I want to have a normal life. Sometimes I think I’ve convinced myself that I am normal. And then sometimes there are moments that I realize my life will never be normal – like this recent conversation with my boyfriend:
There was a short pause, as if there were a lot of girls that called him in the middle of the night. Maybe he was just asleep. Considering the hour, it was probably the later. “How ya doing, Professor?”
“Eh, you know. Same old.”
“Haven’t heard from you in a few days, got worried that maybe you were tied up in a basement somewhere.” It was my turn to pause. “You weren’t, were you?”
“Not exactly. It was a warehouse, not a basement. And I wasn’t the one tied up. It was a friend. He’s okay now, in case you’re wondering.”
“Uh huh. But you’re okay?”
“Yup.” Or at least I would be. Broken noses heal. Bruises fade. No permanant damage.
“Uh huh,” he repeated. He wasn’t buying it. “Good night.”
Maybe next time I feel the need to check in with him at three a.m. after dropping off the map for a few days, I should just send a text. Or an email.