Three new messages. Two days ago. I continue the conversation with my friend pretending as if I didn't notice. All he saw was me potentially checking the weather or perhaps time. I put the phone face down on the table. The conversation goes uninterrupted.
As the tapping sound from ABS plastic drums around the thin walls, I stop sketching. I glance at my phone once more. Not too obviously of course. No one is in the room right now, so I don't completely know why I'm hiding it. Minutes pass. More minutes pass. I'm still on the same problem. "It shouldn't be taking me this long," I tell myself.
The wind hits my back, my head, and spills into my jacket. The empty echo passes by as I look ahead at the strangers around me. I shiver. It's cold. The monotony of it all burns more than the cold air. The same meaningless routine repeating day after day until I realize I should change it. Jokes on them, however. I've realized that fact long ago. So, I pull out my frigid metal phone, creak apart my frozen fingers, and fatfinger my password enough times until it locks me out. "Probably for the best," I tell myself.
"Three days ago," displays the app on my phone. A bitter smile widens along my face. Is it perhaps pride? Or is it something else? Who knows except for myself. I put on the nice baggy jeans saved for special occasions along with the shirt and sweater that match it. Mixing the clay into my hair, I aim to achieve the organized messiness that so many kids of my generation imitate. I pull out my phone to triple check the address my friends sent my way. I notice the familiar three words once more. "But I'm just here to check the address," I tell myself.
I stroll into the woods. All that accompanies me are the tall trees' shadows and the rolling field's flowers. The quiet gurgling of water on slippery stone wanders from the stream. As I sit against the scratchy brown bark, a red and white fox prances in the distance. It stops to take a look at me. Then continues with its life. "I should probably check it," I tell myself.