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I call her, alright. I call my mother, once a week. I haven't told her I'm back, she thinks I'm calling from ... I keep the conversation short because I can't bear for her to know that the son she sent off to war is gone. He's gone. And if I just got in my car and drove the six miles to see her, she'd be so ... sad. And she would look at me in the same way Beth does, now. Like I'm not there. The only time I don't feel like a ghost is when you look at me, because when you look at me, you see me. You see me. This is me. This is me. Please, Cristina, see me. See me.Owen (to Cristina)