Anthony gets a ton of text messages every day. I know, because I’m the one sending them. Every time I have a thought, a funny idea, or read something interesting, I drop everything and shoot him a message. Vodafone must love me.
He’s received gems like: “My throat is sore,” “I just bought a slurpy drink. Is it normal to crave sugar this early?” and “I’m falling asleep at work.” Most of my texts are brief, but occasionally, I’ll send him quotes or Bible verses. Despite the barrage, he claims my dozens of texts per hour don’t bother him. Either he really likes me, or he finds it comforting to know someone is constantly thinking about him.
I’m starting to miss his face. He’s gone interstate for a scout camp and won’t be back for another eight days. To keep myself distracted (not that it's hard, given my 12-hour shifts at a mind-numbing job), I reminisce about our time together. Unfortunately, my timing for daydreaming is terrible. My mind always seems to drift when I’m driving at night. The other night, I was on the road, replaying a conversation we had, and I laughed so hard I nearly crashed my car. So, if you ever see a black hatchback with someone laughing behind the wheel, it’s probably yours truly.