I’ll Never Delete Your Number
Amber Discko
78557

The bottom of my text string is the text I sent my lover a few days after he died in an alcohol soaked motorcycle ride in the August sunshine.

We had violently parted ways two weeks prior. The text string comprised of his angry ramblings on that night and then his threats of legal action because I texted him to see if he was OK. He spent the last two weeks of his life soaked in a cloak of depression and booze. Once he died I had no kind parting worlds sitting on the string to trace my finger across and remember that we happened.

I wanted to remember that there had been the fluttering of love and possibility once…before his father died…before vodka brought him more comfort than my arms.

I called the number three, four times a night in the days following…just to hear his tired voice that carried a twinge of a West Virginia accent. Three became two…and then none when the number was reassigned a good six months after. The voice mails remain…the ones encouraging me to bring over my boys to hang out and have a “normal” night. A new normal took its place.

I recall not wanting to upgrade my phone because I was worried the text string would disappear and I wasn’t ready to let it go. My phone’s screen broke and the cost to repair it would be more than the phone’s worth. I bought a new phone and softly sighed when the text string appeared at the bottom of my queue.

But in those first few days When my head wrapped around the truth; I did the only thing left to do before the number was reassigned or disconnected…I texted my goodbye.

“I know you are gone. I know that this will go off into some text vortex and never be seen.
I know your last words to me were from an angry lost man and they are forgiven.
You gave me your heart to keep safe. I never gave up on your heart. Right now a huge piece of my heart has broken off and I don’t know if I’ll ever have it back again. I have never known love like yours and don’t think I ever will again. The dancing in the bowling alley, the deer pelt, your arm around me in the middle of the night…are tiny treasures in my heart.
Thank you for crossing my world. Love, Cynthia”
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