oh my god, they were neighbors

family drama

After the group had finished their meal and Ezra had assured Mateo over and over that everything was okay and that he meant it everytime, he left the apartment and returned to his own. His place felt a bit lonely all of a sudden, all the larger without a small group crammed around a dinner table or chatting about life. Before Ezra left, Alana had proposed the idea of another dinner the following night to Mateo. Ezra promised Mateo he'd be there. Now, surrounded by nothing but cold walls and blank space, he found himself looking forward to it greatly.

But his night was not silent. No, it was incredibly, unbelievably loud.

It came from a text message.

Ezra was, in no unclear way, someone who didn't text much. He had very few contacts in his phone, only having recently included Mateo in his short list. The rare spam message he received was never worth any more attention than was required to block them. In short, Ezra was not a texter. He did not often receive texts.

But there was one right there, plastered on his lock screen, from an unlabelled contact. The message was short. Short, but unmistakably personal. This was not spam. This was conversation.

(913)-336-0023: Ezra, it's your cousin Nathan. Can we talk?

Nathan had been a forgotten page in Ezra's book, someone he hardly bothered to reminisce upon even when he was at peace with the past. The guy had never done any great harm to Ezra, always perfectly funny and charming whenever the two spent time together. But like anyone in Atchison, after the fallout of Christmas Break, he was left behind. An unremarkable speck of dust in a museum of memories, so insignificant it was hardly worth mentioning.

That begged the question: why now? Why him? Of everyone in Atchison to succeed in reaching him, why some random cousin he barely knew even when they did see each other? Nathan, before his aunt, before his grandma, before his mother or father. Fucking Nathan.

    He felt compelled to respond. It was too shocking to ignore.

    Ezra: We can talk.

    A moment of resounding silence before Ezra's phone dinged again.

    (913)-336-0023: Okay.

    (913)-336-0023: I'm sure you're confused right now.

    (913)-336-0023: Everyone here has been trying to reach you for a year.

    Ezra: How did you get this number?

    (913)-336-0023: Whitepages

    (913)-336-0023: So this is actually you?

    Ezra: Yeah. It's me

(913)-336-0023: Wow. I missed you. Everyone has. Your mom especially.

(913)-336-0023: You know she never cleaned out your room? There's still a poster for the Chiefs on the wall. Who was your favorite player again?

Ezra: I never really even liked football

Ezra: But I had a poster of Patrick Mahomes

    (913)-336-0023: That's right.

    Ezra: Why are you texting me?

    (913)-336-0023: Because you went missing for a year

    (913)-336-0023: I wanted to check in.

    Ezra: So what? So maybe I'll come back to shithole Atchison and sing Kumbaya with everyone again? Fat fucking chance.

    (913)-336-0023: Ezra.