After the beep

I can usually say that I’ve left my sentimental days behind me—years behind me, in fact. But the “it’s me” in the voicemail you leave means more than it should to me because I’ve been trained to read into things that only seem to need to be read into, or at least taken out of context enough for me to separate word from meaning and make a textual scene from a mere informality.

How it doesn’t

Yesterday I had trouble getting in because the keypad on the door of my apartment building wasn’t working. It doesn’t work quite often, but this time it was doing something different. I thought to myself, that’s not how it doesn’t usually work.

I’m seeing a girl who tells me that she tries to make me smile because she loves my smile. She holds my hand when we walk down the sidewalk and understands without me having to say a word. And I think, this is not how it doesn’t usually work.