Late Night Call

The telephone rang at 2:57am.

“I miss you,” a soft voice spoke.

“Uh-huh.”

“Don’t you miss me?” she pleaded for an answer.

“Of course.”

“I need to see you,” her tear-stained lips said.

“Tomorrow?”

“I love you.”  Desperation leapt in, “Do you love me?”

“Yeah.  Talk to you later.”

Receiver on the cradle, the room quiet, she asks who it was.

“My brother.  He’s drunk again.”