I guess it's about time you had some explanation for Friday's phone call. Now I'm in light enough a mood to tell it.

I called him Friday, after (stupidly) reading his last letter to me, claiming how much he loved me and how he always would and stuff. So I had that and the fact that he hadn't called for a WEEK after he had said he would working together in my mind--the perfect formula for an emotional mess.

Which is precisely what I was when I called him. I didn't even make sense to myself, much less to him, I'm sure. All my emotions poured out in a very confusing jumble of messages. I don't remember what all I said, but I remember asking, "Why haven't you called?" and then interrupting myself, saying, "Well, I guess I know you're busy with the play and homework and everything--but then--oh, I shouldn't even have called to bother you--but..." I stopped rambling, knowing it was going nowhere, and just asked and left it: "Why haven't you called?" And then I felt awful for asking, because I had a feeling I knew the answer already.

Somewhere in the conversation he did say exactly what I didn't want to hear. "Well... We're... growing apart."

Oh, boy. That hurt.

I could just leave it right there and you'd know the source of all my depressing, pain-filled entries this weekend, but there was something else, too.

Nate used to tell me all these dreams that he had of me and him getting engaged and stuff, and he told me about dreams he'd had (he had a lot of these!) where I was mad at him, and he was upset because I wouldn't talk to him, no matter how hard he tried to talk to me. I had always told him when he relayed these dreams to me, "I would never do that!" and other sympathetic, comforting little sayings.

Well, Friday morning I woke up from a dream of my own in which he wouldn't talk to me for some reason. It wouldn't have been that big of a deal, but after reading that letter and reflecting over how long it'd been since he called, it carried more weight than it might have, and I did worry. That's part of why I was called him that night, too.

I didn't really plan to tell him, but somehow with my emotion-clouded mind, the dream fumbled its way out of my mouth. I was still upset and more than anything wanted to hear some sort of confirmation that he still cared about me--maybe he'd say some comforting things like I always used to say to him...

He scoffed.

No, he didn't just say kindly, "It was just a dream. Don't worry about it." He scoffed--he made that noise that I think that word comes from--and said, "It was just a dream!" as if he couldn't believe I'd be pulled in by something so flimsy.

That hurt, too. Maybe more than the first thing. Or maybe they just both combined to make one big, giant hurt.

And that's why I've been so depressed all weekend.

The worst of it (to tie up loose ends...sort of...as much as is possible...) is that I couldn't talk long because I had the sleepover to run to, and so we had to hurry off the phone and nothing got resolved. The last few things we said were (me), "I have to go. But can I talk to you tomorrow?"

"I'm not going to be home at all tomorrow."

Ouch. "Okay. Okay... Then..." Should we even talk again? I wondered uncertainly. Was I sure about anything anymore? "I don't know, maybe Sunday?"

"Um... I think I can call you Sunday."

"Sunday? Are you sure...?" I know he's really busy... Does he even want to talk to me... Would that really work out?

"I'll call you Sunday. Okay?"

Would he really? Hesitation. Just agree. "...Okay. Okay."

"Okay. So, I'll talk to you soon then."

Soon. That was all he could promise. Oh well. "Yeah. Bye."

"Bye."

Click.

Oh, where had all the sweet "good nights" gone? What happened to us? When did he pull away? I just had to forget about all this for a while...

Those were the thoughts I was left with as I hung up. Fortunately I had the sleepover to keep my mind off him at least a little. I would've spent a night of misery if I hadn't, all alone in my room. (Sara moved out that night, and Rebekah hadn't yet moved in.)

As I said in yesterday's entry, Nate never called Sunday. I'm not surprised.

I wish I could not call him for a month. But I know I can't hold out that long. I'll have to call him in about a week or so. Maybe two. But I'm definitely not calling sooner than that. He needs to get a taste of his own medicine. If he even tastes it.

Tell me, anyone who has experience, do boys ever pick up on it if you are giving them "the silent treatment"? From what I've heard, I don't think they do. But I'll hope he picks up on it all the same; he isn't quite like all other guys.

{sad smile} I'm pathetic, aren't I?

-Stephanie

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