Page 126 of Drop Three

“Yes, who’s calling?” She’s still kind. I can hear it in her voice.

I guess, in my head, I always thought the accident would give her a reason to hate the world—hate me.

This is it. The moment I’ve imagined happening for the last four years.

I summon the courage to speak. “It’s Bodhi. Bodhi St. James.”

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Uh, hello? Gwendolyn?” I ask again more timidly this time.

Heavy breathing and shuffling echo from the other line, telling me she’s still there. “Oh, don’t mind me. I was checking the connection. You know, just making sure I’m not hallucinating, and Bodhi St. James is actually calling me.”

Well, strike me dead.

I chuckle. “It’s nice to see you’ve still got some spirit in you.”

Gwendolyn lets out an amused laugh. “You wouldn’t know, right?”

She’s upset, and she has every right to be. Her humor can’t hide it.

I exhale deeply. “Gwen, I’m sorry.”

Hearing her voice and the pain in her tone makes me regret not showing up for her sooner. I could have asked about her, and I could have done more while I was behind bars in terms of communication.

When I was incarcerated, I wrote her letters every day.

But I never received one in return. It makes sense.

I lost my chance.

A soft sniffle resounds from the other line, and I stay quiet, giving her room to speak when she’s ready.

“You…you were my best friend. And you forgot about me like I was nothing,” Gwendolyn cries out.

“I wrote you letters! Every single day.”

“I know you did. I know you did, Bodhi,” she whimpers.

“I hate hearing you upset, Gwendolyn. But I did try, and it was the only way I could at the time. I hope you understand that. Hearing your voice would have been too painful.”

“I understand that, Bodhi. I just wish over the two years you were in there you would have tried to call at least once. Is that so much to ask?”

The pain in my chest feels like seeing the paramedics rolling her away on a stretcher all over again.

I choke back a sound I never knew I could make, one that sounds a lot like overwhelming agony. I feel the splinters of suffering sever me from the inside out and all I can hope is that we end this call redeemed.

“Fuck, Gwendolyn. It’s not at all. I’ve hated myself for not calling every day since. I wanted to apologize; although late, you deserve it anyway. You deserved it sooner, and I’m sorry for that.”

“I’m not someone that holds a grudge. I won’t forget how you made me feel but I could never hate you for it.”

“You should. It will never not be my fault, no matter which way you look at it.”

Her sniffles settle before she speaks. “Don’t you get it, Bodhi? I forgave you the second the accident happened. What you seem to be forgetting is that I was drunk in that car with you. I’ve hated myself for you serving time while I continued on with my life.”

“I’d hardly call being taken by ambulance to the hospital ‘going on with your life.’ If it weren’t for my…”

I can barely say it.

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