Email.

“Did you get my email?” she asked.

“Which one?” he sighed.

“The one I last sent you… and I don’t appreciate your tone.”

He rolled his eyes, the same way he rolled them over every word, every scold, and every back-handed compliment she’d ever written.

“Yes, I got it.”

“Well, what did you think?”

“Think? I’m not allowed to think. You do all the thinking for me.”

“What does that mean?”

“Did you get my email?”

“What email? You never send me email.”

“It’s probably in your junk. You know—where my head always seems to be.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. I wasn't thinking when I said it.”

“You seem to never be thinking at all.”

“I know, it’s not allowed.”

“So, are you ever going to give me an answer?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why?”

“Did you read my email?”

“No, I didn't.”

“I’m still stuck in your junk.”

--Ella Draven, 11/13/2014