4:01 p.m.
It’s 4:01 p.m.
The ticking of the clock is no match for the pounding sound of my heart as the cool air of the afternoon blows against my hot skin. Less than a minute has passed since the phone ringing pierced the silent house. Black mascara tears stream down my face as he speaks faster than my mind can keep up. I would stop him from telling me but I can not force words from my lips. You can live in the wreckage of the moment, but it’s no longer the dream house you remembered. All you can do is pull yourself out of the rubble and slowly rebuild yourself. The important thing when you get stuck in the collapse of moment is force yourself to move on.
Moving is all I can do as I clutch the telephone tighter. Things can only wear you down and try to break your spirit if you let them. A sobbing breath escapes my lips and it’s all I need to do to make him stop talking. He pauses and calmly starts.
“Hey, are you ok? How are you?”
“I was going to call you sooner.” My voice shakes.
“But you didn’t and…”
And I didn’t. Simply hearing his voice say it breaks me into tears again. I can’t control my reaction to anything he’s said about his day, about his work and it doesn’t change that it has nothing to do with the way I’m feeling in this moment.
“I’m sorry.”
“Meltdown?”
“Sort of.”
“Ok. Let’s do that thing? 5 things; GO!”
“Clock, phone, oven, skylight, applesauce.”
“You bought it!”
“Applesauce! Yes and a handful of peaches for garnish!”
Without another word, my tears are dry and I can feel his smile on the other end of the line.
It’s 4:15 p.m.
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