By Savannah Haze
Date: 2005 Sep 21
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[[2005.09.21.19.12.4998]]

Vivian

You pop up every few months, sometimes longer.  An email or instant message or midnight phone call.  Always after too much whiskey.  But not this time.  Instead of popping the top off a beer, you popped up on my caller ID.  

"Vivian."  

Not you real name, but one that reminds me of you and alleviates any questions from curious lovers.  

It's a bit awkward at first, as we attempt to set boundaries that drunkness doesn't allow.  

The customary "How's your family"

followed by "How's the job" and "Have you talked to Daniel?"

And though I'm accustomed to your confessions of love and regret and what could and should have been, I always attribute them to you state of mind.  

And now I'm sitting here in this damp lawnchair, speechless for what is possibly only the fourth time in my life.  These words I've heard so often sound foreign coming from your sober mouth, even more so as they land on my lonely ears.  

I am taken aback by your... bravery?
                        ... ignorance?
                        ... honesty?
                        ... terrible timing?

I try to hypothesize what we would be like together but I am no scientist. I am a writer.   So all I can do is put this on paper and hope these words miraculously rearrange themselves into answers.  

I wait for answers and for the phone to ring, hoping you'll pop up again.