At four in the morning, my phone rang. I tried to work up some form of anger or resentment at the sounds of James Hatfield singing “No Leaf Clover” and breaking the stillness of my night, but I’d been emotionally beaten the previous day and found only mental exhaustion in my reserves.
“I didn’t wake you.”
It was a sentence, not a question. He knows I never sleep. But what if I had been?
“I didn’t think you’d answer.”
I stayed silent. The truth was that I shouldn’t have answered. We hadn’t spoken in months and had nothing to say. He refused to understand my position and I couldn’t comprehend his.
“I just wanted to say hello.”
At four in the morning? Only drunkards and morons say Hello at four in the morning.
Knowing he’d expect that response, my silence was maintained.
“Try to sleep. Please.”
I turned another page in my eighth book of the week, a thousand page monolith detailing the life of Adolf Hitler.
“I wish . . . “
I disconnected before he could finish what wouldn’t have mattered. We said all that needed to be said last July.