mother gently rocking a screaming child. Nathan pinches the bridge of his nose and drops his head between his knees, the feeling of nausea growing stronger now accompanied with embarrassment at his outburst. He should hang up, he knows he should stop this. He presses his phone harder to his ear, wanting to hear every word, every moment.

“I mean it, I do-Oh-”

The line explodes with noise and then goes dead. Nathan drops his hand and slides the phone into his jacket pocket. He feels exhausted, spent. The wave of nausea slowly begins to dissipate. His stop is next. He sits up and straightens his tie. Smooths back his hair.

The train shudders to a halt and half his car exits, he trails behind. The mother has set her child in a stroller and is heading toward the strip mall down the street. A couple side-step Nathan to enter the car holding hands. A man almost collides with him, chatting furiously away on what is clearly a work call. It all feels unreal to Nathan, people merely play-acting at real life because the world has so obviously ended. He can see the spire of the church looming over the surrounding buildings. He is going to be late, but he can’t face it, can’t admit the finality of it. He pulls his phone out again and sits on a bench in the train terminal. He dials his voicemail again. He’s lost count of how many times he has listened to the message since the day Sylvia left it for him, the day she…

“Hey Nathan, I’m just calling to say ‘hey’, I guess.”

“I miss you, Sylvia. So much.”

“I don’t really know why I’m doing this, I guess I just wanted to hear your voice. I…I miss you. Not just as my friend, you will always be my friend, I miss you. You weren’t yourself at dinner last night.”

“I can’t do this without you. It’s too hard.”

“I know, I know. College changes people. It was more than that though. You seemed so deeply sad. I mean, you laughed at the right times and asked the right questions, but something seemed…I don’t know, off.”

“I hate school. I am failing all my classes. It isn’t like high school with you by my side, helping me through it all, supporting me. I am just so sad all the time and now…now without you-”

“Nathan, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be telling you this on the phone, I’m just worried. I hope you know I will always be here for you. I guess that’s all I’m trying to say.”

“I know, you were. You always were.”

“I mean it, I do-Oh-”

That small gasp, more a question than an exclamation. A moment of utter confusion as her life is stolen away in a twisting of metal and rubber. Nathan sobs as the explosion of the crash quickly followed by absolute silence assaults his ears. The church bells begin to ring. He is late to her funeral, but he can’t do it, he can’t look at the sad wooden box trying to contain the vibrant life of Sylvia. He can’t face her distraught family armed only with the awkward verbiage afforded to those offering condolences. He can’t sit with their other friends all able to function in the face of their grief. He dials his voicemail again.

“Hey Nathan, I’m just calling to say ‘hey’, I guess.”