Page 14 of Walk the Line

With his fingers gripping the door tightly, he says, “Get. Away. From. My. Door. Now.”

I’m saved from coming up with a retort to that by the ringing sound greeting us from behind him.

“Fuck,” he says without turning around.

“If you don’t want me to listen to your phone conversation you better turn the music off now so I can go back to a life where I don’t have to bother you to commit acts of basic human decency.”

He bears no emotion as he punctures me with his gaze once more, then walks over to his bed.

I watch as he picks the phone up and says, “Hey, Mum. How are you?”

It is genuinely one of my pet peeves for someone to have a phone conversation around. But this is a situation I can remove from, which would mean the problem would still persist.

At that conclusion, I stay put.

“I’m good,” he says. “What? Oh, that was just…you already know the answer to that, Mum. Of course it’s not. No, it was just, um…my roommate. I don’t really know what she was saying, she was just talking outside my room, but not…” He freezes. “What? Mum, why would you do that? We just live in the same house, we’re not friends. Well, she’s not even here, so…” Our eyes meet again, and I instantly notice the panic in his. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have lied to you,” he continues. “Why do you need to speak to her when you don’t know her, do you know how weird that is, Mum?” That would explain the panic that I’m also now experiencing. “Is that why you called me, though? We should at least deal with that first. I told you I’ll talk to him when I’m ready. No, you already know I don’t want that relationship.” He paces the room as he speaks and curiosity creeps through me as to what he’s referring to. “Um, I don’t even…I don’t even remember. Mum, I don’t know her, why would I remember her name? I’m a big man, I can protect myself if it comes down to it. What? But I’m obviously not a serial killer, Mum, so why would she need to know my name? How would that prove that I’m not a serial killer, though?”

I don’t know why I’m still standing here. Clearly, their conversation has taken a weird turn that I couldn’t have actually seen coming. I mean, they’re talking about serial killers right now? I would be concerned, especially if I didn’t know his name, but unlike him, I do remember him telling me his name was Julius. I know there’s a chance there’s information about him that’s not but all I could gather from the search I did is that he’s a Hockey player. Which was interesting to see. Because from the videos I’ve watched on the Wildern University website, he might be just as good as me.

I was going to be living with strangers no matter who I ended up with, and while my anxiety around this won’t go away, it helps for me to stay alert. It’s just one of the reasons I’m still standing in front of his door right now, refusing to go upstairs until he turns that music off.

Or until he hands me the phone while saying, “My mum wants to speak to you,” apparently.

But it’s too late to back out of this. And as I stare at the phone in his hand and come to the realisation that it’s not going to vanish before my very eyes, I have to question what the hell my life is.

“Um, I…” I begin, not knowing where I’m going with this at all.

“Trust me, I tried,” he says, and I detect a hint of dejection in his tone. “She wants to speak to you.”

His repetition forces me to take a step back.

Someone’s mother wants to speak to me. If there’s one thing about me, I don’t know how to speak to my own mother, let alone someone else’s. It’s why I only do it twice a month, and not because I want to. But with Julius’s phone dangling in my face and the woman in question quite literally at the other end of the line, I decide to just have the conversation. It probably can be that bad, and that’s heartwarming to know.

I take the phone.

“Hello?” I say, holding it against my ear.

“Hey there, sorry to bother you!”

Wow, she sounds more cheerful than I expected.

“No, I wasn’t really…doing much,” I admit.

“I’m Vivian, Julius’s mother.”

“I’m Kaylah.”

“Ah, that’s your name!”

She’s his mother?

“That’s my name.”

“Well, it’s a lovely name, Kaylah.”

“Thank you.” I feel sweat start to run between my fingertips and as I struggle to keep a firm grip on the phone I feel myself beginning to imagine the worst case scenarios that can happen during this conversation. Before I let that get any further, I quickly say, “I can…give the phone back to…”

“How are things going with my son, Kaylah?”