She spent those weeks, the few weeks after, on the phone. Or not on the phone, but rather, curled up under her blankets pressing the black plastic handset to her ear. She would dial her own number over and over, disappointed each time that there was no one to answer but herself. She was still alone, just her and the busy signal.

She began to call wrong numbers. Sometimes no one would pick up, but every now and again she would have that rare moment of hearing another human voice, saying, “hello? Is anyone there?”

She could never answer that question. The thing was, she wasn’t sure.

She made these calls to feel that she was not alone. To know that there was someone else out there. To be sure that if she wanted to, she could speak.

And someone would listen.

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