ring ring

I cradle my phone in my arms like a small, weaning infant. I stare into its hollow, black face; hoping, waiting for it to light up electric blue and sing to me. It gives me nothing. I carry it everywhere I go - downstairs to make coffee, into the bathroom, out onto the front porch. In the car, I take it out of my purse and rest it delicately in my cup holder for even the shortest of drives. I don't know what I'm waiting for. I don't want small talk. I don't have the energy to say howareyou and whatsup and goodtohearfromyou and talktoyoulater. Yet I wait. Sometimes I feel like this stupid little piece of electricity is an extension of me. Every time it bounces around and bleats out its silly little tune, I know that somewhere, someone is thinking of me. But then they call. And I say hi. And they say hey. And I say whatsup. And they say doyouwannagoto_______ or werehavinga_______doyouwannacome. And I say no. noidon't.