Between the Distance

t h r e e:

The next morning I wake up to a buzzing sound ringing in my ears. But it isn't my alarm clock. It's Sunday morning and I don't have any alarms set for the day. No classes and no work today mean sleeping in. The fast food place where I work at, Timm's Burgers, is closed on Sundays. While he's losing potential customers and therefore money, I get to sleep in and therefore catch some extra and much needed Z's.

I realize the sound is coming from my phone. I groggily turn over, my curly hair falling all over my face and drape my arm across the remaining gap between where I'm lying down and where my bedside table is standing. Fishing around on the bedside table, I grab my phone. I feel a slight buzz under my fingers and it tingles. My arm sprouts up in hundreds of goosebumps while it's exposed to the contrasting cold air outside of my warm floral comforter.

Just ten more minutes, please. Ten more minutes before I'm bombarded with a bunch of problems. Ten...more...minutes...please.

I switch on my phone and see two text messages and a missed call from Simon.

Simon.

Damn it.

I unlock my phone and tap the notification bar to open up my missed messages. My eyes are scrunched up, barely letting in any light and trying to block out the peachy sun light that forces its way through the curtains and into my bedroom. The crisp light from my phone screen is blinding.

> You haven't called or texted me back in a few days and I'm worried about you. (Frowny face emoji).

Read.

> I have a gig at the coffee shop a few blocks down from the Java Bean. You're going to be there, right? It's at 2, ok!?! See u there?

Read.

I check the time stamp and see that they're dated some time yesterday before I had coffee with Sasha and Gemma.

How did I miss those messages and the phone call?

And there goes that sinking feeling. The worse part about everything is that I don't feel totally horrible about it. I mean I feel like I'm three seconds away from vomiting right now, (but maybe that's just my anxiety), but I don't feel that terrible for missing him perform. Not as a girlfriend at least, but as a friend, I hate myself for it. I feel god awful about it. But Simon and I are more than friends. We're supposed to be at least. The thing is, I'm not so sure about that anymore. I'm not sure that I want to be either.

The friend in me for Simon hates myself that I wasn't there. Sure it was only a small show for a couple people who probably wouldn't remember the band's name come evening, but I knew it meant everything to him, and I should've been there for him. Sitting at one of the coffee tables silently cheering him on as he strummed away at his guitar.

But I wasn't. I hardly am these days. And I know I should feel bad that I'm not, but I don't. Not entirely at least. But the things is I can't help but somehow feel it's not entirely my fault. I don't know how, but I don't feel like I'm the only one drifting away. I feel as if we're both holding on to each other so hard so that we won't let go, but at the same time we're pulling away in opposite directions.

I sigh. My hair rises under my warm breath and then falls flatly on my face. I decide that laying in my bed all day won't solve any of my problems, though it's so much easier to lie in bed and pretend they don't exist. Maybe if I lie here for a couple more hours all of my problems might just fade away.

They might.

So I do.

I lie down longer. Not for a couple more hours, but for a little while longer. I lay down for a few more minutes before I make the decision to get up. It isn't working. Laying down is only making everything worse because I know each minute that I'm lying here procrastinating, is just another minute delaying time I could be fixing my problems.