2.
My finger froze over the end call button.
Cars roared past on the busy street.
My throat was tight, and I stood there, glued
to the spot.
After a long, silent moment, I whispered, “It
doesn’t matter anymore.”
He practically laughed, a bitter sound.
“Doesn’t matter?
Yeah, figures.
< Yean, nigures. Someone like you, what matters besides yourself?” A sudden pang of hurt shot through me. I lost focus. A car horn blasted, sharp and loud. Snapping back to reality, I realized I was standing in the middle of the crosswalk. The walk signal had long turned red. A car screeched to a halt beside me. The driver rolled down his window and yelled something at me, his face red with fury. L I didn’t hear what he said. Maybe it was the fading light, or something else entirely. My eyes burned, my vision blurred. When the world righted itself, I made it to the other side of the street. The call had ended. The familiar, long–gone voice was gone. Like it had all been a figment of my imagination.