#5: Rotary

It wasn't the first night I spent in the new place, but maybe the third or fourth.

The old rotary phone that was in the closet when I moved in still worked, I found out. I plugged it in next to the bed and played with the wheel, pulling it to 9, letting go. To 8, letting go. To 7. Sitting on my bed, looking around the room, moving the rotary.

It rang, bright and jarring, just past one in the morning. I answered it, mentally surveying the list of people who knew the number already.

"Mark?" The voice wasn't familiar.

"No. Eddie. You must have the wrong number."

"Oh my god, sorry!" she said, hanging up.

Then again, the phone bells range. "Hi, Mark?"

"Still Eddie," I said.

"Oh shit."

The third time I answered, "Mark here." And she laughed.

Mark was her brother, new to the area like I was and gave her the wrong number. She knew he'd be up because he got off work that late. We talked about the city and the coast. I looked out the window at the clouds moving across the moon when she told me about her husband, how he left with their accounts in tow two years before. When I told her about my work, the job I was worried wouldn't make it through the turmoil that I had just take. Holding the heavy old receiver in my hand, I listened to her crying as the sun was stretching up over the hills, stars receding.

She apologized for not fixing her hair at breakfast, sorry she looked like she was up all night.


Issue Six Index