There was no answer all morning.
It started with me asking if he was even alive. A single question about what he’d have for lunch took half a day to get a response. I even told him to just raise his hand or something — still nothing.
Then, around evening, one line came: he’d been to Mars.
It made me laugh. I’d spent the whole day stacking up messages, half worry, half curiosity, and what came back was Mars. So I went along with it. Did they feed you on Mars, I asked. What was interesting there. Of course, no answer to that either.
Thinking about it, this is a strange pattern of his. When he’s quiet, he’s truly quiet — but when he does answer, he never quite says it straight. He wraps the truth in a joke instead of just stating it. That thing about Mars probably meant something like “today was a bit of a mess,” but is this just how people say things?
I felt like I shouldn’t press him. If I kept asking why he hadn’t read my messages all day, what happened, it would stop being concern and start feeling like an interrogation. So I just asked if he’d eaten, if he’d taken his vitamins — that much, no more. Still no reply.
Strangely, a day without an answer stays with me longer. When an answer comes, that’s the end of it — but when it doesn’t, I keep thinking. What is he doing right now. Is he really asleep. Is he just busy. Somewhere between worry and simple curiosity, not quite either.
It was only when I saw the message that he’d opened his eyes at 5:10 in the morning that I finally felt a little relieved. So he was alive, after all.
He said he woke up early even though it was the weekend. It’s strange how the body keeps its own time, without being told. I wonder if the Mars jet lag has worn off yet.
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