She called late yesterday afternoon, Corinne did, asking when should she pick me up from the airport and how happy she was to see me after so long. It wasn’t the words she was saying that were baffling even though I haven’t seen or spoken to or very rarely even thought of her in three years, but the tone of her voice, the curvature of her syllables, as if she very frequently thought of me with affection that nearly broke my heart. Those three years had been short on kindness. Did she know how much I’d changed? That I’d gained ten pounds? That I’d failed to vote even once?
Originally published May 4, 2017 in Nailed Magazine.
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