a cloud with an angry mind

Right next to me, the phone rang. It was a model that dated from my childhood. All curved, molded plastic, a curly-que cord, and buttons that glowed when you held the receiver. I took it from my parents’ house when I moved out. No screen. No caller-id. I didn’t need it. I knew it was her.

“Hello?”

“Hi.” She didn’t introduce herself. She knew I was expecting her.

“Can you hold for a minute, I’m in the middle of something.”
“Sure.”

I set the phone face-down on the desk. I got up and walked a lap around the room. I sat back down. I stared. I picked the phone back up. She must have known I was back. She must have heard the sound, the small knock and drag when I lifted the receiver from the desk. She could probably hear my slow breathing. She waited.

“I don’t want to talk.”
“No?”
“No.”

“Why not?”

“I’d rather spend my time with bees,” I was talking now, like a trickle of water that breaks through the middle of a dam. There was no stopping me. “Thousands of bees, like a cloud with an angry mind. That’s who I would rather spend my time with. That would be a better way to while away an hour. That would hurt less. At least I could expect some sweetness with the sting. Not with you. Don’t call me anymore. I just want to heal.”

She hung up the phone.

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Discussion

2 thoughts on “a cloud with an angry mind

  1. My thoughts exactly.

    Posted by jplanet2012 | 01/01/2013, 1:29 pm

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  1. Pingback: a short story before we walk out the door « Post-Post-Modern Art - 01/01/2013

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