Strange how over the years I am the one who reaches out to let folks know that I am okay.
Whenever I drove home or took a long journey somewhere, people who knew me at the time would get angry if I didn't check in when I arrived home. Yet, there was no thought to my worry when I would see them off on a long trip--if I asked them to call me when they got home it slipped their minds every time.
Last night FG, in a moment of stress, got drunk and hit a sign coming off the interstate. I didn't know that he had done this until he called me, examining his car in a stupor. I told him that I was getting dressed and taking a cab down there to drive him home (he lives in the Mission; real safe for a woman at 10 pm at night), and he said, "No, I'll be fine once I get on the streets."
"Call me when you get home."
I never heard from him.
The next time I do hear from him there will be no explanation or some rotten excuse, as if I never deserved the call.
And I deserve the call and so much more.
Dances With Wolves was right. Someone back home does wonder, "Why don't he write?"