He sighs in angry frustration. I imagine how his eyebrows bush together, and I know he's shaking his head.
"It's fine, take your time," I say as pleasantly as possible.
Usually I can help him back on track, but he's talking about his time in the army now, which he's never told me about before.
Of course I knew that he'd been on duty back when it was still mandatory,
but I'd never really had any idea of what it was like to serve a country that wasn't even the littlest bit at war at that time.
Don't get me wrong, I still don't know any more than I did before this phone call, but at least he's telling something new.
His ramblings are incoherent to say the least, but it'd be harsh to judge his story telling capabilities, which had been weak even before.
He can't seem to get his thoughts into words, stammering and making frustrated noises as he tries to find the right words to say.
I wonder what it must be like, his brain.
Is it still buzzing with all the things he's trying to tell, or is it as clouded and foggy as what comes out of his mouth?
He wants to donate it to science after his death, so they can hopefully learn some things. It's a noble thing to do, which strangely surprised me when I first heard about it.
Not that I don't think he's noble. It's just that I don't know him very well at all, I guess. It feels as if it's only now that I'm starting to learn things about his life.
What a strange, backhanded way of getting to know someone.
"I don't remember what I wanted to say," he finally confesses.
"That's okay," I say.
We're silent for a moment, both unsure how to procede.
"Anyway, it was nice catching up with you," I say.
"Yeah, I thought so too."
"We'll talk again later, okay? Have a nice evening.
Oh, and don't forget to walk the dog."