This has prompted several strange phenomena:
- A renewed sense of self-created loneliness upon realizing how few people call me and how few calls I can force myself to make
- A yearning for a real camera (which I cannot afford, nor would I have any idea on how to use one at this point)
- A game with Papa Biv
The game started the day after I got the phone, when I was excited and sent a photo of government center, asking my father to figure out where I was.
My father called me, sounding peeved, asking what the hell I sent him and why and he didn’t understand it. I gave a lame, giddy schpiel about how pretty
He seemed unamused, but then again, he guessed wrong.
A week or so later, I sent this inscrutable gem.
No reply, until I called my mom a few days later and she asked about “that nice photo.”
Then today I had a date that ended… weirdly. I was left in downtown
The paved, bricked, molded world was quiet. My legs ached. I was alone. The benches, I kept thinking, are so uncomfortable, but wide enough for the homeless to sleep on. I became a speck in an artless Speck that was trying to be a SPECK. I was disappearing.
My father’s voice is jubilant on my voicemail.
“Well my guess is – the picture you sent, is again, it’s from gov’t center, and it’s on the North Station side looking towards—umm the Oyster House .. and the Haymarket area, on the lefthand side of the square, um, where the ugliest iron sculpture ever created is. That’s my guess. Let me know if I’m right. Love you darlin’. Byeee.”
He’s right. But why did I send that picture?