“Whatever,” I said with nothing else to come back with. “Look, let
me call you back later. I’m getting in the car.”
While we’d talked, I had finished my breakfast and dressed in the
most comfortable, not at all form-fitting, pair of gray, cotton yoga
pants and black, long-sleeve thermal to wear to the shelter.
“You know you can talk to me while you’re driving,” Carrie said
with a hint of annoyance in her voice.
“No, I can’t. I don’t have that Bluetooth thing you have that lets
you talk while having your hands free. Even with it, I wouldn’t talk to
you while on the road, and you shouldn’t be talking to me…but I
digress.” Some arguments aren’t worth having.
“Your life is tame compared to mine.” She said this with a bit of
sadness in her voice as if this
were a bad thing.
I rejoiced in how stress-free
my life is compared to hers.
Yeah, a part of me would like
to have one or two little poopmachines giggling on my living
room floor, but that is the only
part of her life I wish I had.
The baby-daddy drama would
piss me off and drive me to
drinking.
“And that is just the way I
like it,” I said back with a smile in my voice. “Love you.”
“Love you, too,” she replied, and we hung up.
We never say goodbye. I’m not sure why. We just never do. I think
it has to do with the fact that goodbye is such a permanent word.
She doesn’t like anything that alludes to death or permanent
separation. To her, saying goodbye to someone means that she will
never speak to or see that person again, so she can’t bring herself
to say the words. I think this has to do with the fact that when she
was sixteen, Mom dropped her on my doorstep and said goodbye.
We haven’t heard from her since.