Miscommunication by Nouf Nafisee

Posted on December 5, 2013 by

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The phone rang itself to life as I lay motionless with the face that resembled death.

 

It doesn’t ring much since the phone company never does its job, but when it does, it repeats this irritating tone 12 times.

 

And so it began. 1, 2, 3…

 

I saw nothing but grey. The world was so cold; it crystallized color and let it crash to the cold tiles. I didn’t want to stand up. I didn’t want my bare feet to freeze.

 

…10, 11

 

Oh what the hell.

 

“Hello.”

 

Silence.

 

“This isn’t FUNNY, you know.”

 

Silence.

 

Just as I was about to hang up and return to my sorry excuse of a life, I heard a distant voice.

 

“You’re… (static) horrible.”

 

It was the voice I was ALL too familiar with. Every few weeks she would call me and says awful things. She calls me horrible, abusive, and damaging.

 

“You’re so cruel. Just leave me alone.” I wish my voice didn’t quiver so much.

 

Silence.

 

“(Static)… weak.” came the response.

 

Oh, great. Let’s add that to the list of flaws she’s pointed out.

 

It always commenced with her calling me horrible – for all I knew, “horrible” was my first name. Then, she’d start with the details.

 

Angry

 

I can’t deny it. I’m angry at authors for killing my favorite characters. I’m angry at annoying tags on clothing. I’m angry at the simultaneous existence of greed and famine. I’m angry at the world for the pressure it puts on me. I’m angry that sometimes I can’t cope. Also, I’m angry at people who put ketchup on burgers. Don’t you want to taste the meat?

 

Hungry

 

Speaking if food, I’ve been living on leftover Pad Thai for the past week. Now, isn’t that great. Thank you for reminding me that I’m too broke to fill the black hole in my abdomen that is currently feeding on my soul.

 

Skeptical

 

Yes, please remind me that I’m the hard-ass who no one can speak to without being scrutinized. I cannot help that I’m in a constant state of skepticism. I mean, how could you possibly know that you are physically where you believe you are? How can you be completely sure that you’re not in a claustrophobic capsule and that your whole “life” is no more than visual slides and sound effects? Heck, when I was little, I thought my family was a group robots that were out to get me.

 

“I don’t know why I put myself through this”, I thought as I clicked the phone shut.

 

MEANWHILE, ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE PHONE:

 

The sun was setting and the sky morphed into coral petals. The electricity went out which only emphasized the constellations, but thank god my phone was charged, for it was that time of day again.

 

She was on speed dial, of course.

 

I lay on my back as the feathery grass tickled my ear lobes when she unexpectedly picked up.

 

Hello.

 

“Hello there! I haven’t heard your voice in so long! I miss you.”

 

This isn’t FUNNY, you know.

 

“You’re making no sense. Sweetie, I wish you’d stop assuming that my intentions are horrible. I only want what’s best for you.”

 

You’re so cruel. Just leave me alone.”

 

“Please stop saying things like that. My weak heart can’t stand hearing you like this.”

 

And then she hung up.

 

All I’ve ever done is try to make her less angry about herself. Every time I speak to her it’s like her fury is pouring out of my phone and onto my ears.

 

She also hates it when I compliment her. I once told her that I admired how hungry she was for knowledge and she nearly burst out crying.

 

I also told her that how I praised her skepticism. She is one whose mouth will not open to spoon fed information. Her mind is sealed by locks and that only proof can unravel.

 

The two voices in my head had terrible connection. Little miss positive would always try to reach little miss killjoy which only resulted in pushing her inward, pushing her backward, but never penetrating the surface.

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