A phone booth stood near the foot of a desolate red hill and the bell of the machine inside rang endless and dissonant until the man from the east halted to answer its call. He was shrouded in the ash of belching spires and scarred and bled from hard fire winds. He was nourished only by fury and yellow-eyed vermin and a modest skin of sulfuric water. He stood before the decaying chamber and heard the broken aria, desperate and futile and forgotten. A folded door canted from its hinges and he tore it loose and then listened to it fall upon the broken earth, stunning his silent world with clattering thunder. The corroded machine inside shuddered and its curt melody faltered and resumed and, to the man, louder and more insistent. An animal cornered and crying to the wild void.
He pulled the handset from its cradle and silence filled the world once more. Faint static whispered from the receiver and he placed his bandaged hand over the transmitter and cleared a mass of black phlegm from his throat. He raised the handset to his skull.
“Hello? Who are you?”
The static broke and crackled and then fell away.
“Hello,” the man said again, “is there someone there? Who is this?”
A woman spoke from the other end, “I’m here, hon. How’ve you been?”
The man’s eyes grew wide and he looked quickly behind him to see nothing. No trick at play. He turned slowly in the opposite direction and braced himself against the machine. He took an unsteady breath and responded to this voice with measured tones. Cold and disbelieving. And, yet, relieved.
“I’m… well. How… how are you?”
“Oh, I’m good. I was just thinking about you and thought I’d hear your voice.”
The man’s mouth was agape and his heart pounded, but he cleared his throat again and betrayed himself with a voice of warmth, “it’s been… it’s been so long.”
“That’s what I was telling your father. I said, that boy never calls except when he’s needing something, so I guess you have all you could need!” and the woman laughed.
“I… I think so. I… I’m sorry,” the man’s eyes were wet and he began to shiver in the endless fever of firelight. The wind had stilled but in the jagged distance pyroclastic flows could be seen billowing skyward. Fresh poisons and molten metals.
“It’s okay,” the voice said, “you try your best.”
“How is… Dad?”
“You know him. Always got some project or another going on. He has knee surgery next month, did I tell you that? I can’t remember who I’ve told what anymore.”
“That’s good. I’m glad he got it scheduled.”
“Just a lot of work on it over the years. Thank God he’s retired now, but we’re driving each other crazy, I think.”
“Really?”
“He just won’t relax sometimes, a lot like you. You both go-go-go and won’t slow down for anyone.”
The man laughed and then coughed and then said, “sounds right,” then his belly twisted and heaved and he spat sour yellow bile on the broken glass of the booth.
“Are you there, hon?”
“I’m here. Just had something in my throat.”
“Are you eating alright? I know you like those weird foods and all, but you look so skinny in the photos you sent me the other day. I just don’t want you wasting away.”
“I’ll be fine. You don’t have to worry about me.”
“You were always so skinny.”
“I know.”
Silence followed and the man waited. The static faded and returned and the woman said, “your dad has the news on all the time anymore. Anderson Cooper’s talking to whatsername. Laura Bobbert? Anyway, I just can’t understand some of these stupid people.”
“I know. It’s… it’s a complicated time.”
The woman sighed heavily, “things are just so crazy anymore. Just makes me sad to think of how it’s all going to be for you kids. Or your kids.”
“It’s okay. Things swing both ways. We’ll be alright.”
“I know you will, hon. I don’t worry about you. You’re a lot smarter than me or your dad. I know you’ll figure this out.”
A laugh escaped the man and tears filled his eyes. He saw in the chrome of the telephone machine a broken gray man. Tired and soured and yet somehow determined. His eyes still green in defiance of his charred earth. Tears streamed down his face to mingle with ash and he raised his bandaged hand to wipe them both away.
“I know.”
“Well, I should probably call your sister and see how she’s doing. They don’t want us to know the gender of the baby, but I think it’s a girl. There’s just something about the way she’s carrying. It’s a girl.”
“Let… let her know I said hi if you get ahold of her,” the man stared thoughtlessly at the cradle of the phone, “tell her I love her.”
“I will hon. Your dad says you need to think about a new roof soon. He wanted me to tell you that.”
“Okay, I will.”
“Well, I should go. Love ya, hon. I just missed hearing your voice.”
Tears blinded the man and his knees buckled slightly beneath a fresh weight. He pulled a deep breath and steadied his voice and said, “I love you too. You don’t have to worry about me, you know. I’m going to be fine… but I miss you too.”
“Buh-bye.”
“Bye.”
The man held the handset and heard the distant crackle and then the click of a severed connection. There was silence but for clatter of sand against the broken glass of the booth. He slowly returned the handset to its cradle, again studying the reflection of the old man he’d now become and then looking past the machine and into the swirling embers beyond. Then he left the booth and pulled from his waterskin and set upon a new journey back east. Back into the firelands. There ahead was all he truly feared, all that would steal his life and test all of his mettle. But there was daylight beyond the ash clouds and he would find it.
The man was several miles from the phone booth when it began to ring again.
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4 comments
Whew, what a read! It seemed he got what he needed during his journey. I absolutely loved the calmer, heartwarming dialogue in the midst of the chaotic, dystopian setting. I want to know more about this character now though! :) This was fantastic, well done.
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Very interesting story Adam. I was absorbed in the call, and wondered what had really happened to this young man. Was it drugs, homelessness, a lost love? It pulls you in. I wondered who was ringing the phone again and pondered why he had not told his mother the truth of his situation 🤔.
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Thank you for reading, Maria! I like your interpretation, and I feel that readers will get very different takes depending on what they bring to it. Literally, I wrote it as a dystopian wasteland where everything is dying (or in flames) and this weathered old man has crossed a great distance just trying to survive. The call is more intended to be something from his childhood, a primal nostalgia, as if a call from Mom is the only thing he truly needs. Less literally, I wrote it from a perspective of handling grief and the notion of a ravag...
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Understood. Very intellectually intriguing. Excellent work 👏
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