Deleting You

by Jenny Morelli

Image credit: Kristina Tripkovic on Unsplash

For some reason, I just can’t do it.

When I scroll through my contacts and see your name, I blink back my grief and keep scrolling. My head knows you’re gone. You were gone years before you died, but the finality of swiping the last of you from my phone might swipe the last of my memories of you from my mind, and then my heart, and I just can’t do it.

So, there you’ll remain, taking up a tiny speck of space in every phone I’ll ever own, as if maybe one day, technology will figure out a way to connect our signals once more and I can finally fill you in on all that you’ve missed.

The diner changed owners again, and now, they don’t leave Splenda on the table for those like you to sweep into your bag.

You’d be surprised to know that Liz turned out just like you in so many ways, and John turned out just like Dad, and me? I turned out more like you than you would’ve ever thought possible, but also, there’s a lot of Dad in me.

I may have hated being just another mouth to feed among your many daycare kids, and may have been extra sassy for attention, but now that I’m grown, I’m proud to say I’ve become a second mom to those hard-to-love students because of you.

There’s so much I’d ask you if I had the chance. Did you make it safely to Aunt Anne and Grandma? Did you greet John B with a huge hug after his abrupt demise? And Bumper? She stayed with me for as long as she could, a strong and purr-fect tether between our worlds, but when I knew it was time for her to go, I assured her you were waiting for her with open arms.

There’s so much more I want to know and want to share with you, so until we meet again, I’ll keep you tucked away in my phone, close to me wherever I go in case, just in case, your phone is glued to your ear like it used to be so you can be with me and laugh with me and cry and dine and sing with me like you used to.

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Jenny Morelli

Jenny Morelli is a high school English teacher who lives in New Jersey with her husband and cat. She is often either inspired by her students or else they're triggering memories in her of when she was young and struggling with her self-confidence. She has been published in a number of literary magazines, including Spare Parts for a novel excerpt, Spillwords for several themed poems, and Bottlecap Press for her own chapbook This is Not a Drill.