The Long Distance Call

Lisa stretched the beige phone cord as far as it would go from its base in the kitchen, the coiled plastic extending like a compressed spring as she walked into the living room. The cord snaked around the corner, catching slightly on the doorframe. She could hear her mother sighing in the kitchen, probably wanting to make dinner but unable to move too far from the phone's mounting point on the wall.

"Hello?" The voice on the other end was scratchy, distant.

"Mrs. Henderson? It's Lisa Mitchell."

"Oh, Lisa! Darling, I can barely hear you. Are you calling about Tommy?"

Lisa twisted the cord around her finger, watching it turn slightly purple. "Yes, I wanted to talk to you about the wedding arrangements. Tommy said you had some concerns about the seating chart?"

"The what? Lisa, you're breaking up."

"THE SEATING CHART!" Lisa raised her voice, earning another exasperated sigh from her mother in the kitchen.

"Oh! Yes, yes. Well, you see, we can't possibly put Aunt Martha next to cousin Richard. Not after what happened at Christmas dinner three years ago. The gravy boat incident? Surely Tommy told you about that."

"Mom!" Lisa's younger brother Kevin appeared in the kitchen doorway. "Phone call for you. Something about the PTA meeting."

"I'm cooking dinner," their mother protested, gesturing at the pot of spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove. "Tell them to call back."

"They said it's urgent." Kevin crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe.

Lisa covered the mouthpiece with her hand. "Mom, can you just tell Mrs. Henderson about the gravy boat thing? She won't move on until someone explains it to her."

"For heaven's sake," their mother muttered, wiping her hands on her apron. "Kevin, watch the sauce. Lisa, bring the phone here."

Lisa reluctantly got up from the couch, gathering the stretched cord in loops as she walked back to the kitchen. The plastic was warm from being extended for so long.

"Here, Mrs. Henderson, let me put my mother on. She knows the whole story better than I do."

Lisa's mother took the receiver, tucking it between her ear and shoulder as she stirred the sauce. "Helen? Yes, it's Margaret Mitchell. Now, about that Christmas dinner..."

Lisa slumped against the counter, watching her mother gesture animatedly with the wooden spoon as she recounted the infamous gravy boat incident. Kevin had wandered off, leaving the sauce unattended.

Ten minutes later, the story finally concluded. Lisa's mother handed the phone back, returning to her cooking. The sauce had developed a thin film on top.

"So you see," Mrs. Henderson said, her voice somehow even more distant than before, "we simply can't put them together. The tension would ruin the whole reception."

"I understand," Lisa said, though she didn't really. She started walking back to the living room, the cord once again stretching behind her. "We can put Aunt Martha at table six instead."

"Table six?" There was a crackle of static. "Isn't that where we're putting the Petersons?"

"DAD!" Kevin's voice echoed from upstairs. "Phone call! It's Uncle Steve!"

"I'm in the garage!" came the distant reply.

"Mom, can you take the phone to Dad?" Kevin called down.

"I'm cooking!" 

"Lisa?"

"Sorry, Mrs. Henderson, can you hold on?" Lisa pressed the receiver against her shoulder. "Kevin, just go get Dad and bring him to the phone!"

"But I'm in the middle of something!"

"KEVIN!"

"Fine!" Heavy footsteps thundered down the stairs.

"Now, about table six," Lisa said, returning to the call. Static crackled through the line. "Mrs. Henderson?"

"I think we have a bad connection, dear. Let me call you back in five minutes on the other line. This one's been acting up ever since that lightning storm last week."

"Oh, alright." Lisa felt a headache forming behind her eyes. She'd been on the phone for nearly an hour, and they'd barely settled anything about the seating chart.

Just then, her father appeared in the kitchen, wiping his hands on an old rag. "Where's the phone? Steve's calling about the fishing trip."

"Mrs. Henderson's going to call back," Lisa said, hanging up the receiver just as it started to ring again.

Her mother answered it this time. "Mitchell residence... Oh, hi Steve! Yes, John's right here." She handed the phone to Lisa's father, who immediately started walking toward the living room with it.

"John!" her mother called after him. "The cord won't stretch that far!"

"Sure it will," he said, continuing to walk until the cord was pulled taut, the spiral groaning in protest.

