I hate the Sprint lady that tells me how many voice mails I have. Her voice is mechanically cheery even though I know that one of the messages that waits for me is the one my brother left early Sunday morning just after he found out that his best friend passed away sometime the night before. She doesn't care what kind of news is on the other side of her beep. I don't want to listen to it but there isn't a way to erase it unless I play the first couple seconds of it. Maybe you can do it for me. Have you ever heard your brother's voice when he tells you something really awful? It stops your breath before he even gets done saying 'hey', makes you sit down in the middle of your hallway when he asks if you got his message, and tears your heart in half while he says 'I was supposed to be there with him'.

If you are trying to get a hold of me, text me instead of leaving me a voice mail. I won't be checking my messages.

We knew Markie our whole lives. Our dads were friends. He was like my brother's brother.

I'm glad I got a chance to spend some time with him last time we were home. I feel bad about telling him his car was crappy and hard to drive. He probably knew his car was crappy and he did a good job of teaching me all the tricks to make it drive better. He should have finished off those 2am Greek Fries that Brian and I half-devoured but he said he was trying to be healthy so we threw them away and went to my mom's to build a fire and share a bottle of Makers and talk about growing up together.