CALLHER ID

She slipped in a cassette he'd left behind and pressed play.

She'd never really cared much for his music, but then one song came on—the kind that reaches places pride tries to keep locked. Before it was over, she was already reaching for the phone. Ring... Ring... Ring...

"Hello?"

"Hi. It's me. Can we talk?" "Sure. How are you?" A pause. "Cut the bullshit. Why'd you call?" "Righhhhhhhh. I wanted to apologize for my behavior a few weeks ago. We shared some really good moments, and I don't want the way I acted to be the last impression you have of me."

"Go on."

"Well... that's really it. I've read a few of your stories, by the way.

I like them." "Thank you." Another pause. "How's your new dog?"

"Lovable."

And just like that, the tension softened. They traded a few small words-the kind two people use when neither is quite ready to admit there are much bigger ones underneath. Eventually, they wished each other goodnight and hung up. Accountability is difficult for some people. Sometimes it takes a song, a little distance, and enough silence to finally make the call. Especially when the person on the other end already has Caller ID.