I pull up a chair, and sit down. I look at the person in front of me, already sitting there with what feels like anticipation written all over her face. Her sad face, full of hope. I take her hand, lean closer to her tense body, and say what I know she'd been dreading to hear for a long time now. She knew, all along, of course, but hope has been sitting on her shoulder, whispering sweet nothings, clutching too tightly to fall or to be killed. She knew, all along, but that doesn't stop her face from morphing into something akin to terror, something akin to heartbreak.
Poor girl.
Knowing is one thing, but actually facing the news, actually being told „You were right all along"... is a different kind of pain. There was knowing, but now there is also proof. And so, there is no going back to before, because it cannot exist anymore. Now there is proof, and that means, everything changes. Poor girl. Her hands are shaking, her eyes are wet from tears – and I have a feeling those tears have been sitting in there for a long time now. I tell her it will be okay, I tell her it's for the better, I tell her she's strong enough, and she's loved so much. I tell her sweet nothings, because that's all I can do. I can't take the pain away, even if I want to. Now there are no more words to say, so I just sit with her, in silence. Now it's my turn to think of the past and feel something akin to dismay. Something akin to shame and remorse.
I can't fight the ugly smile that distorts my face. I'm thinking how I knew it all along. I really did. I let myself be put on hold for a very long time. I wasn't the first caller, and he made it clear. The voice in the speaker told me „You are currently the hundredth in the queue. Please hold, and we will answer your call as soon as possible." And so I waited, hopeful that the line will move fast enough. I put the phone aside, let that annoying music play in the background, and I went out and lived my life. But I had to check in, from time to time, making sure I was still in line. "Thank you for holding. Your call is important to us." "Please stay on the line, and soon you will be connected to the operator." It was good to know I wasn't hung up. I look down at our hands, still connected, mine still holding hers while she's letting her grief out, and the smile on my face softens.
How do I tell her she never made the call?
How do I tell her that the queue was moving slowly, and she never made it to the front of the line? She never made it to first place. The music became too distracting and irritating; the line was moving too slowly; years passed by and I only made it halfway… So I hung up the phone. There was no explosion, no rage, no cursing, I just grabbed the phone one day and pressed the red button. And it was done, and over, and it felt good. It felt horrible but it also felt good.
At last, I was free.
And now, I look into her mournful eyes, let the smile on my face widen, and tell her that I make sure that the next person who comes into her life, won't put her on hold. I make sure that she won't have to wait in a queue, she won't ever have to be confused by trickster words, she never again has to sit at home and cry for nights on end. Something akin to faith blooms in my chest, rosy, warm, full of love, as I squeeze her hands in mine. It spreads through my whole body and I can't stop it; and I don't even want to.
Poor girl. I know there are a lot more tears in there, hidden inside her grieving body, still bound to be shed for that stupid boy, but the worst is over. No more announcements to be heard, no more annoying background music, no more "maybes." I'll make sure of that.
