“Sweet Water” by Ashley Murray
--page 4

         Hello?
         I hold my breath on the other end of the line, wonder why it is I feel the need to call.
         Hi, Ray.
         A slight pause.
         Where the hell you been? he says.
         I press the receiver into my ear. Wind the cord around my thumb.
         It’s been three days, he says.
         I nod my head because I am too exhausted to speak.
        Hey, did you hear what I said? Where are you?
         I grip the phone harder.
         Ray, did you know mesquite trees grow backwards? Under the ground?
         What? What in Christ’s name are you talking about?
         They grow down. Fifty feet, sometimes more even. Did you know that?
         No. No, I didn’t know that. And you know what else...
         My body clenches and a wave of nausea runs over me.
         ... really don’t give a shit.
         And then the only noise is static and his jagged breathing, the sound of him nervously tapping something on the counter.
         When are you coming back? he says.
         His voice is suddenly high-pitched and panicky.
         I chew the inside of my lip and finger the edges of the key pad. Try to move my tongue so I can swallow.
         Are you fucking someone else?
         No, I say.
         No?
         No.
         Then what? What is it?
         For a moment he sounds like the boy I fell in love with and I take a deep breath, knowing I should never have called.
         Come home baby, he says.
         It always comes back to this. More than anything I want to sit down with him in a field, brush my hand across his face. Have it be like it was before.
         I don’t know, Ray.
         Through the crackle of the phone it sounds like his fist is pounding a table.
         I don’t know, Ray. What do you mean, you don’t know? What the fuck are you thinking? Have you lost your fucking mind?
         Right, I say, more to myself than to him. Right.
         I listen to the fading echo of Ray’s voice as I gently hang up the pay phone, transfixed by my distorted image in the silver around the coin slot. For a couple of minutes I watch it. Move my head slowly in both directions to see how I change.
         A woman sitting on a nearby bench eyes me strangely, until I eventually force myself out of the phone booth and into the real estate office I have been standing outside of for the good portion of the previous hour.

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