"Mae?"
"Nobody really calls me that way, you know."
I laughed quietly.
"What?"
"You saved my number."
"And I know, I'm not an ordinary guy, I mean, I'm called Faust anyway."
The speaker shuffled and muffled sounds were heard from the other end of the line.
Silence.
She hesitated. "Why are you calling,
Faust?"
I kicked several loose pebbles on the street. The dim lightbulbs scarcely
beat the darkness that fell upon the
neighbourhood.
"Because I still owe you something,
sweetheart."
The clincking of keys against marble
and
the boiling of water travelled to
my ears as a side smile
creeped upon my face.
Already drinking tea.
"And you sure need to call me at 8pm
to let me know?"
Sipping.
"Haven't you heard of the phrase
'Never leave for tomorrow what you
can do today'? This is new, I thought you read more than me."
I could almost hear her
rolling her eyes.
The cup hit the counter,
she really needed to kill the
silence
in that room.
"Fine, you have my attention."
"Okay.
First, you need to look at the moon."
She chuckled. "I better not ask
why. Faust suits you."
"Hey. Careful with your words, sweetie.
You there already?"
"Yeah."
"Fine. Now stay there and count as much stars as you can."
"Okay this is ridiculous."
I laughed at her bewildered tone.
"I know. I just needed to find your face
in any of these flats."
Her face shifted downwards, to the
desolated street in which I was
standing with one hand in my
pocket, and the other holding
the phone tightly against my ear.
I scanned her expression in the second
floor of the white-bricked-and-soft,
turquoise-window-frames building
to my right.
"You're ridiculous."
I caught her lips moving in sync with
her static voice on my ear.
"I am.
I'm also freezing to
death because someone stole my
sweatshirt."
She bit her lip. "How did you know I
lived here?"
"I followed you."
"You're not suppossed to do that."
"You're not suppossed to leave things
unfinished now,
aren't you, Chiara?" I said running a finger along my bottom lip while smirking.
"Whatever," she breathed, "Hold on there."
YOU ARE READING
I named her Africa #Wattys2015
PoesíaI didn't mind if my fingertips were rusted with coffee grounds, or if my palm still hosted bread crumbs, I reached out my hand across the table, and you squeezed it but proved me wrong. My mind was spiraling, my heart, unstable. ____________________...
