Page 3 of Nothing to Fear

“Most people, it’s not like—why would they care?”

“Why would who care?”

“Anyone. People say they’re friends. Colleagues, co-workers, neighbors, people are close until it doesn’t suit them anymore. At work, you see the same people every day, share discussions of weekend plans, family events, bitch about your partner or your kids, but if you change job, how many of those friendships carry through?”

“Not many.”

“Exactly. We might converse with our neighbors, even take on a common cause if it’s relevant to the building or street or whatever. But when you move, you don’t take those people with you, do you?”

“You take the experience with you.”

“True,” she said. “But you can’t trust those people to be with you, to be at your side when it really matters.”

“What about your family?”

“What about them?”

“Aren’t they there for you when it matters?”

“My mother, my sisters, they’re all about the drama. They live to spy on the neighbors and whisper in their circles. I wouldn’t trust them with any secret.” She sighed and her arm dropped, coiled in the phone wire. “That’s not fair, I… It’s not malicious, they just don’t—they’re not like me. Hence why I’m talking to you.”

“You selected the trauma line. Do you want to tell me about what you went through?”

Did she? “It seems stupid to call and then not talk about it.”

“This happens at your pace. Nothing is obligatory. If you want to just talk, we’ll just talk.”

“Are you close to your family?”

“Some more than others.”

“Do you trust them?”

“Some more than others,” he said. The whisper of his laugh prompted hers. “Who are you close to? A friend? Husband?”

“Oh, men, that’s a whole other kind of trauma.”

“You’re not married?”

“No. You?”

“You always do that? Bounce questions back.”

“Isn’t it the polite thing to do? Reciprocity.”

“Or it’s a defense mechanism, to prevent anyone from asking a follow up question.”

“There’s no reason you should care about my answers.”

“I care.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to help.”

“Why?”

“Because I can,” he said.