What Do You Do?
I stop staring at the door. I wonder around the house, moving from couch to computer desk to kitchen and to bed.
I get up and put in Costello’s My Aim Is True on the stereo.
I go back to bed. I fidget. I get the phone and open it, scrolling through the names. Once, before phonebooks were digital, I told someone ‘every time I go through my phonebook, my fingers always seem to land on you.’
Tonight they land on ‘send,’ and I press it, though it’s after midnight.
I hear the voice inhaling as the phone picks up, and hear the last half of a groggy hello.
‘Hey there,’ I say, ‘what are you doing?’
‘Nothing’ Birmingham says.
‘I didn’t wake you, did I?’ I ask, but head off my own question. ‘I was just thinking about you.’
‘That’s nice,’ he says, still half-asleep. ‘You wanna come over?’
‘Okay,’ he says.
‘Are you going to remember this or should I remind you?’
‘Better give me a reminder.’
‘Sleep well,’ I say and hang up. I lay down with happy anticipation for tomorrow night.