So it’s just been a day since I’ve stepped off that plane from lively, exciting New York back to old, boring Neptune. If I could, I’d have tied myself to a tree to stop myself from leaving. Or… I wouldn’t have done that. As much as I hate Neptune and the way it is an embodiment of everything awful that has happened to me… You know, I don’t even know. Sane Veronica, why do I keep coming back?
Guess I’m really insane, huh.
To say that I enjoyed New York was an understatement. Things to do, places to be. Sure, Dad arrived three days late, and I was getting tired of exploring the big unknowns by myself and doing the one-hand self-portrait, but the other four days were well worth it. And of course I could pretend to be mysterious and say something about what happens in New York stays in New York, but there were no torrid love affairs with bell boys. Or chefs. Or whoever, in any case.
The point is…
There really isn’t a point.
It’s been a day since I’ve been back here in Neptune and still no call from the boy. Of course I should’ve expected this. We were supposed to “talk” on the way to the airport, but it was all witty banter and laughs all the way that could have served even less of a purpose than silence could have. When in doubt, snark. That seems to be something that works between us. It’s ‘our thing’.
I wish I could kid myself with that.
(I don’t think I would ever talk about what happened that night on the roof.)
Fishing the Sidekick from my bag, I toyed with the idea of calling him. Too formal, too eager if I initiated it. Notion? Erased. Instead, as my mind whirled with a thought, I started punching in the letters quickly with my thumbs, forming little sentences on the screen. Congratulations, you’ve won yourself a phone call with a Ms. V Mars. Please press call to confirm the message!