Four Letter Word

This was mine.

When I talked to her, what I talked to her about, who she was to me, it was mine.

So I lied, reaching the top of the stairs and yelling out a “yeah,” while tugging my phone out of my pocket.

I stepped inside my room, flicked the light on, closed the door behind me, toeing off my shoes while pulling up my recent contacts, then sitting on the edge of my bed and hitting Dial.

The call connected after three rings. I heard a soft rustling sound, then gentle, quiet breathing.

Nothing else.

“Hello?” I asked, glancing at the clock on the wall and wondering if I was calling too late for her.

It was already after eleven.

Fuck.

“Hey,” her soft voice filtered into the phone immediately after hearing mine, the tone vibrating through my ear and into some deep part of me, where it settled and warmed.

It sounded heavy with sleep.

“Shit, sorry. Did I wake you?”

“Yeah, a little.” Her response broke with a yawn. She sighed, then reassured me, “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to fall asleep but I did. Um, hold on, let me just …” I heard more movement, rustling, then a light tapping sound, before she came back with a breathless, “Okay. Back. I was still wearing my glasses.”

“You wear glasses?” I asked, settling back on a pillow, my legs swinging up on the bed and feet crossing at the ankles.

I bent my free arm and tucked it behind me, resting my head in my palm as I drew more of her in my mind.

“Only when I read,” she admitted. “Or sometimes at the movies my eyes will bother me. I always carry a pair with me for that reason. You never know when you’ll get a hankering for greasy movie popcorn.”

“You get hankerings like that often?”

“Oh, all the time,” she told me, a smile in her voice. “I’ve even gone to the theater once in a while without seeing a movie. Just bought the biggest popcorn they had and took it home, cued up something on Netflix, and camped out in front of my TV with a bucket the size of my head.”

“You live a dangerous life,” I joked.

She was silent for a breath, then she mumbled, “Oh, my God.”

“What?”

“You call me Wild!” she shrieked in a quiet way that still contained every beat of her excitement. “And I’ve been thinking how that name doesn’t fit me, like, at all, but it does! Ha! I am wild! I’ve cut the tags off my mattresses, cussed in church one time when I banged my knee on a pew and the pain was so intense, I thought I was going to throw up all over my pretty Easter dress. I didn’t. Just said, ‘Shit,’ really loud and got looks from everybody. My mom pitched a massive fit after the service, but she always pitches fits so that’s nothing new and not pertinent right now. I’m getting off track.”

I laughed, but kept it silent so I could listen to her continue.

I wanted to hear every word she wanted to give me.

“I wear white after Labor Day. Mostly sweaters that look really cute with boots. I rarely ever use crosswalks because I’m too lazy to walk to one, and I grab some of the loose grapes when I’m at the market and eat them while I shop.”

“Damn,” I mumbled, grinning.

“Told you,” she giggled. “Wild.”

She gave me a lot to focus on, but I settled for her last admission.

“You know those aren’t free, right?” I asked. “The grapes.”

“Um, well, actually, I’m pretty sure it’s a deal we have with the supermarkets that as long as we purchase something, we’re allowed to graze.”

“Pretty sure that’s a deal only you have with them, and it’s all in your head, babe.”

“Babe?”

“Mm.” I nodded. “Babe.”

“Why are you calling me babe?”

I inhaled through my nose quickly, priming to respond when she filled in our silence.

“I like it,” she added softly, nearly a whisper, as if she was afraid to admit her honesty out loud. “I like Wild, too. I understand Wild, but babe? That’s a sweet name, and …really, I was terrible to you.”

“Got another suggestion?”

“Besides Wild? Satan.”

This time I didn’t keep my laughter quiet.

“You aren’t Satan, babe. You got sweet in you. A lot of it. Heard it in your voice even when you were laying into me, showing me your wild.”

“What?” she snapped. “I was not sweet when I was laying into you. I was feisty and a total badass. My best friend told me so.”

“You were a badass,” I agreed, doing it smiling. “But you were sweet, too.”

“You can’t be a badass and sweet at the same time, Brian. That’s like being …I don’t know, a Steelers fan and a Ravens fan. It doesn’t happen.”

“You watch football?”

Her knowledge of two teams who fiercely rivaled each other intrigued me. I didn’t know a lot of women who followed sports. None of the ones in my family did.

“No, not really. My brother was a Steelers fan. My only knowledge of the sport came from him.”

“Was? He wise up and start backing the Panthers? The Steelers fucking suck.”

“No. He died.”

Regret came like a swift kick in the chest.

“Shit,” I muttered, sitting up. “I’m …fuck, I’m sorry, Syd. Jesus. Were you two close?”