Read Online In the Stillness by Andrea Randall - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Andrea Randall
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soon as I hang up, the phone rings again. It’s Eric.
“Hey, what’s up?” I ask as I drive past Atkin’s Market, winding my way down 116.
He sounds energized. “Hi Babe, just wanted to know if you wanted to swing over for lunch today with the boys? We can eat down by the pond or something?”
“You’re in a good mood.”
“Well, we got a lot accomplished today. I feel like I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.”
Must be nice.
“I’m actually driving over to see Tosh at her office. The boys are sound asleep in the back so it’s a-driving I go.” I try not to sound too sarcastic, but this is what my afternoons have become. I don’t like it.
“Okay,” he huffs, “well I’ll be home early tonight. We’ll grill for dinner, and when the boys go to bed, you and I can have some quality time together. It’s been a tough few months for both of us.”
Mmmhmm.
“Sounds good. See ya later. Love you.” I remember to say love you in the nick of time. He gets all bent out of shape if we hang up without saying it.
“I love you.”
Sometimes I wish I could chuck my cell phone out the window so Eric can’t interrupt my thoughts any time he pleases. Not that he calls me all that much—he actually doesn’t call that often—but when he does, it grates on my nerves. He’s in my face plenty, why can’t we just leave well enough alone when we’re apart?
* * *
I didn’t have to beg my parents for a cell phone on Christmas of 2001; they thought it was suddenly a necessary item. Apparently, they’d want to know immediately if I was in the middle of some terrorist activity. The cell phone was the answer to all of their problems.
Just after Christmas, I gave Ryker’s dad, Bill, my new cell number, so he could give it to Ryker when he called. His unit was deployed just before Christmas, and winter break felt like purgatory, waiting for his call with nothing to distract me.
Finally, the first week in January, the phone rang with an “unavailable number.” I tried not to get my hopes up that it was him.
My voice was shakier than I would have liked. “Hello?”
“Damn, it’s good to hear your voice,” Ryker purred into the phone. I could hear his smile.
I threw my hand over my mouth to silence the tears. “Hey you,” I squeaked out.
Hearing his voice made it real. All at once. Ryker Manning—my boyfriend, Amherst College political science major, and Bill and Julia’s son—was at war.
“Heeey,” he stretched out like a parent comforting an infant, “don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry,” I quickly composed myself, “how’s . . . everything?” I felt like such an idiot. How’s everything?
“It’s weird, kind of hard to explain. Tense, boring, you know.”
“Yeah,” I chuckled, “I know. It’s boring and tense without you around.”
“How’d you finish out the semester?” He sounded nervous.
“Do you really want to talk about school, Ryker?”
He laughed. “Not really. I’d rather talk about how much I love you.”
Suddenly I was suspended in air. We’d said I love you to each other a few times before he left. He just reaffirmed that he felt the same way. I started to cry again, but worked really hard to keep it out of my voice.
“I love you, too.” I turned my back as my mom walked into the kitchen. She poured orange juice and pretended to take a sip. She hates orange juice; she was eavesdropping.
“I got your letter. I keep it in my pocket all the time.”
The day I got home from saying goodbye to him, I wrote him a letter telling him every good thing about him I was feeling that moment, and promised it would never change. I said it would probably only increase as he was gone, but that I wanted him as soon as possible. The me of today would tell the me of then to just put the pen down, or write a simple “I love you.” There were loads of promises in that letter . . .
“Will you write me more?” he asked. “I can’t explain
“Hey, what’s up?” I ask as I drive past Atkin’s Market, winding my way down 116.
He sounds energized. “Hi Babe, just wanted to know if you wanted to swing over for lunch today with the boys? We can eat down by the pond or something?”
“You’re in a good mood.”
“Well, we got a lot accomplished today. I feel like I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel.”
Must be nice.
“I’m actually driving over to see Tosh at her office. The boys are sound asleep in the back so it’s a-driving I go.” I try not to sound too sarcastic, but this is what my afternoons have become. I don’t like it.
“Okay,” he huffs, “well I’ll be home early tonight. We’ll grill for dinner, and when the boys go to bed, you and I can have some quality time together. It’s been a tough few months for both of us.”
Mmmhmm.
“Sounds good. See ya later. Love you.” I remember to say love you in the nick of time. He gets all bent out of shape if we hang up without saying it.
“I love you.”
Sometimes I wish I could chuck my cell phone out the window so Eric can’t interrupt my thoughts any time he pleases. Not that he calls me all that much—he actually doesn’t call that often—but when he does, it grates on my nerves. He’s in my face plenty, why can’t we just leave well enough alone when we’re apart?
* * *
I didn’t have to beg my parents for a cell phone on Christmas of 2001; they thought it was suddenly a necessary item. Apparently, they’d want to know immediately if I was in the middle of some terrorist activity. The cell phone was the answer to all of their problems.
Just after Christmas, I gave Ryker’s dad, Bill, my new cell number, so he could give it to Ryker when he called. His unit was deployed just before Christmas, and winter break felt like purgatory, waiting for his call with nothing to distract me.
Finally, the first week in January, the phone rang with an “unavailable number.” I tried not to get my hopes up that it was him.
My voice was shakier than I would have liked. “Hello?”
“Damn, it’s good to hear your voice,” Ryker purred into the phone. I could hear his smile.
I threw my hand over my mouth to silence the tears. “Hey you,” I squeaked out.
Hearing his voice made it real. All at once. Ryker Manning—my boyfriend, Amherst College political science major, and Bill and Julia’s son—was at war.
“Heeey,” he stretched out like a parent comforting an infant, “don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry,” I quickly composed myself, “how’s . . . everything?” I felt like such an idiot. How’s everything?
“It’s weird, kind of hard to explain. Tense, boring, you know.”
“Yeah,” I chuckled, “I know. It’s boring and tense without you around.”
“How’d you finish out the semester?” He sounded nervous.
“Do you really want to talk about school, Ryker?”
He laughed. “Not really. I’d rather talk about how much I love you.”
Suddenly I was suspended in air. We’d said I love you to each other a few times before he left. He just reaffirmed that he felt the same way. I started to cry again, but worked really hard to keep it out of my voice.
“I love you, too.” I turned my back as my mom walked into the kitchen. She poured orange juice and pretended to take a sip. She hates orange juice; she was eavesdropping.
“I got your letter. I keep it in my pocket all the time.”
The day I got home from saying goodbye to him, I wrote him a letter telling him every good thing about him I was feeling that moment, and promised it would never change. I said it would probably only increase as he was gone, but that I wanted him as soon as possible. The me of today would tell the me of then to just put the pen down, or write a simple “I love you.” There were loads of promises in that letter . . .
“Will you write me more?” he asked. “I can’t explain
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