Yes, no no maybe, yes.
Like the seasons this game is a never ending cycle. It always comes back to this. To a slightly drunken me leaning for support against the pay phone just outside of the boardinghouse. One hand scrapping away left over blue paint the other hand so tightly wound against the black chord so tightly my hands cramp. The phone buzzes a couple of times, you’ll answer you always do,and yet my legs shake threatening to collapse and my heart beats nearly out of chest.
“Hello?”
You sound tired.
Yes, I could tell you I still love you. Beg you to take me back.
No,No I can’t do that. I’m supposed to be happy. Happier.
Yes, maybe.
The final answer as usual is no.
It’s silent. I suspect you know it’s me.
“Hello?”
I hang up. Heading inside to cry probably. Definitely. Send out texts saying how fun tonight was, and let’s do it again.
There was such a time that I wasn’t so stubborn. Maybe not, now that I think about it. I was always very much like this. I remember when I was nine and was afraid of the dark(secretly this hasn’t changed either.) I lay there in the dark covers pulled over my head. My breath coming out in silent panicked huffs. You were probably sleeping, but never so deeply you never heard me. I could have easily flung the covers back and ran to you, instead of lying awake all night, in a small lake of tears that collected between the silent tears that fell from my eyes. I had to be a “big boy”. You had called me this name that morning. You ruffled my hair, because I was sleeping inside my own room I was Mama’s big boy. You were so proud,my Sister was skeptical. So much like now. Me alone in the dark silently crying(the walls are thin.) Afraid of what lies beyond the unknown.(my check is so small this week.) I could easily run home to you, but then I’m not only stupid, but stubborn. I knew when I was 9 it wouldn’t make me any less of a big boy to you if not a bigger boy than to go to you. I know it even more now that I’m 29. I think it might be sister that I’m afraid to be a “late bloomer.” I can only imagine what she’d say. I’m not ready for the whole,” you’re just like dad.” I’m not prepared for the emotional turmoil. I laugh I’m old enough to just tell her to leave me alone. That I work 2 times the legal amount, so school is that much harder for me. She could point out I spend my money getting drunk with “friends”. She wouldn’t know and I wouldn’t admit I do this thing, drinking enough to just get a buzz and pretending I’m far to drunk,(Honestly it’s stupid no one’s with me and no one’s going to notice I’m not drunk.) just so I can stand at some dirty little pay phone my fingers tightly wound around the curls of the black cord. Just to hear moms voice honestly. I’ll never or not before I get evicted from the ill insulated rat and roach infected room be big enough to just go home. I just feel better, like a lullaby to hear that tired hello. I do feel bad though, making her get up at three to hear the phone crackle back in her ear. (It’s kind of creepy in all honesty. I’m creepy.) As usual though I’ll call her tomorrow. She’ll tell me tomorrow about the strange Saturday calls. It’ll start again the tug of war. Yes, no,no maybe. (Plot twist the answer is always no.) I’ll carry on lying awake half the night listening to the rat(s) scrape their tails across the floor. Wondering why I spent fifteen dollars on traps and poison. Too stupidly stubborn, still too much of a child to say, “ Mom I want, no need to come home right now.” Until my secretly most anticipated eviction(or I grow a pair) we always have dirty pay phones and Saturday nights and my little game of tug of war.

The first time I really fell for you, no not fell for you, but felt our love had become unselfish, wasn’t the first time you smiled at me or when you wrapped your little chubby fingers around mind when I held you close to me anxious to get you home. While those moments were undeniably precious, it was something you’re sister had done. While I knew you loved me and I loved you, it felt as if you owned my heart and I didn’t have even a sliver of your tiny heart. The moment I felt it for the first time that you loved me as much as I have always loved you was when you were three. You were sitting on the floor coloring I was making lunch. You looked up at me so suddenly I was frightened.
“What is it?”
You tilted your head ever so slightly a playful smile forming on your lips.
“We love best.”
I laughed at you, how clumsily the confession came from you and how seamlessly I understood what you meant. The statement still stood long after that, we were best friends for a very long time.

There did come a time when we weren’t so close of course. It’s only natural, your sister and I went through it too when she was that age. I was sick your father had stepped out long ago and I had already remarried at that point. I realized than that while your love was something you gave out freely.( I do miss your little kisses and hugs and grand expressions of love) You were and many ways are extremely selfish. I was sick I didn’t hide it from you neither did your stepfather and yet, you never offered to do the dishes or let alone clean your mess. That unmarked day you called me to clean your room,”it was become quite the pigsty.”(your words) I was sick and while you gave me comfort with sweet words you did little, nothing at all if I’m being polite and not honest, to lift the burden. I was angry at you, but couldn’t bare to say anything. You’re sister definitely did enough for your passive step father and for me as well. Nothing changed though you’re also very stubborn, but thankfully I got better.
Despite that you were a wonderful child. Making perfect grades and school, and all the endless rewards and trophies. The only time in fact I was truly hurt was on a day, perhaps I Wednesday you announced,
“I’ll be taking the advice of the majority and spreading my wings.”
“At long last!” Your stepfather cheers. I almost gag. You can’t take care of yourself you can hardly butter toast. The worlds cruel to spoiled children, I had heard stories of harsh reality. I
Nearly faint when you turned down allowance(the idea of YOU having a job had never even crossed my mind)
That was a a little over a year ago. You sound tired when you call, lifeless. You try to keep it out, but as the saying goes Mother knows best.
I’m afraid of the Saturday calls from an unknown number and the crackles and huffs of breath on the other end of the line. Why haven’t you come home? I pray for you on those nights tears and snot ruining the pillow case hands trembling. I pray you don’t forget, that if you were to learn anything at all to never forget your way back home.