I hit the two button on my phone. Speed dial, it's a marvelous invention. I know his number by heart, but laziness and I are bosom buddies. It's easier to just push one button, then poke at ten of them. I had to sit on my hands though, because they were so cold I was shaking. I decided, as the phone was happily ringing in my ear, that luck was on my side. Nine times out of ten, he doesn't answer his phone. Maybe I would get lucky, and he wouldn't answer this time either.

I didn't want to be the one to do this.

With each ring I became more and more anxious. Was he going to answer? I wasn't going to cry - I had already cried about it once, and I wasn't going to again. Besides, you can't tell someone something like this while you're crying. I had to be supportive. It was a rule, some kind of unspoken best-friend law. I had my cry for the day, one cry is all you get. Any more garners you a beating, and not the kind you enjoy.

I wondered to myself, if he would be terribly offended if I just hung up if he answered? I know I had to tell him, but did it have to be today? Couldn't it be when he was 90, and in the hospital with Botchulism because he won't stop eating dented cans of crap he finds in his cellar? "By the way..." I would say, slyly slipping it in while I sat next to his bed and avoided looking at the beef bouillon Jell-O wiggle on the side table. "I never told you but..."

His voice mail picked up, and I jumped.

"Um...it's me." I said, trying hard to be very even. See, I'm not too bad of an actress, it almost sounded normal. "Give me a call when you can."

I hit the end button, and cried. He hasn't called me back. All I can do now is wait.


Bad news really sucks.
I hate making people sad,
Do it for me, ok?

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