In memory
of all friendships
lost to silence
. . .
“Hey.” Sent.
Sitting in her half-lit bedroom, Kate kept staring at the phone screen. It was more than a year between their last “goodnight” and today’s message.
God, time flies. They were on the phone every day, sharing jokes, making plans, and dreaming of the future.
Then she got a new job and moved to another country. The breaks between their talks started to get longer — but who was to blame? She was busy.
. . .
The message caught Dave off guard. He stopped doing the dishes, turned off the water, and sat at the kitchen table.
Time flies. She was still around, like a ghost. In her favourite cafes, art classes they used to do together, gifts she gave him, and things she would’ve liked.
He tried to stay in touch after she moved away, but things got difficult when he lost his job. He was busy. Eventually, he didn’t expect to talk to Kate ever again.
“Hey,” he replied. “How are you?”
. . .
Kate didn’t expect to get a reply so fast. Or at all.
She looked through the room. Photos with her new friends on the wall; souvenirs from her travels; overwhelming pack of work documents to go through; a box with the gifts from all her “situationships” that never worked out; and, near the bin, a “wellbeing” journal that she gave up on.
But she couldn’t throw it all on Dave after a year of silence, could she?
“Good,” she replied, “settled in. What about you?”
. . .
“Good, too,” Dave replied. “Nothing major.”
He looked around. There was, stacked in between kitchen napkins, a pack of hospital bills from when his mum got ill. On the fridge, travel photos from when she’s recovered. And, covered by a magnet, a note with a phone number – Martha. He smiled involuntarily. Had the bravery to ask for it, but not enough to call. Kate would’ve forced him to do that, he thought.
It’s unfair. A year ago, he wouldn’t need to update Kate on his life because she would’ve known it all as it happens.
He missed it. He missed her.
. . .
“That’s good,” Kate replied, not knowing what to say next.
The silence lingered.
This conversation was awkwardly short and inappropriately cold.
It was as if they never went hiking and ran from a deer, never arrived at a random city because of a lost bet. As if they had never baked cakes in the middle of the night and danced without the music. It was as if he hadn’t cooked for her on days when she couldn’t look after herself. As if she wasn’t a shoulder to cry on every time his relationships ended.
Shit, Kate thought. Is this how it ends? Not that easy.
“Wanna have a video chat?”
. . .
“Sure!” Dave texted back instantly. “I’ve so much to tell.”
Sometimes, lost doesn’t mean gone.
