My phone is ringing.
"Hello."
"Christopher. It's Erik."
"Has your plane landed?"
"I'm in the terminal, waiting to be shuttled off to my quarantine."
I don't know how to respond. "how was your flight?"
"It was alright. I'm feeling super tired right now. I even wonder if I've got it?"
"Have you been tested?"
"I was just tested here at the airport, and I should get the results tomorrow."
"Hang in there. Do you want to talk in a little while? I'm kind of busy right now."
"Where are you?"
"In a café in New West with Carl and Francois. We were just looking at a house, a big haunted Victorian mansion in Queen's Park that Carl wants to buy for us all."
"Serious?"
"Serious is rather a big word for a small problem. We should be home in about an hour, can I get you then on Skype?"
"Sounds good."
"Okay. Hang in there, kid."
Hang in there, kid. That is exactly what Dad used to say. I think I know now why my moods have been so wonky. I'm channeling the old man...
No comments:
Post a Comment