Mr. Loyalty — The Friend Who Stayed Through the Layoff

Lyrics

The year the phone didn't ring.

First, the layoff notice on the company letterhead.
Then the sympathy cards, a thin white stack on the mantel.
Then the divorce, a final signature in blue ink.
The casseroles stopped coming in their Pyrex dishes.
The "how you holding up" texts dwindled.
Became a year of silence.
A year nobody called.
Just the sound of the refrigerator humming, the click of the thermostat in the hall.

But there is a man who stays.
A friend who keeps his phone charged by the bed.
He knows loyalty isn't a loud parade.
It's the phone that rings at eleven PM on a Tuesday in November.
And he picked up.
Yeah, he picked up.

The house felt like a stranger's.
Boxes taped and stacked in the guest room.
A ghost in his own kitchen, making coffee for one.
He walked past the old landline on the wall a dozen times.
A dead thing. A relic.
Finally, with a hand that shook just a little, he dialed the number he knew like his own name.
The one he hadn't called all year.

Because there is a man who stays.
A friend who keeps his phone charged by the bed.
He knows loyalty isn't a loud parade.
It's the phone that rings at eleven PM on a Tuesday in November.
And he picked up.
Yeah, he picked up.

There was no grand speech.
No easy answer wrapped in a bow.
Just the sound of another man breathing on the line.
A quiet, "Hey. You there?"
Followed by a quiet, "Yeah. I'm here."
Sometimes that's the whole damn thing.
The anchor that holds.
Just, "I'm here."

The receiver, warm plastic against a tired ear.
The silence on the line wasn't empty anymore.
It was connection.
He picked up.