The phone call

29/11/2014

On the surface

Baffled, she hits the END button on her phone, and gently places it upon the antique chest of drawers. With care and a deliberate slowness does she perform this act – as if she is in a trance. Although not privy to her thoughts during this mundane act on this quite typical evening, you know her thoughts are profound. Her body is still, except for the right arm, the hand cradling her phone. Her eyes focus to a distant point somewhere outside your view. Within the few seconds of the digital disconnection, she is reliving forty years down to the details of ritualized daily walks past tacky shops, and the sounds of tiny silver spoons against bone china cups, while dark coffee and white sugar kiss. One might question her reactions.  “More visceral,” you say.  Yes, I do believe this to be the case. Her breathing becomes irregular, her nostrils flare slightly, and it is only  the deep, final sigh signaling that years shared – years coursing through her every fiber – are at an end.

She knows she has lost something of value. Turning away from the dresser, her body regains vitality: telltale eyes that are once again bright, and breathing that is calm. You think to yourself, “She will survive this.” Yes, but I tell you, too, that she will not forget.

The End & the Beginning

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