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Memory 8

I'd seen a lot less of Cecil since that evening. I couldn't admit to him why things hadn't gone as planned. I couldn't tell him what was on my mind. Of course I couldn't. It would be the same as admitting that, even after everything he had done for me, I was still all kinds of fucked up. To fail him so completely felt unimaginable. He deserved a better student, and a better friend.

In the end all I did was apologize profusely for nothing in particular, and feel awful. Fake too, fabricated, as if I wasn't even a real person, just an amalgamation of experiences and memories, though perhaps that's all a person really is.

So that's how it went, I got all existential and weird and left as soon as I could, but Cecil didn't make it easy. He was kind and good, better than I deserved. He was all empathy and care. He wanted me to be happy, not to feel ashamed.

He didn't understand. He couldn't have. I didn't give him anything to go on.

I didn't see him the next day. The day after he messaged me, wanted to know if I was planning to come by, hoped what happened the other day wasn't still on my mind, said there was a new show he wanted to check out on Netflix, that we could snuggle up with some snacks and watch it together. It all sounded so good, so easy, but there was all that damn subtext. The 'I love you' the 'did I do something wrong?' the 'please don't hate me' the 'let me make up for it'. He was blaming himself for my bullshit, and that stung worst of all.

I didn't know what to think. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't just ignore him, ghost him, leave him hanging, that would only be punishing him for my own damn foibles and flaws. I couldn't tell him what was going through my head either, not least of all because I hardly knew what was going on up there myself anymore.

So, I went over.

We watched Netflix, ate snacks and snuggled. It was good. Too good. That guilt crept back. I couldn't keep Sophie out of my head. I made some excuse and left early. He hated that. His eyes... god. He was sad but, worse, he was scared. He didn't want to lose me.

I was so wrapped up in my own obsessive excesses I couldn't-

I made a decision.

I had to see Sophie.

I had to hear her voice.

I had to tell her what was on my mind.

I couldn't find the words for Cecil, but I knew I had to find them for her.

Problem was she had blocked me. Not just on Furbook, but everywhere. I had a solution though: I'd committed her phone number to memory. For years it had stuck with me, and if it was the same now as it was back then, then I could call her. She may have had my number blocked, but it didn't matter, my number had changed. I'd lost my phone last year somewhere in the mess of what I hesitate to call my life, and had since replaced it. Did I lose it in that hazy den with Simone and the boys? Or on some random club night out? I had no recollection. It didn't matter. All that mattered was Sophie.

I tapped the number out, digit by digit, in careful, deliberate motions. Before hitting call I double checked it, triple checked it, quadruple checked it against my memory. It seemed right, but I could've remembered it wrong. I could've checked with Cecil, but he wouldn't approve of the call and, regardless, dragging him into this was out of the question. This was between me and Sophie.

It was do or die, so to speak. It was time hit call or resign myself to never speaking to her again. It felt exactly that binary, as if somehow I were on the precipice of something both overwhelmingly important and utterly final. I had to make a decision.

Really though, It was no decision at all.

I hit call, and I waited.

There was the first ring. Then the second.

The third. The fourth.

The fifth. She wasn't going to answer. Was this even her number? The sixth.

Had she got a new one? The seventh.

Even if it was her number she wasn't likely to pick up, after all her caller ID would come up blank.

It rang and rang.

It rang and rang, and it rang out.

My heart plummeted, then rose and almost shot out my throat.

There was her voice.

For half a beat I thought it was live, but it was a recorded message. Answer phone. She had updated it since I'd last heard it. Of course she had.

"Hey! I'm not available at the moment. If it's important just leave a message and I'll get back to you when I can."

Oh my god I'd missed her voice. Hearing it put me in a headspin, fuck, it almost brought me to tears.

Then came the beep.

I scrambled to action, clearing my throat, trying to subdue the growing panic inside of me.

