Hanging On The Telephone

Wednesday 6th August
2.35am

'Lex? Lex, is that you?'
 
'Sam? What time is it?' 
 
'It's half 2. I'm just ringing to let you know that I have some important news and
it can't wait until the morning.'
 
I look at my bedside clock and rub my eyes sleepily, 'It already IS morning. What's
going on?'
 
It's not that I'm used to being woken by a phone call at this hour, but I'm still
convinced I'm dreaming.
 
'Lex, you have to listen to me. I've been offered a place on the art degree I
applied for in March, I'm in!'
 
'That's amazing, I'm so pleased for you. But, um, you're telling me this early in
the morning beause...?'
 
'Oh, um, well, because I wanted you to know and, er, to tell you that it's in, um,
London.'
 
'LONDON!' I'm wide awake now. This can't be happening. Suddenly, the events of the
last 18 months run in fast forward through my head. The tearful farewells to The Boy
at the station, the blazing rows over the telephone when I thought he was cheating
on me, the terrible, messy break up. The weird relationship we've had since and that
last weird goodbye we said to each other after our lunch last week. London did that
to us. The distance did that to us. This can't be happening again.
 
'Lex? You there?'
 
'I am.'
 
'Well?'
 
'I need to sleep on it.'
 
Without waiting for a reply, I hang up.