The Calls - Part 1

An introspective and slightly depressed young adult receives an unexpected phone call

My phone vibrates once. Then again. The grocery line is stagnant as I pat my pockets. Ah. Got it. I see my surprised reflection in the darkness of the caller ID screen. That can’t be. I decline it and return my phone to the safety of my pocket. It must be some glitch. He promised. 

I step forward in line and present my sad-looking groceries to the even sadder-looking teenager behind the register. She gives me a look as she scans my items. Or maybe that’s how she always looks. “Your total is thirty-one sixty-five,” she drawls. 

Crap. “Um, sorry- could you remove the ground beef?” She sighs and clicks a button on the computer. “Your total is twenty-four eighteen.” 

“Okay. Thanks,” I say quietly. I insert my debit card, scratched with years of use. She hands me the receipt as I hastily pack up the plastic bag. I feel awkward as her hand hovers in mid-air. “Have a good day, then,” I say and quickly take the receipt from her. 

The air outside is warm for March. I swing the grocery bag haphazardly, trying to remember where I parked, when my phone begins to buzz again. “What now?” I ask myself. 

That number again. Why is he calling now? Why after so long? Why on my day off when I can’t even ignore it with the excuse of being busy? I decline the call again and step forward. A horn blares in my ears and I jump. The car speeds past. What a jerk. 

Something must be going on with him. There was always something going on with him. I cling to the hope that he’s just lonely, nothing more. Otherwise someone will have to play my previous role of crisis manager. 

The keyhole on my car door sticks. It’s been doing that lately. Three tries later I am sitting in the driver’s seat. I hope I am never in a situation where opening the car door is the difference between life and death. If so, I would certainly die. 

The drive home is uneventful, save for carefully avoiding the mutilated body of an unlucky squirrel. Poor thing. I ponder the life of that squirrel for the rest of the drive home, until I find myself at my front door. That was quick. I don’t even remember hearing the gravel in the driveway.