call_me_friend raze i was throwing in a load of laundry when you called. there was enough of a chasm between us by then that it felt strange to see your number show up on my caller_id. i got pieces of your message secondhand, from the only person i trusted to act as a buffer between us. i heard it was long and rambling. you sounded drunk. or high. or both. you said you didn't know what happened, but we needed to get together. you said i was like a brother to you. i kept meaning to listen for myself, but i didn't want to give you the chance to wear me down. not after what you did to me. i might still struggle with shifting feelings of self-worth, but at least i value myself enough now to understand that some people don't deserve to call me their friend. when enough time had passed, i decided to sit down and hear what you had to say. even if it meant letting you cut me open all over again. i waited too long. the phone erased you after burying your voice in the archives. all i'm left with is a memory that made its bones in someone else's mind. soon that'll be gone too. 240312 ... ovenbird K and I have been friends since she adopted me in a prenatal yoga class fourteen years ago. She is as extroverted as I am introverted but somehow the contrast works. We became mothers alongside each other and have become something more expansive than friends. When she was making a family tree as part of a memory project for her husband with dementia, she put me on it and that says just about everything you need to know. She is one of the only people in this world who routinely calls me out of the blue, like she actually dials my number and my phone rings and I answer and then she tells me something funny or sad or frustrating about her day and I tell her something about mine and then we hang up just to make another call a few hours later. So it doesn’t surprise me at all when my phone rings just a half dozen hours after she’s left on a trip across the country to visit family. I can hear the laughter on the edge of hysteria in her voice as soon as I say hello. She says, “only another parent could understand what I’ve just gone through!” and I smile, because I know this is going to be good in the way that catastrophes you will laugh about later are good. She tells me that her younger son got motion sickness during landing and threw up into his lap and all over his favourite hoodie. As the pilot navigated turbulence and got the plane safely on the ground K navigated a child covered in vomit, managed to scoop up the entire mess into a plastic bag and then proceeded to carry it miles on the subway to her hotel because her son refused to throw out his most prized sweatshirt. I said, “oh. my. god.” a number of times, and “well that figures” and “not exactly the best start to your vacation.” And then we both cracked up laughing and when I hung up the phone I felt light. One of my favourite things in this world is when someone comes to me and says, “I know you’re going to understand this…” and then tells me something wild–something that has gone awry or something profoundly beautiful or something that has moved them to tears or something that hurts in so many complex ways. In a world where people are afraid of their phones ringing I’m always hoping mine will ring more. I’ll happily make room for whatever comes at me from the other end–exasperation, joy, a need to vent, a need to fall apart. Every call is a small offering that brings me to the people_who_feel_like_home 250717 what's it to you? who go blather from