immediately.
----------------------------------
Hello Roms,
Well that’s a tough one regarding your blog. Usually the stories are right next to you, but it requires a good hard look.
If you’d like a bit of help, send me your number and perhaps we can brainstorm a little.
Kind regards,
J
----------------------------------
Had I just dreamed that response?
No, it was real. But life was never this good to me, unless it wanted something in return.
***
After a week of grappling with time zones, my train schedule and the inconvenient presence of my sister, I was ready for the call.
My sister was on her way out to dinner, and when I finally heard her go down the stairs (and away from the paper-thin wall that kept our bedrooms apart), I assumed the dialing position. Maybe I was being overly cautious, but as much as my sister and I hid our partying behaviour from our parents, we were mutually untrusting in matters of the heart. As far as I knew, she’d never had a boyfriend and neither had I. And we kept it that way. Maybe we both knew the existence of a boyfriend was the very best blackmail should it ever be required. So why take the risk?
Without telling James a thing about my spying sister, I asked for his number and told him I would make the call instead. Hopefully he wouldn’t find that weird.
The phone card kept slipping in my hand, so slimy it was from being crushed by my sweaty palm. Was I really this nervous? With more than enough experience in long-distance phone chats, I should’ve dialed his number with confidence. But with each added digit my saliva production dropped.
So dry.
When I finally put the phone to my ear, the stomach churns began.
Holy crap, he’s going to hear my voice.
“RING.”
Holy crap, I’m going to hear HIS voice.
“RING.”
What if he sounds like Mike Tyson?
“CLICK.”
Chapter Ten
Minutes must’ve passed as I sat there on the floor, leaning against the bed with my heart pounding fast. But really it was only a second and then I heard his voice.
“James Caldwell.”
I tried to gasp but my lungs were stripped of air. Meanwhile my stomach dropped to the floor, falling through the basement, even further through the dirt, and finally landing with a thud on the earth’s core.
It was his accent. A deep-voiced, perfectly enunciated English accent.
Like Jude Law live on the air.
Say something, say ANYTHING!
“Hi…it’s me. Romi. From Canada.”
Yeah, real smooth.
“Hello Roms. How are you?” His voice was making me melt. The conversation hadn’t even begun and I was already in dire need of a towel.
But wait a second…Roms? Like “moms”? It’s “Romes” dumbass! It was a first offense so I let it slide.
“Fine thanks,” I said. “You took a while to answer. I thought you might’ve fallen asleep.”
No he didn’t take a long time, it was only two rings; WHAT AM I DOING?!
“Yes well, it is past midnight here. But then again it’s Barcelona. I rarely get to bed very early.”
Oh right, your sexy and exciting life. Feeling annoyed seemed to instantly calm my nerves.
“Well your voice is a surprise,” I said. “I assumed you’d be American.”
“No ‘fraid not. All English all the way.”
I was drooling by now. “English!” I mumbled it strangely, which may have made it sound like a question.
“Yes English,” he repeated. “As in the Queen and Buckingham Palace, red buses and black taxis, fish and chips and David Beckham... although I am not quite sure why I just put those two together.”
“But you live in Spain?” I had to buy some time to compose myself. Just keep him talking.
“Well I grew up in Wiltshire, which is South West England…by the way your voice is somewhat amusing.”
I winced and shook my head. “Oh god, do I sound like a pre-pubescent boy? I have this insane fear of sounding like a boy in recordings and over the phone…not that I’m in the habit of being in recordings but…you know what I
----------------------------------
Hello Roms,
Well that’s a tough one regarding your blog. Usually the stories are right next to you, but it requires a good hard look.
If you’d like a bit of help, send me your number and perhaps we can brainstorm a little.
Kind regards,
J
----------------------------------
Had I just dreamed that response?
No, it was real. But life was never this good to me, unless it wanted something in return.
***
After a week of grappling with time zones, my train schedule and the inconvenient presence of my sister, I was ready for the call.
My sister was on her way out to dinner, and when I finally heard her go down the stairs (and away from the paper-thin wall that kept our bedrooms apart), I assumed the dialing position. Maybe I was being overly cautious, but as much as my sister and I hid our partying behaviour from our parents, we were mutually untrusting in matters of the heart. As far as I knew, she’d never had a boyfriend and neither had I. And we kept it that way. Maybe we both knew the existence of a boyfriend was the very best blackmail should it ever be required. So why take the risk?
Without telling James a thing about my spying sister, I asked for his number and told him I would make the call instead. Hopefully he wouldn’t find that weird.
The phone card kept slipping in my hand, so slimy it was from being crushed by my sweaty palm. Was I really this nervous? With more than enough experience in long-distance phone chats, I should’ve dialed his number with confidence. But with each added digit my saliva production dropped.
So dry.
When I finally put the phone to my ear, the stomach churns began.
Holy crap, he’s going to hear my voice.
“RING.”
Holy crap, I’m going to hear HIS voice.
“RING.”
What if he sounds like Mike Tyson?
“CLICK.”
Chapter Ten
Minutes must’ve passed as I sat there on the floor, leaning against the bed with my heart pounding fast. But really it was only a second and then I heard his voice.
“James Caldwell.”
I tried to gasp but my lungs were stripped of air. Meanwhile my stomach dropped to the floor, falling through the basement, even further through the dirt, and finally landing with a thud on the earth’s core.
It was his accent. A deep-voiced, perfectly enunciated English accent.
Like Jude Law live on the air.
Say something, say ANYTHING!
“Hi…it’s me. Romi. From Canada.”
Yeah, real smooth.
“Hello Roms. How are you?” His voice was making me melt. The conversation hadn’t even begun and I was already in dire need of a towel.
But wait a second…Roms? Like “moms”? It’s “Romes” dumbass! It was a first offense so I let it slide.
“Fine thanks,” I said. “You took a while to answer. I thought you might’ve fallen asleep.”
No he didn’t take a long time, it was only two rings; WHAT AM I DOING?!
“Yes well, it is past midnight here. But then again it’s Barcelona. I rarely get to bed very early.”
Oh right, your sexy and exciting life. Feeling annoyed seemed to instantly calm my nerves.
“Well your voice is a surprise,” I said. “I assumed you’d be American.”
“No ‘fraid not. All English all the way.”
I was drooling by now. “English!” I mumbled it strangely, which may have made it sound like a question.
“Yes English,” he repeated. “As in the Queen and Buckingham Palace, red buses and black taxis, fish and chips and David Beckham... although I am not quite sure why I just put those two together.”
“But you live in Spain?” I had to buy some time to compose myself. Just keep him talking.
“Well I grew up in Wiltshire, which is South West England…by the way your voice is somewhat amusing.”
I winced and shook my head. “Oh god, do I sound like a pre-pubescent boy? I have this insane fear of sounding like a boy in recordings and over the phone…not that I’m in the habit of being in recordings but…you know what I
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