5,267 miles. One entire ocean. Two mountain ranges. At least one desert. Hundred of millions of people. And one massive heart break separeted them. “Heart break” seemed a tame definition for what he felt inside. How about internal hemorraging that never had, and more than likely, never would stop bleeding? Is it even possible, as it was certainly not probable, that one could heal from that type of wound? He did not know. But from where he stood, staring out across a dark, heated Arizona night, there was no end in sight for the pain. Did she feel the same? Or was she already patched up, internal stitches sewn by a new city, new home, new job, new friends. New boyfriend? He could not, would not think of that.

He dramtically clutched his chest, took a deep breath of the dry air, and turned to head back inside his ari conditioned home. The cool air brushed across his heated cheeks, bringing to mind again, for only the hundredth time today, the last time it was her breath the brushed his cheek. She had hugged him at the airport, tears misting her eyes. In retrospect, despite the now constant feeling that she had taken not just a piece of his heart with her, but his entire being, their good bye had been sweet. Perhaps bittersweet was the more appropriate adjective. But it had been both. Sweet. And bitter. And now with the memory of her turning from him, her brown hair fluttering down as she picked up her carryon of books to read on the long flight, he bitterly recalls the last thing he would ever say to her. “I’m only a call away!”, he shouted, yes shouted, as she headed down to the plane loading door. She had turned. He knows that. He distinclty and clearly remembers that. She turned. Her blue eyes met his brown eyes. She slightly smiled. Was it a sad smile? He does not know. But she did nod. She acknowledged his invitation. Then she disappeared around a curve. And was gone from his life forever.

It had been eight months of silence. For the first few weeks, every time his phone dinged or rang, his heart ratcheted up a notch, expecting it to be her calling to tell him all about her new life. How did one go from multiple phone calls a day to share how she saw the cutest puppy at the park, how the new Starbucks summer drink was their worst yet, or how she was thinking about him and just needed to hear his voice, to absolutley no contact at all? It baffled his mind, his heart, his very soul. Yes, they had agreed that “taking a break” would be appropriate due to the time and distance. Rainy London was rather far from hot Phoenix. An international sales exec at a mutlimillion-dollar fashion label on Bond Street was very far from the middle school teacher in south Phoenix she had left behind to mourn her going. And maybe it really was all too much - the physical distance, the job differences, the lifestyle changes. He would not, could not, mix and mingle with the posh upper class of London society. Why she did, he did not understand. While living in the desert, she had been as stable as the saguaro cactus, a constant in his life, offering to poke anyone who got in his way. When had he gotten in hers? He did not know. But the missing phone call was enough to tell him she did not need him like he needed her.

He refused to look at his phone where it sat on the corner table. atop a stack of grading next to his reading chair. He meandered to the kitchen, sidestepping Orson, the other heart she had left behind. The lab refused to sit outside when the temperatures reached over 100 degrees, but was already ready to stick to his master’s side once he returned inside. He patted the dog, opened the fridge for a bottle of water, then sighed deeply when his phone started to ring. He placed the cold water bottle on his forehead, closed his eyes, and paid close attention to his heart. It had not even jumped. It had quit responding to phone sounds after too many disappointing messages that did not contain her name. He had tried to call her once, and she had changed her number. That should have been the end of his suffering. A clean break. But instead, whatever was left of his broken heart shattered even more. He did not even bother trying to mend it back together.

He let the phone go to voicemail as he slowly walked towards the living room where his lighted phone suddenly dimmed as the caller either left a message or hung up. He had just sat down in his reading chair and was looking for his red pen, when the phone rang again. He glanced at the clock and decided that if someone was trying to reach im this late, it might actually be important. As he picked up the phone, the first thing he thougth was spam. There was no name and it was an out of country call. The next thing he thought had him scrambling to his feet, one shaking hand going to his hair, while the other’s thumb hovered over the answer button. The country number was England. He knew. He had memorized it eight months ago. His heart was literally racing now. Why was he hesitating? Answer the phone, he interally screamed at himself. Then he did. He answered, trying to settle his breathless voice.

“Hello?” he questioned, clearing his throat as he did.

Then the caller abruptly hung up.

He stared at the phone for all of three seconds, before immediately dialing the number back. No answer. But the voicemail message was her voice. For a second, his throat completly closed. Did he keep calling? Did he leave a voicemail? How much longer could he do this?

He gently moved the phone from his ear. As his heart began to settle, he sat back in his chair and stared at Orson.

“Well, buddy. What do you think? Was it her?” he sheepishly as his non-verbal dog. Orson sadly looked into his eyes, then laid his head on the floor.

He said he was only a call away. But he was farther now. She was farther, much farther than a call. He knew that now. And with that realization, something is heart loosened. Was thst a crack healing? Did he just stop internally bleeding?

He looked at his phone screen and went to his call log. Taking one last look at the number, he went to options and selected “block number”. Then he put his phone on silence, picked up his students’ essays about the Crimean War, and began grading. Interesting how much lighter he suddenly felt.