Secondhand Embarrassment

thirty one: voicemails

lennon || olivia || noah

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"hey there, you've reached the one and only noah lyons. i'm sorry i wasn't able to answer your call, but if you leave a message, i'll try to get back to you as soon as i can . . ."

lennon pulls the phone down from her ear and hangs up, knowing the words don't ring true for her. she's heard this message so many times she practically has it memorized, each word etched across her heart like a scar, a permanent reminder.

"just leave him a message, lennon," olivia says."at this point, he's probably not going to pick up the phone. i'm sure he'll understand if you tell him what happened."

instead of leaving voicemails, lennon drafts letters in the corner of the bedroom. loops of her handwriting fill loose leaf sheets of paper. she's hoping that if she can get the words out onto a page, she'll be able to say them through a phone.

draft #1

in case you deleted my number, it's lennon. i never really leave messages because i kinda hate the way my voice sounds on tape. that's the real reason why i didn't pick up the first time you called me. it wasn't the ringtone, but i guess it doesn't matter now since you've already heard my voice in person.

i had no idea it was you that entire time, noah.

i've been going through our conversations lately, trying to figure out the secret messages you left me. and so far, i've come up with nothing. were you ever going to mention that you had a twin brother who looks almost exactly like you? but more importantly, were you ever going to tell me that billy was your brother?

and maybe i should've noticed the similarities in your speech patterns or smoothness of your words, but that came secondary to getting to know you. it's a shame really, because i really liked who you turned out to be.

draft #2

one time you asked me if i would write you if you went to jail, and i can't help but recognize the irony in this situation. i'm sitting on the floor surrounded by crumbled sheets of paper right now. i'm wracking my brain trying to find words to describe where this all went wrong. but i'm a biochemistry major. english has never been my strong suit.

i don't even want to count how many times i've called you, and the truth is i wouldn't know what to say if you did pick up. i guess i'd start with an apology, but these two words are hollow without an explanation. where do i even begin?

draft #3

i figured out where to start.

my heart skipped a beat when you told me you liked me. my stomach did somersaults when you told me you wanted to meet me. the idea of you existing beyond my phone screen scared me, noah. the possibility that we could be something more terrified me, but i pushed those feelings aside because i liked you too.

i had a little too much to drink that night because i was nervous. you make me nervous, noah. i didn't want my nerves to get in the way, so i neutralized them when you texted me and told me you'd be by the bonfire in a blue shirt in thirty minutes. i just didn't realize that both of you would be wearing blue shirts, and i don't think you did either.

when i saw billy, i thought he was you. i had no reason to think otherwise. there was no one else near the bonfire at that time with blonde hair and blue eyes wearing a blue shirt. i triple checked because i didn't want to embarrass myself, but i guess that backfired anyway. funny how that always happens, right?

billy and i made a mistake by not asking for each other's names. all of his responses to my questions made sense, but what did i know? two practically drunken strangers do not add up to a sober conscience.

i only let him kiss me because i thought he was you, noah.

how could you not tell me? why didn't you say anything? why did you just leave?

draft #4

i'm so sorry that i hurt you.

if i could erase myself from your memory, i would because that would make things easier for you, but you'll always be a part of mine.

-----

lennon spreads the letters out in front of her on the floor before dialing noah's number one last time. the words blur together and she doesn't stick to the script after the tone because some things are just better left unsaid.

"it's me, noah," she speaks into the phone, her voice cracking."before you delete this message, i want you to know that i understand why you're not answering my calls or texts. i wouldn't be able to either if i were in your shoes."

she pauses for a couple of seconds.

"the truth is i can't even come close to saying everything i want to over the phone. there aren't enough minutes allotted in this voicemail for that. if you're still looking for an explanation later tonight, i'll be at oliver's surf shack around seven, the place where we first unofficially met. the lemonade is pretty good.

"and even if you decide you never want to speak to me again, i just want you to know that i am sorry for everything."

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