The Phone Call

 

She sits in the blue, comfortable chair. Cellphone in her hand. The landline stays nearby. She waits.

Minutes click by.

She stares from one device to the other. Will she hear today?

The landline rings. Picking it up, her voice wavers. “Hello?”

Is this the call she dreads?

“No, thank you. We give to other charities.” She returns the receiver back into the cradle.

And she waits.

She jumps when the cellphone sounds. “Hello?”

 Her greeting always sounds like a question. Is this it? The call she fears?

“Oh, yes, thank you for the reminder. I will call you tomorrow and make an appointment.”

Sigh. And then another sigh. What kinds of communication comes to her these days? Postal mail to junk? Emails to trash? Doctor appointments to make? Unknown phone calls to ignore, but she answers. It could be the one she expects. But it is not. If the unfamiliar caller is fortunate, she gives a polite, negative response.

Hope grows short with each passing minute.

Why not put the information devices away and work on something constructive?

She considers this.

But she doesn’t move.

She sits.

And waits.

The room is quiet. No television. No music. The surroundings are unusual in this regard.

Tears gather. She wipes them away.

Will it be today?

Tomorrow?

Moments continue to tick by. Can she sit like this every day?

Night falls.

Still no phone call.

The hour is too early for bed, but she needs to change positions.

She charges the iPhone. The cell and landline phones remain on the nightstand.

Wearing her clothes and makeup, she crawls into bed.

And then, she waits.

She stares at the ceiling.

Sleep fails to come.

The landline clangs. “Hello?”  After listening for a few moments, she interrupts the caller. “Sir, I don’t need political solicitors at this hour.” She hangs up and glances at the clock. The dial reads nine o’clock.

Why do politicians phone this late?

She turns over and stares at the window.

The moon’s light slips though the slant in the draperies.

Dozing, visions of a vicious creature prance behind her eyelids.

Other monsters join the first one.

They jeer. And laugh. They jump with joy. They point ugly claws at her.

She understands they wait to consume her.

With a pounding heart, she awakens.

The cell sounds off. The bedside clock reads ten minutes after three.

She knows this is it. 

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