For then, that day really, she sat by her phone and thought of the rat, Whiskers, back home. The sedentary creature was likely napping, lying in a lap and basking in the fake warmth that came with revealing the formerly unspeakable. That was the kind of rat Whiskers was, full of little secrets told in smoky rooms, later sprinkled with hot, unattractive lies. Whiskers was the quick-witted, long tailed, fattened rat whose ears perked at your loneliness and whose teeth gnawed away your insecurities. Little do you know, that there’s so little we know. Damn moles.

There was a 7 hour time difference, from one coast to the other, each wave crashed heavily on either of the beaches, like a symphony of bass instruments, and though she said she’d call, she didn’t say when. And that was nearly nine years ago, maybe the phone number she had memorized had been changed. She took up the phone, pressed the digits softly and listened to the first hum and hung up again. It couldn’t reach him in one ring, she told herself. She imagined what he might be doing at the moment. It was about midnight, so maybe he was sitting on the couch, his bare feet at one end, his head against a pillow and his dark hair hanging in his eyes as he read a book. He was adamant about that and he’d spend an hour or two a night reading a novel. He may be finished, depending on the length, within a week for each book. She wished she could do it now, make the call, because her roommates weren’t home yet, and the privacy would be comfortable. They were probably out at a pub, a different city or province, maybe even country because they did that a lot, and she didn’t have the money to toss into the wastebasket. She quickly looked into the mirror hung to her right, took a compact out from her desk, and turned around, aiming it to take a look at the round mole on the back of her neck. Her dentist told her that she must keep an eye on it, though she whispered to herself that this dentist only cleaned one’s teeth and took care of her molars and must not know anything at all. She thought this because she must. Because the mole looked no different, no bigger or darker, and no thick hairs at all.

She contemplated growing her hair longer, but her love told her how lovely and soft the cut was and she missed him so badly that she put her fingers, both palms through her hair and pulled tightly until she felt it could rip out, as her love would never do, but she was angry that she couldn’t even pretend. She looked at her hair, now sticking in all directions, like Medusa, and she patted it down fearing her love could see her from the sky or through the mirror. She hadn’t heard from him for so long that she realized a few days ago, that if her love was dead, no one could tell her because she was thousands of miles away so she didn’t matter. She also knew, in her subconscious, that her love might’ve found another, but no please she secretly thought. I’ve told too many people about you and I’ve thought of you for so many hours of the last nine years.

She could hear a group climbing the stairs, their heavy steps and high-pitched voices clashed together as if approaching a beehive. She moved her head down, closed her makeup-less eyes and prayed it wasn’t them. How alone could she feel and it be true. Was it something she could look up in a book or was it merely psychological. Was being alone really about singularity or was it really about the lack of one thing. Perhaps it was a simple something or maybe it was the lack of all things. All she knew was it felt childish. She put the phone to her ear and dialed again, for the second time that day, and each ring made the windows pulse with the thunder. Then she heard his voice, raspy, like he was waking, and he finally said, “Yeah?”

She finally said, “Hi there.”

“Hi,” he sounded like he felt her voice was familiar, but she knew he couldn’t place it, “Sorry, I don’t have your number here, who’s this?”

She opened her mouth to say her name, but she paused and thought how she should say it first. Should she say it angrily? As if he should know it? Or should she say it in a sorrowful voice, dripping with regret for giving up on the idea of them. She said, “It’s Le— ” and as quick as the lightening in the window, she saw it from the corner of her eye. It was quick, but it had finally made its way to her. It was a dark gray color, young and spirited and waiting to become fatter with her secrets.

“I think we’re breaking up, what did you say?” He sat up. She could hear the crinkling from the bed as he moved the blankets to the end of the bed, “You still there?” He almost sounded desperate even though he was groggy. “You’ve got a weird number.”

She cupped her hand over the receiver so her voice could only be heard by him, “Is Whiskers still alive?”

“Whiskers? What’s that?”

“Whiskers! I see her here. She couldn’t have followed me. She just wanted to be with you.”

And she really couldn’t help it because she was scared of the mouse that could have been inching its way towards her, scared it was really Whiskers, so she had to hang up on him and try again another day. A tropical storm had been looming over the city since yesterday and puddles were multiplying. Some might as well throw coins in at random. One of their wishes would surely come true. A follow was there and would steal a cover from her, as if it was more charming. And all that mattered was nothing, except the mole.