(The following was a passage written for the novel that I am currently working on. Unfortunately, I could not find a place for it and it has been cut... always to remain a rough draft.)


Your voice pulls and tears at me. It hurts. The sound of it gives way to an ache like throbbing that echoes through electronic receivers and I know, I know, that this voice does not belong to me, nor I to it. I have no right to this voice. It belongs in its time zone and I, in mine. You, Christian, belong to the time that you are in. Always in front of me, forever ahead. Alluding me because somehow you have lived that much more than I have. You know what the day will bring before I have risen to greet it. I am a weight that will drag you down. I will force you to live hours behind yourself. I'm no good for that voice. I am no good for you.

"Audrey."
The voice vibrated and clicked. A statement quickly shifted to a question.
"Audrey? Are you okay?"
"I'm okay."
The words fell out stiff, pushed forth with a strong tongue.
"Are we okay?"
"I don't know."
"What?"
"I don't know. Yes, I guess. I suppose."
"I'm sorry. The phone is cutting out. I couldn't hear you. What did you say?"
"Yes--"
"What?"
"I said yes."
"What? Hello? Hello? Audrey, are you there?"
"I said yes."

There was silence, dull long silence that stretched to touch the automated recording.

"If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and..."

Hang up.

"I said we are okay."

I allowed my lips to touch the mouth of the phone before I pressed end.

This was not a boy with swooping chestnut hair, a round face and glasses. This was molded shiny black plastic and impossible micro technology. These were not aqua gray eyes-- this was a smooth digital screen.

This was not love; it was information. Data shared through satellites.