No Answer

A phone was in my hand, the way things appear, and it rang. She's dying, someone told me, say your goodbyes. How, I asked, how is this happening. No answer, the phone was gone.

I ran to my car outside, somebody's car, and drove. I was right next to the hospital. I drove up on the sidewalk, ran through the doors, they never slide open fast enough. I knew which room, somehow, to go to, run to. And there she was. Beep, beep, that awful little line, and her just holding on by it. She died, right then.

It was vivid, tangible, the way the best and worst dreams are. I woke up, wouldn't be early yet for quite some time. I wanted to call, or text, I knew I shouldn't, so I didn't. It ate at me. It sat right there, that knowledge, I knew. She was dying. She had died. She was dead. I was sure of it.

I called her early in the afternoon, I let myself have some time. I thought you were dead, I told her, I was sure you were dead. Even when I woke, I was sure. And I just wanted to say, I wanted to say that I care about you, because if you really died and I never said anything I would hate myself forever.

There was a silence, a long one. No answer, the phone was still there. She was on the other end. Yeah, she said to me, I know what you mean.