“I don’t . . . really want to talk about it.” The words were sharp, but wandering; a wild jab just to cut me off.
I tried again, “It’s just that . . .”
“I know. It’s cool.” His voice came back low and calm, as though he were trying to convince himself of his own words. The silence reigned once more, briefly, and sounds of shuffling came across the line. A whispered buzzing; a fan? Some clicking sounds. A faucet. I wondered what he was thinking about, where his mind had wandered off too.