I blink, and I blink, and I blink. I'm still in Canada; it's my last night here. It's eleven thirty and I've been waiting for his call all night.
When I answer, it's his mother asking me for a mutual friend's number. I cheerfully give it to her and fail to mention that she woke me up.
Then I cry myself to sleep. His mother asking me for her number means they've been together all day. Without me.
At two forty in the morning I'm awake again and my phone is blinking, bright green on gray on black.
"You up?"
It's a text message.
"Yes."
I wait. And then I wait some more.
"Call me?"
I think. I'm stuffed into a small room with my two little brothers, sleeping on an air mattress that squeaks against the hardwood floor whenever I move.
Sure, I think. Why the fuck not.
I hold my breath and don't make too much noise, and the floor is cold when I can feel it. In the dark, I feel my way around the apartment, find my flip flops and the back door. I unlock it and something beeps, is there an alarm I don't know about? Is it going to go off if I open this? Will it wake everyone up? And he texts me again.
"Yes or no?"
I open the door and dial his number.
Three in the morning and I'm a fugitive in my homeland. My flip flops slap against the paved road, and it is the only sound I can hear.
"Hey," he says.
"Hey."
I know the outside now and I'm glad I explored earlier. I sit down on wooden steps and he talks and talks and talks. I don't mind; it's nice just to hear him.
He laughs, and I laugh and say something mean. He says, "You really need to come home."
He says, "I miss you, asshole."
"You're such a fag." I giggle. "I miss you too."
I pick up my feet and drop them against the wood because the noise and the motion are comforting, and I laugh, and I listen to his laugh. His voice always makes me think of coffee, warm and comforting.
Maybe half an hour after my great escape is when my dad shows up.
"I could hear you through the window," he says. He tells me I need to hang up the phone and he's mad at me. I ask if I can say goodbye and he stands there. I stare at him until he gets the idea.
"You there?" I ask him.
"Yeah, was that your dad?"
"Yeah."
He says he'll call tomorrow to check up on me, he says goodnight, I say goodnight. He's about to hang up and I say, "Wait."
I say, "I love you."
He pauses, then, "I love you too."
It is the only good thing to come of the trip.