Sentimental

I dialed her number. It was theirs, but now it's hers. The phone rang once... then twice... a third time. I heard the click of the machine. It had been a while since I called and got the machine. I waited, anticipating his voice.

But it was unfamiliar. I listened. I could feel emotion rising. What was it? Who was this?? Anger isn't the right word. Disappointment... no, it's still not the right one. It was a blow.

Where was his voice? Where was The Familiar? Instead it was a random woman trying to sell me gutters or paint or something completely irrelevant.

I called my grandma's cellphone instead. She answered and I asked about the land line. Apparently, I had misdialed the number. I hung up after chatting with her and tried again.

The phone rang once... then twice... a third time. I heard the click of a machine. This machine was different. He was on it.

I miss him.

His voice is higher on the machine. It's a poor reflection of the bass that once rumbled out of him. Still, I took it. His smile flooded through the line. I could picture him recording the message, standing over it wearing some baggy jeans and donning suspenders. The machine's buttons would be no match under his big fingers.

The message has played on the machine for years now.

As I listened, wrapped up in memories of him, the message was over almost as fast as it began. The beep rang out. I was expected to pierce the silence when all I wanted was for his voice to keep playing.

I hung up and dialed again. I listened to him again. And then a third time...

I dialed her number. It was theirs, but now its hers.