Ma, can you hear me?

Can you hear me through my warped voice muffled by the poor connection of overseas calls?

Can you hear me through my shifting Mandarin tones, or do they all sound monotonous, the same to you?

Can you hear me through my hesitance after every one of your questions, or do you suppose that’s just a lag?

Can you hear me through the silence I use to respond to your endearments: your “宝贝”, your “小邓”, and how loud it can be in those moments?

Can you hear me, Ma?

Can you hear me?

I’m about to dial her number on the keypad. A number that isn’t saved. A number that is memorized by heart and identifiable by sight, but still, never saved. An unknown contact. Far too familiar,

and far too distant.