After telling his friends he needed a quiet weekend to himself, local resident Owen Price expressed mild disappointment Sunday that none of them had interrupted the quiet weekend he had requested.
Price had explained in the group chat that he was socially exhausted and would be unavailable. His friends responded with sympathetic messages, then made other plans. He initially considered this an excellent outcome, although he reread the exchange several times to determine whether the sympathy had been sufficiently reluctant.
By Saturday afternoon, Price had placed his phone facedown on the coffee table, where its failure to vibrate would remain audible. He was enjoying the freedom to do nothing without explaining himself, apart from periodically explaining to himself why nobody had asked what he was doing.
"I didn't want a whole thing," he said. "Just a little message. Not a conversation. But a message that might become a conversation if I felt like it."
His friend Amara had considered sending a check-in, then remembered that Price had specifically asked not to receive check-ins. She decided that respecting his words was the kindest option. Price later acknowledged that this was reasonable, which did not make it feel particularly reassuring.
The weekend was otherwise going well. Price made breakfast slowly, read forty pages of a book and took a walk without coordinating the route with anyone. At a pleasant bench, he photographed the view and considered sending it to the group. He decided against it because people might think he was asking for company.
He then checked the group chat to see whether anyone had independently thought of offering company. They were discussing a film. Nobody mentioned that the discussion was taking place without him, an omission he interpreted both as considerate and a little too easy.
On Sunday, Price drafted a message saying he hoped everyone had a good weekend. He deleted it because it looked like an invitation to talk. He drafted another saying he was still enjoying the quiet. He deleted that because it might extend the quiet.
Price said he would be clearer next time. He would explain that he wanted to be left alone, but in a way that left open the possibility of briefly discovering he had not been forgotten. His friends, he believed, would understand this once he found a normal way to say it.
At six that evening, Amara sent him a photograph of a pastry she thought he would like. Price smiled, waited four minutes so as not to appear available, and asked how her weekend had been.