People often say that texting ruined our communication as a species, and I agree. Through the miscommunication and the -thatâs not how I meant it- itâs often nothing more than idle chit chat, trying to not be forgotten by people you see less than you would like. I always wreck my brain over the most mundane texts. How to address people properly without sounding weird or how much more pressing my sentence becomes when I actually take the time to add a period on the end. Last weekend I received one of the most worry inducing texts any person in a serious relation can get: âI need to talk with you about something.â Notice the period on the end? With the amazing technology of the internet I was able to receive this text in the middle of the night, when I was minding my own business at home. These texts, they are intrusive, they force themselves into your world without regard to your current engagements. Obviously I started formulating the perfect question in return. I must have gone through hundreds of variations, but all of them wanted to ask: âAbout what?â These variations went through the whole spectrum of panic, going from âslightly worriedâ all the way to âboth of us are dying and you can only save one of us, make a choiceâ. Finally I settled for the casual âsounds serious, when?â hiding my inner sirens and flashing warning signs. âSoonâ she said. Soon is apparently four days in the mind of Meghan. Four very stressful days without answer to the panicked questions I never asked. Actually asking those questions would give away that I am not relaxed about this situation and that is not allowed. Why not? Society, I guess. In mere minutes I would get my answers, so no use thinking about things in the past. My knocks acknowledged by the slow turning of the lock from the inside of Meghanâs apartment. Her mouth pressed slightly upward as if trying to force a smile without putting the actual work in. In silence I step into the familiar hallway and follow her to the couch. I never paid much attention to were I sat down in her house, I figure she would take her favorite spot and I got free choice out of the sub-optimal seating. Today is different, as with the text I felt like my seat of choice would make or break this conversation. Next to her on the couch would mean I could easily hold her hand or shoulder when she needs support. The chair would make for a formal conversation, putting us right opposite each other. I could even be bold and grab a chair from the kitchen, giving me even more freedom. I take a seat next to her on the couch. This is the part I hate the most. She asks me how my week has been and I lie, I tell her itâs been fine. I tell a story from my work, there is that weak attempt at a smile again. I return the question to which she responds with âyeah fineâ. Silence. We both know why we are here, You even more so than me. âWe need to talkâ, she states as if it hasnât been the main thing on my mind for the past week, âIâve been thinkingâŠâ My whole world collapsed at that moment. I could have been prepared for a lot, but I could have never prepared myself for what she said after that. However, with the knowledge I have now I do not wish I prepared more, worried more. No I wish I didnât think about it at all, that I didnât try to convince myself that I was prepared. I could have never been prepared.
Prompt: âI need to talk with you about something.â















