"Get me outta here." the txt says.
"Where are you?" I reply full of genuine concern.
An hour goes by.
I guess she's fine. If she was in jail she would have called me. I don't know if you are allowed to txt from the holding cell, I'm kind of thinking no, so I am somewhat confident she was uncomfortable for a minute, txt'd that then got distracted by another shiny object and moved on.
"OMG, call me," the next txt says.
Now I am slightly concerned. And when I say slightly. I actually do really mean very slight.
I call her.
Her whispered voice comes on the phone, "I'll call you back, I'll be out of here in a minute."
"Where the hell are you?" I ask.
"Ok, fine, call me back," I say as I roll my eyes to myself.
Finally an incoming phone call. Not some crypted txt or a half assed conversation.
"Well it's official. Gramma thinks I'm in a cult." she says.
"Are you?" I ask, I had been out of the loop for the day, you never know what can transpire in an 8 hour time period. It is Hunter we're talking about. Things change dramatically with a trip to the gas station. A cult's not entirely out of the question.
"The Kabbalah. She hates the Kabbalah." Hunter says.
"Well, you had to see that coming. She was very concerned about you and your relationship with Jesus Christ our Lord and Savior," I say.
"Yeah, well now she has my Mom and Uncle Stuart thinking that too."
"Oh well, what are you gonna do? You wanna come over? I'm bored. And when I say bored, I mean bored of this conversation."
"Fuck you," she says.
" Oh, is that what all the cult kids are saying this week?"