But I knew now, reality being what it was, my logical path forward didn’t include Abram Harris (Fletcher), it never really had. The past, our past, and this present random encounter were irrelevant to my future.
Just like my existence was irrelevant to his.
I slept horribly. But, no matter. That was the thing about sleep, there would always be more time to practice.
As soon as I opened my eyes, the events of the prior evening came back to me. But, again, no matter. I was prepared. The space suit of numbness, my recognition and swift acceptance of the futility of wanting Abram, saved me from a repeat of the searing pain.
Sitting up in bed, I checked the time on my phone, 6:14 AM, my hand knocking the letter I always carried to the floor. Leaning over the edge, I picked up the letter, my thumbs moving over the worn, smooth corners of the envelope, and gently returned it to the side table.
I needed to ready myself for the day. There was still the small matter of telling Abram the truth, assuming he didn’t already know. And in order to accomplish that with a clear conscience, I would have to call my sister. And that’s what I did.
Reaching for my phone again, I unlocked it, dialed her number, and waited. She’d become an early riser and our weekly phone calls typically took place before 7:00 AM, so I knew she’d be up now. The line rang on the other end, but the connection sounded spotty, broken, like a skipping record.
When she answered, I immediately asked, “Lisa? Lisa? Can you hear me?”
“Yes. Hey, Mo. I can hear you. Where are you? Aren’t you supposed to be in—” the sound dropped off, replaced with clicks and scratching sounds, and then suddenly she was back “—thought you were going this week?”
“You’re breaking up. Listen, I have to talk to you about something important.” I pushed the covers back and strolled to the window seat where Allyn and I had taken up residence the previous evening until close to 2:00 AM. Without any prompting, I’d told Allyn the whole story about my week in Chicago before we’d gone to bed last night, and I do mean the whole story.
I figured, if I was really going to tell Abram the truth today—and despite the fact that any interaction with him was ultimately pointless to my future—I would still require some level of moral support after the task had been accomplished. I continued to have alarmingly nebulous and irrational feelings for the man. It would therefore make sense that my subsequent antiphon post-truth-telling would also be likewise irrational.
I wanted to be prepared, so I’d made preparations.
“What? Sorry, you’re breaking up,” Lisa’s voice sounded from the other end of the phone.
“This is important. Can you hear me?”
“Yes. I can hear you now, but there’s static on the line or something.”
“Okay. I’ll make it quick. Listen, Abram is here.”
“What?”
“Abram.” I whisper-yelled, stepping into a corner of the room, as though facing the corner would keep my voice from leaving the little triangle of secret shame I’d created with my body and the two walls. See? Already, just talking about him made me behave in strange and mysterious ways.
“Oh shit. Abram?”
“Yes. Listen.” I clutched my forehead, squeezing my eyes shut. “Just listen.”