PP’s phone’s home

Non-fiction, 1/14/09

We were finished, you and I. You never rang; I rarely called. It’s true: I hardly spoke to you toward the end. You’d still give me the time of day, but always begrudgingly, only after I pushed your buttons.

At first, your silence was a dead weight on my conscience. I despaired, but not for long. You were a trifle, I decided, a lightweight longing I needn’t heed. In the end, you were a paperweight. A mere paperweight!

So why was I surprised to find you gone? Things had clearly been sour for months—we even slept in different rooms some nights. Splitsville was ineluctable. I was surprised, I freely admit, because you left so abruptly. Not a word, nary a call, before you simply disappeared that snowy eve. I didn’t think you had it in you.

Needless to say, I left you for dead. Well, perhaps I did look for you, in sort of an absentminded way, but I hastily gave up. You would be buried in snow for days, only to be uncovered after a week or so by torrential rains. Exposure would have its way with you. In a word, you were screwed. Or so I thought.

Apparently I underestimated you, because you’re back. You’re relatively unscathed, too. There’s something wrong with your face, and it seems someone taught you pinball in my absence, but you’re still the same old you.

Mind you, I was just getting used to life without your company, so forgive me if I’m slow to warm up to this. You were frozen solid, after all.

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