Burned Bridge

          “She won’t speak to me,” I said. 

            Damon shrugged his shoulders, his cotton t-shirt sleeves brushing against my own.  He kept his body facing the TV screen and tilted his head to glance at me.  The sounds coming from the screen almost drowned out his murmured response, “So call her.”

            “I have called her.  She won’t answer.”  I snuggled a little deeper into the plush red suede couch and focused my eyes  on the screen so I wasn’t staring at him awkwardly.

            “So call her from someone else’s phone.”  His fingers continued to tap out the control commands for his character.

            “I’ve tried.  She hangs up as soon as she hears my voice.”

            “Bummer.”  Damon heaved out a sigh.  I was not sure if this was in response to my situation or the fact that his character had failed this level of the game for the fifth time tonight.  He tossed the controller onto the floor before heading into the kitchen.

            I turned to watch his slim figure walk to the fridge and rested my chin on the back of the couch.  The fabric felt soft and cool against my skin and I closed my eyes for a moment, pretending that I could set down my troubles as easily as my head.  I had been so sure that she would take my side, but I should have known that my grandmother would love her son more than she loved me.