“The buttons on this phone are so big they make me feel small,” he said into the microphone.
“One time I felt small.” She said from the other line.
“Yes. Like a bug.”
“What did it feel like?” He asked and twined the phone cord around his finger, glancing at the bedside clock.
“Well, it was like I was…well, you know…” she trailed off. He didn’t know. He suppressed a sigh and rolled his eyes freely.
“I don’t know.” He said.
“It was when…” But she let the words hang in the air like mist.
“Yes?” He said. She was silent. Was this actually a serious conversation?
“Bonnie, what are you telling me?” He heard a sniff form the other side of the line and he sat down on the bed. He looked out the window. The lavender in the garden passed back and forth through the blinds half-drawn against the evening light. He waited.
“I don’t know, how, um, to…” She spoke like water droplets running hesitantly down a wall, stopping and going in unexpected spurts.
“Well,” he said slowly, straining to be helpful now. “You began as a bug. What happened?” She sniffed into the phone again. He was getting frustrated now and had homework to do. He heard a sigh; a full breath poured out in a slow wave.
He was silent for a long time.
“I’m….I’m….” he said.
“Small.” She said. The lavender outside stopped swaying.