Was Asleep

The button is that yellowed kind—

the plastic that turns that color

after years of thumbs and weather.

I pressed it. Heard the chime from inside.

Waited.

From behind the door: a television.

Not muffled. Clear.

A laugh track—an audience reacting

to something I couldn't hear.

I pressed again.

Texted. Stood there.

The laugh track continued.

Three hours later: hey sorry was asleep.

I wrote back no worries,

which is not the same as it's fine,

which is not the same as I believe you,

which is not the same as I don't.

I probably believe her.

I've been going back and forth on probably

for a week.

The laugh track was real.

I heard it through the door.

Not muffled. That's the thing.

Not whether she was home.

Whether she wanted me to know.