the call

“Amanda?! Is this Amanda?”

I answered the phone to loud noises, of yelling and bad reception. “Yes, this is her.” It was Emily. My partner at All Bengal Women’s Union. The phone gets passed around: “Hello Amanda? This is Ripa! Amanda I love you!” I couldn’t respond.

Emily has been backpacking around India, and went back to Kolkata and saw the girls. She called me on her cell phone. I could not even have a conversation with them because my heart in my throat, blocking my voice to converse. I hung up the phone and fell against the door, hysterical. It was sticky. Bittersweet – exalted in hearing their familiar voices, miserable in my actual absence to their familiar life.

Right now, I almost hate myself for it.