Among my belongings I am at a loss. A scavenger, sifting through the detritus. I lift the photograph from the mantle. It almost slips through my hands and I am danger of losing my grasp as I move through the house.
Over the bed I strip the frame and pulling it apart I let the pieces fall onto the sheet. I fold the photograph. I haven’t forgotten but when I have will I still need it?
Reaching across I retrieve my phone from the bedside cabinet. I scroll through and I find her name and number and although it is still dark outside I hit green.
Clenching the phone I press it hard against my ear. I press until it hurts and I listen to the ring tone. The phone is sharp in my hand and feels cold, alien.
‘Hello’, her voice is slurred. ‘A………, is that you?’ She sounds unfamiliar and, releasing my grip, I hold the phone at arm’s length. ‘A………, is that you? Can you hear me? Are you there?’
I place the phone on the bed, beside the broken picture frame.
‘Can you hear me?’ she repeats.
I move backward and turn away so that I can’t.