Expectations

Tim Walker

The call you've been waiting for comes,
long past sunrise, when crickets have gone

and you struggle out of bed, uncertain
of what you will say
(after all, it's been eight years)

but still you pick up the phone, say Hello?
and that familiar voice becomes reacquainted

You start off with vague pleasantries, trying
to abridge and condense years
of missed milestones and news

but then, somehow (isn't it always so?)
the conversation trundles and turns

and words, phrases, long sentences
are hastily composed from brain to mouth,
that you never meant to say:

how you hate when people fade
in-and-out of your life,

how disappointed you are in friends
(were they ever?)
how you just don't care anymore

somehow, your voice has become bitter,
more bitter than you intended for a morning

and what you never wanted to say out loud
to yourself
gets said anyway, across 2400 miles

There is sympathy, of course, but again
the conversation eases and drops

and those topics you had hoped to avoid
becomes tattooed through the conversation:
church, faith, fellowship, religion, bible, God:

words that once gave you sanctuary and took years to
siphon from that God-shaped hole in your heart

You confess: "I'm no longer the same
person, the same 12-year-old that you met"
but the warning slips through the silent edges

Soon you find yourself pretending to listen,
to a stream of sermonic advice launched for you:

how important it is to find a church
grounded in teaching, with a pastor who loves the Word,
how important it is to fellowship with like believers

how important it is to study the Bible, and have
a good relationship with the Lord

And you want to shrug it off, shrug off the struggles
that plagued you through the years:
that feeling of never being good (perfect) enough

But everything you say to explain evaporates into
weak-minded excuses; you just didn't try

You say again: "It's just been too hard.  I've gone
through all this and I just don't want to anymore.
One day, maybe my faith will come back."

All you hear is: "I'll pray for you. What do you want
me to pray about? Let's pray together."

Those nuisances you once knew so well are nettles
like the words "ostracization" and "cliques" and "marriage,"
words that are never meant to include

("Marriage are like good-byes." Yes, what about those
friends whose priorities changed after marriage in church?)

And yet you can't blame anyone but yourself,
expecting too much from people without expectations:
you gave and gave, then resented the lack of return

...Back to the conversation: You listen some more,
insert the MmHmms, Rights, UhHuhs, and Yeahs

The prayer you half-listened to has finally ended,
and you sense the exertion of dialgoue starting to
trail off (after an hour and a half)

Too late, you can't rewind or replay the conversation
or take back what you let slip into sound

So Goodbye. you say, and with slight unease
the phone is snapped--shut--but the shortest
distance between two points has already curved

And a disquiet drip drops past what you shaded
about yourself, outside perfect lines you once drew


Written: 8/19/10