"Uhh, h-hi! It's, uh, me. I mean, it's Ribbon. Uh, I suppose I should have planned this out better, right?" I laughed an empty, awkward laugh. "I suppose I just- I- I wanted to say I'm sorry. And that I'm not the same person I once was. I'm not the same person who said those- those awful things to you the last time we met. I'm sorry. S-so sorry. And... And I've missed you." My voice devolved into something approaching a croak as tears welled in the corners of my eyes. "And I don't want to never see you again. I guess I-" It was too much. It was all just way too much. This was a mistake. I shouldn't have called. "Fuck. I have no right calling you like this, leaving a message, saying what I've said. I guess I just- I guess... I'm sorry for bothering you Sophie." Everything was spinning. Everything. I couldn't keep track of the room. Or my thoughts. Or even the words coming out of my own beak. "I- I- I know it's a long shot, but if you're open to maybe meeting, talking, catching up, you know? Maybe I- I..." I was warbling, struggling to hold myself together. Failing. Panic and grief were mingling in my stomach. Reacting. Expanding. I couldn't keep this up. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called. I shouldn't have left this message. I have no right, I- I- Goodbye Blue. Sophie. Blue. Soph- Uh, yeah. I, uh, I hope you're well. And, I, well, I l- I mean... I- I'm- I'm sorry. Goodbye."

I hung up.

And I cried.

And I kept on crying.

And when I finally stopped I sat on my bed and remained there, motionless.

Minutes passed.

Then hours.

The tears came back.

And they didn't stop until sleep took me.

Moment 4

I can barely-

I can't breathe.

My phone is lit up and buzzing. I re-read the incoming number a dozen times. It's you. It's definitely you. I left you a message yesterday and this morning you're calling me. You're actually calling me. I can't believe it, but I have to.

I don't know whether to feel elated or terrified, so I feel both. It keeps ringing. It's been ringing for so long, too long, I can't let it ring out. I have to answer. I have to answer.

I pick up the phone.

And your voice comes down the line. Live and real and talking to Ribbon, to me.

It's you. It's really you. You have no idea how that makes me feel, not yet. You will, you're talking to me right now after all.

"Hey," you say. Your tone casual, low-key. "Is this Ribbon?"

I have to force myself to inhale the air necessary to speak.

"H-hey, S-Sophie! Y-yeah it's me, it's- yeah."

God, I sound like a-

"I got your message," you say. You pause.

"I- I'm, uh, yeah," I say. I'm incoherent. Overwhelmed. "Sorry if it- If I-"

"Let's meet," you cut in, saving me from myself and simultaneously setting my mind on fire.

"What?"

"I said I want to meet," you repeat. But, of course, I heard you the first time. I just couldn't believe it.

"Of course! I mean, that's great! Absolutely. I'd l- Uh, it'd be a pleasure. Are you, ah, free tomorrow? O-or even later today?"

"Tomorrow works," You say. Short on words, high on impact. "You still live locally?"

"I do yeah, I've, uh, yeah. I've been living with my parents again, they haven't moved. I, uh, I've had a bad year or so, been in a bad place, you know? Until recently, that is. I've, uh, I've been back in touch with Cecil. We've been spending a lot of time together. He, uh, he's helped me. A lot."

"Yeah?" You ask. I can't tell if you're asking out of genuine interest or mere politeness.

I don't want to risk boring you.

"Yeah, but, uh, I won't bog you down in details."

You make an affirmative hum, then dead air settles. I'm scared to speak. Have I said the wrong thing? Have I ruined everything already?

"So, what? Shall we grab some coffee?" You ask. I breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

"Sounds good to me," I agree, perhaps a little too quickly.

We discuss place and time and as soon as the details are settled you say: "see you tomorrow then Ribbon."

"See you tomorrow Blue," I reply instinctively. "Sophie." I add, though I'm not entirely sure why, it just sort of feels right.

You inhale as though about to speak, but silence follows and lingers.

I'm about to fill it, but you beat me to it.

"Yeah," you say.

And you hang up.

And I hold the phone against my face for far too long. The shock refuses to wear off.