elanya

Well... I guess Saturday counts as still part of this week, so I have not missed a week yet, even if we are back in bite-sized portions. We'll see how things go next week. And now, I work on school things.

Parts 1-3



I am at the hotel, watching the news. The world has changed a lot since I was a part of it. There are places where I can almost see the Technocracy’s influence if I look, but it is weak. I should take this as a good sign, for me. I’m not sure if that is true for the rest of the world. The War rages on, but it is less clear who has the upper hand. I don’t mean to think about this, but it comes to me too naturally. I have tried watching other programs, but I feel even more out of touch with fictional programs. It all seems trivial, and yet I have nothing better to fill my time with.

I could go out. The exercise would be a nice change from this self-imposed confinement. It would be good for me to interact more with the world on a casual basis – social exercise as well as physical. I could buy something new to read, or have dinner in a restaurant. It is too easy for me to create and fall into routines. Even after my travels through places where the opportunity to practice routine was lacking, it is still an ingrained habit. I turn off the television with the remote. The phone rings.

I have been waiting to hear from Lori and cash, and this is the primary reason that I have not left. I stand, and cross to the table by the mirror. It rings a second time before I reach the receiver. I pick it up.

"Hello?"

I wait, but there is no answer. I can hear light static across the connection, but nothing else. Whoever called is holding their breath. What is this?

"Hello?" I repeat. Still nothing. I could find out, easily, who is on the other end. I could trace them back through the wire. I am not certain it would be a worthwhile risk. I will give them one more chance.

"I am hanging up now."

"Wait!"

"Anna." I sit down. I can feel my pulse increase. I didn’t expect this. Its her, I know it is. She’s nervous; so am I. My mind is frozen, and my mouth is dry.

"Lori called… And I just had to know. You’re alive, you’re really there…" She’s upset, and afraid. I want to make things alright for her, but I am the source of her distress. I don’t have the power, or the right.

"I am. I’m sorry, Anna." And I am. For upsetting her now, for leaving her at all, as though it was ever my design. For ever being a part of something that would take me away. For believing in something that was wrong, and for everything I did in the name of those beliefs. A flood of memories threatens me, but I hold them back. It is hard to breathe.

"Sorry?" Her voice cracks. She sniffs. "I thought you were dead, Daniel, I thought you left me, and Danny, and then you were dead and, I don’t know now, I don’t understand." Her words come out quickly, in a rush, and she cuts them off, catching her breath again. What can I even say? It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t my choice. I didn’t even remember her. How does that make anything alright?

"I never wanted to leave you."

"It’s been so long." She sounds more in control, but still shaky. "But you’re there, in Tacoma."

"I am, I…." I look up, and I see my reflection. I’m seated on the edge of the chair, leaning forward towards the phone. My whole body is tense. One hand is clenched around the receiver, and the other in a tight fist. My jaw is set. I look like I sound – desperate, animated. And as soon as I see it, it is gone. I relax, and I am calmer. There is a small part of me that fights, that is frustrated, but rationality vanquishes passion. "I was looking for you."

"Everything is complicated now…" She hesitates, as if she has sensed something is different from the change in my tone.

"I’d like to see you." How can I sound so calm? I am betraying her by my inability to express how important she is. I’m betraying myself. I can’t succeed like this.

"I…" She starts to answer, and I hear a door creak open in the background, and she muffles the receiver. I can still hear her. "I'm on the phone, sweetie." She tries to sound composed. I listen hard to hear the other voice, but I can make nothing out. "I’m okay," she answers, but she doesn’t sound it. She sounds like she is crying, and I can’t think of anything to say. Something blocks me from expression.

"I have to go," she tells me, "I’ll call you back." And she hangs up.

I set the receiver back down in the cradle. I feel disconnected from everything. But she will call back, and I will have a second chance.