"I could be the Phantom of the Opera..."
"We talked about this already." Laughter. "Two hours ago. At the beginning of the conversation."
"What? No. We just started talking..."
Your voice is absent. You are far away from me and getting farther.
"It's two thirty in the morning, dear."
"No, it's like twelve twenty..."
"Check your clock."
"There are no clocks in Palestine."
"Then I guess it's a good thing you're not in Palestine."
"There are Hungarians in Palestine..."
"Mmm."
You are a child again. The self-awareness that comes with age has disappeared into some dark corner of your room and, for a moment, it is just you.
"She went to Hungary, you know."
"Did she like it?"
"Not really. There were starving people there."
"Mmm."
I smile and realize that you will probably not remember any of this tomorrow.
"You know, I don't like to admit it, but I trust her..."
"Why don't you want to admit it?"
"Because of... of... the other one. The one..."
"Yeah. I know."
"And... and the mean one... that I don't like... what was her...?"
I know what you are trying to say, so I fill in the blanks.
"Yeah. I didn't like her..."
"I know."
A pause. It occurs to me that in this natural, childlike state, you would probably give me an honest answer.
"But I trust her..."
"I know."
I can't bring myself to ask if you love me because I am afraid of the answer. I choose to waste my one question on something else, something that, though I did not realize it at that particular moment, is perhaps more important than whether or not you love me.
"Do you trust me?"
"Hmm?"
"Do you trust me?"
You pause for a moment, deciding, I suppose, if you were going to admit it or not.
"Yeah... yeah, I trust you. I like you. You're nice..."
I smile a little to myself again. It is obvious now that you won't remember this, and that you are in desperate need of sleep, so I attempt to do the right thing.
"You should go to sleep, sir."
"What? Okay."
"Hang up the phone."
"I don't know how..."
And here, where normally I would have burst out laughing, where under normal circumstances I would I have made fun of you, I am patient.
"Look at your phone, dear. There should be a big button on it."
"Ok. Hold on."
You pull the phone away from your ear and look at the buttons, I imagine.
"There's one that says 'FLASH' on it."
"Not that one. Keep looking. It will say 'TALK' or 'END' or something like that."
"There are lots of big buttons... oh, there's one that says 'END', and the big 'O' is eating the little 'o'."
I smile again, and at that moment it isn't stupidity or ignorance at all. It's innocence; the innocence attatched to childhood.
"It's okay. Press it."
"But I don't want it to end..."
"It'll be alright. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay..."
This is where I begin to marvel at myself. If you are the child, then what am I?
"Where is my pillow?"
"Did you check on the floor?"
"No... oh, here it is. It was under my arm."
"Ok. Good job."
"Now my face is on the pillow."
I am still smiling, it just isn't my smile anymore. I still don't understand.
"Sir?"
"Mmm?"
"Are you going to go to sleep now?"
"I don't know... maybe... mm..."
I am still listening to you speak in the nonsense babble of a sleepy toddler.
"Tell her... um... tell her I love her, okay?"
I pause for a moment. I'm not sure if I'll be able to do that. I've never spoken to her before, and what if she is not available? I decide it matters very little, and that it is better to send you off to sleep happy.
"Okay."
"And tell her... to call tomorrow, okay?"
"Okay."
"And... um... people..."
"Hmm?"
"There are people..."
"It's okay, dear. Just close your eyes and think about her."
"Okay... I don't... um, I don't have to... did I tell you?"
"I know."
"Because... because he doesn't like it..."
"I know."
"And... and..."
"I know. Shhh. It's okay."
And it hits me, suddenly, what I am. I suppose it took me so long to realize because you are always going on like the strong one. The protector. You are always playing big brother.
With this sudden role-reversal, though, you were the child.
Leaving me to be the guardian.
"It's okay..."
I can hear your breathing in the background. I wait a few minutes while you fall asleep, and then I whisper.
"I'm hanging up the phone now, okay?"
Breathing.
"Okay. Goodnight."
A pause. Your breathing is slow and rhythmic, and I am at peace listening to it, making me somewhat reluctant to hang up the phone.
"I love you."
And then I kill it.