"Dad, just stay in the kitchen," Lisa suggested.

"Can't hear him properly in here with the fan going," her father protested, taking another step forward. The cord gave an ominous creak.

"Then turn off the fan!"

"But the sauce will set off the smoke alarm if I do that."

Lisa's mother threw her hands up in defeat. "Fine! Everyone out of the kitchen. I'll just cook dinner in complete silence, shall I?"

The phone rang again – the sharp, mechanical trill that had been the soundtrack to their lives for as long as Lisa could remember.

"That'll be Mrs. Henderson," Lisa said. "Dad, you need to hang up."

"Steve, hold on a second," her father said into the receiver. "Lisa's got a call about wedding stuff."

"Actually," her mother interrupted, "that's probably Carol about the church bake sale. She said she'd call around this time."

They all stared at the ringing phone, still stretched between the kitchen and living room, its cord a beige barrier that had divided their house into telecommunication zones for the past fifteen years.

"We really should get another line installed," Lisa's mother said, not for the first time.

"Or one of those cordless phones the Wilsons have," Kevin suggested, reappearing in the doorway.

"Too expensive," their father said automatically. "Steve? Yeah, I'm still here. Listen, about that fishing spot..."

The phone continued to ring.

"Someone answer it!" Lisa's mother exclaimed, stirring the sauce with more force than necessary.

Lisa picked up the receiver, pressing it to her ear. "Mitchell residence."

"Lisa? It's Carol from church. Is your mother there? We need to discuss the bake sale arrangements."

Lisa looked at her mother, who was now trying to reach around her father to check something in the oven, the phone cord wrapping around her waist in the process.

"Can she call you back?" Lisa asked. "We're in the middle of a... situation."

The cord had somehow managed to tangle around both her parents, forming an impromptu cat's cradle between them. Her father was still talking about fishing spots, oblivious to his increasing entrapment.

"Well, I suppose," Carol said hesitantly. "But the bake sale is tomorrow, and we still haven't figured out who's bringing the snickerdoodles."

"MOM!" Kevin yelled from somewhere upstairs. "Sarah's on the other line!"

"What other line?" Lisa's mother asked, attempting to untangle herself from the cord. "We only have one phone!"

"She called the neighbors! Mrs. Davis is standing on the porch, waving at me through the window!"

Lisa's mother closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The sauce was definitely burning now.

"Carol, I'll have her call you right back," Lisa said quickly, hanging up before Carol could protest.

Her father was still talking about fishing lures, the cord now wrapped around his left leg. Her mother had given up on dinner entirely and was sitting at the kitchen table, head in her hands.

The phone rang again.

"That's probably Mrs. Henderson," Lisa said wearily.

"Or Sarah," Kevin called down.

"Or Carol," their mother added.

They all looked at the phone, its ring echoing through the house like a dinner bell calling them to chaos.

"Maybe we should just let it ring," Lisa suggested.

Her father nodded sagely, still trapped in the cord. "Steve? Yeah, that's just the other line. Now, about those night crawlers..."

Outside, Mrs. Davis was still standing on her porch, holding her own phone and waving increasingly frantically at their window.

Lisa's mother stood up suddenly. "That's it. John, hang up the phone. Lisa, go to the store and buy us a cordless phone. Kevin, tell Sarah to call back tomorrow. I'm going to Mrs. Davis's house to apologize, and then I'm making dinner in blessed, phone-free silence."

"But the seating chart..." Lisa protested weakly.

"Can wait until we enter the modern age of telecommunications," her mother finished firmly. "Now help your father get untangled before he pulls the whole phone off the wall."

Lisa looked at the beige cord that had been the center of their household drama for so many years, still stretched impossibly between rooms, wrapped around furniture and family members alike. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe it was time for a change.

The phone rang again.

"Don't answer it," her mother warned, already heading for the door. "Some things are more important than being reachable at all times."

The sauce chose that moment to start smoking, setting off the alarm.

"Like dinner," Lisa agreed, reaching for the baking soda. Behind her, her father was still cheerfully discussing fishing techniques, apparently unaware of or unbothered by the chaos around him, the phone cord his only tether to both the kitchen and his conversation.

Just another evening at the Mitchells', connected and tangled up in all the ways that mattered.