The Essence of Noah (Muslim story)

Station

                  

Evan doesn't give me much time to reply to his message; he basically calls two seconds later and repeats it in my ear.

"Guess what!" At the sound of his throaty voice, nostalgia flows through my body, washing over me like a cruel, cold wave, as a happy pout takes over my face. It's been such a long time since I've seen Evan. After high school, he went off to study a bachelor of arts at Flinders University, all the way on the other side of the city. Mum was obviously stoked that he chose the arts and wanted me to follow his lead, but as much I was happy for him doing his own thing, it meant we hardly saw each other. Not to mention he decided to go to Japan with his family for a holiday after our first year of Uni ended, and I was left to wallow in my boredom for the summer.

When I hear his voice, I want to tell him that I miss him, that it's been way too long, and I hate him for deciding to go to Japan at the last minute, though I forgive him, but I refrain. Our friendship doesn't really allow for that kind of affection. There's hardly ever any 'I miss you's' or referring to each other with 'like' and 'love'. We don't pester each other with texts or phone calls, or make sure to meet up at least once a week. We're best friends but we're the low maintenance kind; we're there for each other, but don't have to be there all the time.

That's what I appreciate most about us; we can literally have a conversation, and then start it up again two months later from where it ended. I have to admit though, Evan is the one that makes it possible. He doesn't like to delve into personal matters and so we never talk about our families, separate friends, or relationships. We just talk about us, and what we have in common. Whenever mum would over hear our conversations, she'd make a point to comment on how absurd we are and nothing like the rest of our cohort.

"What?" His enthusiasm literally transfers through the line making me laugh lightly.

"You're not going to believe this." He sounds excited, encouraging my anticipation to grow.

"What is it?"

"Henry possibly died from STD's." My excitement fizzles, quickly replaced with annoyance, as my shoulders slump and my lips twist.

"What Henry?" I can't contain the confusion and disgust in my voice as I drawl into the speaker.

"Henry the eighth, king Henry - the serial womaniser of the fifteenth century!" I can just imagine Evan holding back his laughter as he rants on. His thick brown hair falling in a loose mixture of waves and curls on the top of his head, as his nose crinkles and dimples deepen in his cheeks. I just shake my head as I sigh.

"You're an idiot." I carry my glass to the kitchen and place it by the sink as I lean my waist against the counter.

"Whatever, I have a bigger surprise."

"I'm not interested in Henry's polygamy affairs." My tone is dull and dry to emphasis my point.

"Bummer, it makes good history." I don't reply as I bite the inside of my cheek and wait for him to get to his point. "Okay fine - I'm in Sydney." It's as though he purposely coats his voice in boredom and apathy as he states it.

"What!"

"Yeah, not as interesting as Hen-"

"Shut up about Henry!" Evan laughs on the other end as I huff and brush a strand of hair from my eyes and over my head.

"I'm pretty sure Henry felt that burn in his grave."

"I'm hanging up." I warn, as I unstick the phone screen from my humid cheek.

"Okay, okay. Just thought I'd let you know that I'm coming to Melbourne tomorrow."

"Really?" He laughs. "Evan, seriously?"