An Amethyst Face |
Issue 5
|
|
Hey Danielle...uh..Danielle... *unable to transcribe* ..um...I just wanted to...uh uh... say thank you for everything… um...um...hopefully I don’t hurt myself tonight, I’m not telling you this so you call me...or...I don’t know, off myself tonight, I’m supposed to be going to rehab tomorrow, but uh... you know... times are hard, uh, I just feel a little lonely right now...if you wanna call me back by all means go ahead…I’m going to rehab tomorrow, I don’t really have anyone to tell or talk to so I just wanted to tell you… cause you know, I...um...I don’t know if it’s cause I’m a leo or just cause of who I am, but uh... you know I like to hear that uh… that um… uh… …*unable to transcribe*… not closure, what’s the word...um… how about uh… I like to hear that… uh… … that second opinion...uh… thanks for everything, um... I’m probably going to rehab tomorrow, or the… most likely the next day, most likely the next day so… if you want you can call me, if not then… I’ll be dead so... thank you for everything but… hopefully I, I don’t think I’ll be dead… because… I got a lot to live for… and… uhh…uhh... I’m… I’m very happy right now… so… thank you… goodbye Danielle… uhh… goodbye.
|
DANIELLE PATINO is a Leo sun with a cancer rising. Her favorite movie is The Lion King. Her favorite book is Jane Eyre. Her favorite poet is Louise Gluck. Her favorite color is emerald green (or royal blue; it changes with the seasons). And she feels a lot and write about it.
|
This came in as a voicemail through the voice of the boy – the man – I’d loved since I was 13. At 20, I was proud to have rejected the call. It was silly, really, how proud I was, as if I was imperturbable, as if at hearing his voice after clicking play – his voice, always a song – I wouldn’t be so completely compelled to call him right back.
Somewhere between 17 and 20 – the muddled years, the purgatory, or, well, the first few years after we broke up – he declared me his own personal angel voice. Our relationship had gradually become one based through phone calls, so it was easy for him to simplify me down to a sound, existing only for him to hear, like with the pauses between his phone calls were lapses in my life. He meant the comment sweetly, but it only brought attention to how powerlessly native my voice sounded to his ears at any hour of the night, like I was a spirit – his spirit, his guardian – instead of a person. I didn’t mind that; in fact, I thought it became me well, and I was waiting in that somber place a while, until I found I was merely waiting, and for a no-good end.
He left this voicemail after I’d gone a few days ignoring his calls with (for the first time) no reason other than that I simply didn’t want to hear him.
Two nights before, he demanded my response through text messages, angry, like I was doing a bad job at ‘angel voice,’ like I was pulling the sudden audacity of not fervently wanting him out of my ass, or like I was merely just the left side of his brain which he was aiming desperately to reach but couldn’t, for the life of him, understand; hey… pick up… why won’t you answer… facetime?... hey… pick up… and he kept on going. I sent back the relentless question that’d been bubbling in my mind like acid or poison all these years, which I’d been persistent in managing to stay refrained from speech, I asked him why?
Somewhere between 17 and 20 – the muddled years, the purgatory, or, well, the first few years after we broke up – he declared me his own personal angel voice. Our relationship had gradually become one based through phone calls, so it was easy for him to simplify me down to a sound, existing only for him to hear, like with the pauses between his phone calls were lapses in my life. He meant the comment sweetly, but it only brought attention to how powerlessly native my voice sounded to his ears at any hour of the night, like I was a spirit – his spirit, his guardian – instead of a person. I didn’t mind that; in fact, I thought it became me well, and I was waiting in that somber place a while, until I found I was merely waiting, and for a no-good end.
He left this voicemail after I’d gone a few days ignoring his calls with (for the first time) no reason other than that I simply didn’t want to hear him.
Two nights before, he demanded my response through text messages, angry, like I was doing a bad job at ‘angel voice,’ like I was pulling the sudden audacity of not fervently wanting him out of my ass, or like I was merely just the left side of his brain which he was aiming desperately to reach but couldn’t, for the life of him, understand; hey… pick up… why won’t you answer… facetime?... hey… pick up… and he kept on going. I sent back the relentless question that’d been bubbling in my mind like acid or poison all these years, which I’d been persistent in managing to stay refrained from speech, I asked him why?