on hold

"Her eye is drooping.  And she looks very thin." He writes.  I can see the computer speak deep in a holding pattern he is writing more but it comes slowly.  "Did she not recover well from her illness?"...."Perhaps time off from the gymnastics would..." 

From half way across the country he is harassing me,  all be it lovingly, about a child he hasn't even really met- at least not as the child she is today.

I ignore all the little stabs that are aimed at me, the words between his lines 'what are you doing? whatever it is, it isn't enough'.  

"What do you want?" I ask typing too quickly so that some of the letters stick to the wrong words.  It isn't as rude as it seems not with this many years of friendship logged between us.

He is writing.  The computer keeps me on hold with little dots, the hold music of private messaging.  His words come.
"I.WANT.TO.KNOW.YOU.ARE.DOING.OKAY.AND.THE.ONLY.WAY.TO.KNOW.THAT.IS.TO.GET.TO.YOU.THROUGH.YOUR.CHILDREN.BECAUSE.YOU.ARE.TOO.OFTEN.SILENT.WHEN.YOU.SHOULD.SPEAK."


"I not being silent."

"You are.  Are you doing okay?"

"Her eye is dropping because her glasses are breaking and we are trying not to use them too much to make sure she has glasses for her meet this weekend.  She bounced right back from being sick and taking time off gymnastics is never going to happen.  We haven't even skied.  I'm just under a lot of pressure- this too shall pass."

"Misty..." There is along pause.  He is typing.  Then he is gone and nothing more appears on the screen.