It’s funny the things we find ourselves wishing for. On stars. On birthdays. On eleven eleven. Last night I call him and as the phone rang I wondered what I was doing. I came to the conclusion that I wanted to talk to him. Simple as that. So I let it ring. On the third ring I considered if it was him or some other him I wanted. Who did I want to answer the phone? The same old unavailable him, or was I wishing for him 2.0. New and improved? And then the voicemail. He was asleep. Or unwilling to take the call. Or…as the machine announced a name that wasn’t him the air left my chest.
Hadn’t we just talked? I searched my phone for messages but I couldn’t find them. Deleted in a fit of loathing. But I know that number by heart. Its one of only 5 that I do. I laid in bed confused. Feeling more alone than I had just minutes prior. Wishing desperately that I hadn’t called. What did I gain by knowing? After over a decade that perhaps that last time we were right, we can’t be friends anymore.
So imagine my surprise today when my eyes caught the clock and in the seconds I had to consider before the moment was lost I wished for love. Not health. Not money. Not new shoes or a fun day or a pleasant surprise…all things I’ve wished for previously. In the knee-jerk tick tock from the mausoleum of my first, I was wishing for my last.