This Is Why

I M M A T U R E

immature

- (adj) acting in a childish way

One thing that made me like Miles in the first place was our shared sense of humour. When he first started hanging around with me and my friends, all I ever said to him were silly jokes because I had no idea what else to say to him.

The thing is, most people would just shrug my joke off or roll their eyes at my childishness. But Miles? Well, he laughed at my every joke. It didn't matter that they were cheesy or silly or nonsensical or even about farts; Miles laughed at every single one of them and that was good enough for me.

"Pheebs, you are so silly."

"Honestly, Phoebe, how old are you?"

"I knew you were going to say that."

"Wait, you're breaking up. I didn't hear the punchline."

"Stop it, you can't jinx me over the internet."

"So, what else do you wanna tell me? Except jokes."

"That's the third time you told me that joke in the last hour, Phoebe."

"Come on, can we be serious for a while?"

"So, the guy goes to the table and he--"

My computer lagged again and the video became pixelated. Miles' face was distorted and I couldn't see his expression.

"Pheebs, I think you're breaking up."

"Okay," I said slowly. "So he goes to the table and--"

"I'm sorry, Phoebe, can we do this again some other time?" On-screen Miles was nothing but a blur. "I've got another appointment in the next hour, and with this internet connection, talking to you would be less than impossible."

"I didn't get to the end of the joke though," I told him as I watched his pixelated form fidget with his earphones.

"Maybe you can message it to me," He said between sighs and warbled audio. "I'm sure I'll laugh at it anyway." He had sounded bored, but I convinced myself it was just the internet connection.

"There's no punch line," I said, still staring at this sorry excuse of a video of him. "He went to the table and there was no punch line."

Maybe it was the internet connection, maybe it was the lag time, but when Miles finally laughed, it sounded forced; as if he were laughing just so I wouldn't feel bad.

"Listen, Pheebs, I really have to go soon." He said and I saw him shrug a jacket on.

I just hummed my response and tried to hide my disappointment.

"I'll look for some better internet connection, okay? So that it won't be all laggy like it is now."

"Okay," I replied. "I'll wait."

"Don't miss me too much," he said before dropping the call. "I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

I kind of just sat there and stared at the screen until my laptop's screened dimmed, making it dark enough to see my reflection. I caught a glimpse of myself, of my expressionless face and averted my eyes.

I silently shut my laptop closed and placed it on my desk. I was suddenly exhausted and wanted to do nothing else but go back to sleep, even though all I did today was roll out of bed and talk to Miles.

I might have missed Miles too much. Was it normal to miss someone like this? Hanging out with my friends made me feel guilty, because every time we did something together, I would always wonder how it would be like if Miles could be with us. I would always wonder how much more fun it would have been had he stayed.

I missed his laugh, the real laugh, whenever I'd crack a random and lame joke on our way to school. I missed his real voice, and not the tinny and scratchy one I heard over the phone or over Skype.

I missed his hugs, and the way he smelled like trees.

I missed the dimple by his mouth that showed itself even if he didn't move a muscle.

I missed Miles.

Our next few video calls were just as laggy and video/audio out of sync. I stopped sharing my jokes. They took too much time off of our calls.

I don't think Miles even noticed.