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She called because she wanted to hear my voice. She laughed with her friends in the background and made jokes that I scoffed at. She talked innocently about her plans for the next day and I interrupt her to seek pity over a dreaded exam. Seek pity over owing them money. I heard her change in an instant. She turned quiet, just like he does when he realizes nothing he can say will get me out of where I am; where I have put myself. I hear my voice. The tone so familar. The same tone I have used for so many years so many times and hated each time I've heard it from my mouth. It's as if it controls me when it begins. Monotonous. Careless; despite what I'm feeling is exactly the opposite. We hang up and I continue to study for my impending exam. Only to realize I am just staring blankly in front of me. I start to cry. Not a tear, but a cry. I wanted to call her back and tell her I love her, but I didn't. I couldn't. I could have, but I didn't. I suddenly felt like that was the last time I would ever speak to her. I realize I didn't call back because I was afraid of her hearing me cry. I've always been afraid of my cry being heard, despite it happening (at the most inappropriate times). It shouldn't matter. Especially with her. I don't want her to think there is anything wrong. I just want to tell her that I love her before she boards the plane tomorrow. But I know, if I call back, I will cry. I remember the night before he was to leave for a trip to Florida. I was overcome with feeling like I would never see him again and I wrote him an immensely long letter; trying to explain my teen angst and despite it all, I do care. I remember him later writing me a letter back explaining how amazed he was at how articulate and eloquently I expressed myself. We spoke silently for months with only words, ending his always with Keep those cards and letters coming, until one day I didn't. I didn't stop thinking about it, but once a year came and went, I felt silly starting again.

She deserves a letter.

I don't feel much different now, except that I have lost some of my fearlessness (or most of it)
somewhere along the way.