I Wished It

I've had a rough few days that left me feeling scattered and fractured. I felt unwhole coming home to a messy house, remembering The Man is half a world away, and The Boy couldn't wait to get over to his friend's for a sleepover, which I drove him to because it was 10:00 p.m.

Coming home for the second time tonight, I remember hearing earlier about a freak landslide today in al-Dhafir, 20 km south west of Sana'a. But The Man should be far away from Sana'a by now. He's taken a few days out to visit a bit of ahem, rural Yemen. No, he should be out of landslide's way and into the heart of kidnap country instead. I wished I could talk to The Man, just to hear his voice, know he is alright, tell him how I was feeling.

No sooner did I walk into the house when the phone rang. It was The Man! Why was he phoning? It's 6:00 a.m. there. He was calling from Mukulla, the first stop of his trip. He got up early to catch a ride to the next destination, Shabim. While he was up and waiting, he thought he'd phone.

He's okay. He sounded happy. We talked. No, I ranted and vented and told him every minutiae of my last few days. I used up all the time he had on his phone card, which he just loaded to the max available. And I feel better now.