1:32 am. Phone rings, my mind hears the bell’s melody, and a church appears in my dreams, telling me the hour of God is here.
7:30 am. Waking, face still attached to my pillow, eyes slowly focusing, hand reaching for the phone that apparently fell asleep next to me. It was him. The church bells in my dream, signaling a savior I haven’t had faith in for years, it was him.
Missed Call: Honey Love 1:32 am.
And everyday since, I wonder what it was his drunken mind needed during the Witching hours… Reason tells me it’s just the same as always, another crossword puzzle he can’t solve on his own. The need for a word, to recall a scene from a movie, the lyrics to a song. This was my use to him. His endless source of problem solving. Arranging his bills. Turning the oven off. Switching lights off as he walks from room to room. Reminding him of birthdays, or appointments, or reasons to be happy. Slapping him when he talked nonsense. Wrapping myself around him when the withdrawals hurt so bad he’d cry.
I wonder now, if she knew you called. If you were giggling together, trying to remember where the last Doors concert was held. Did she mind it that you called me to remind you? Did she sit, silently, with her breath held, tightness growing in her chest with every unanswered ring? Was it relief or pity that made her smirk when it cut to my voice on the machine?
This is my beauty: I will answer when you call (and when you become more than church bells in my head). I will sit and wonder what it is you wanted, asking myself- never you. And if, next time, your ring is not lost in sleep, I will answer- voice cracking in midnight words, and I will tell you…
The Doors final concert was in New Orleans. Jim Morrison smashed his mic on stage, and it was over.
A five letter word for a Greek market? Agora. Which means “open space”, thus the phobia.
The man who played double agent for Don Corleone? Luca Brasi, of course. He sleeps with the fishes now.
Water bill is due the 17th.
Miss you too, Sass. Nite.