Monthly Archives: August 2018

The Phone

When I was 7 my mother taught me how to use the black phone in the foyer. It was old timey, you had to hold a little thing to your ear. She said it was special and had to keep it but she could only hear static when it rang.

It rang and I picked up just like she taught me to do expecting static. But instead I got distorted wait music you’d probably hear in an elevator.

“Hey!” I heard after a long wait. I remember answering back confused.

“You can hear me?” The voice asked.

“Yeah, it sounds funny but I can hear you.”

We talked for an hour when my mother walked in the foyer.

Her face was stunned, as if she knew I had been talking to someone and not listening to static.

“He said he was Grandpa!” I smiled at her.

With tears in her eyes she asked “What did he say?”

“He told me all about how he got locked in there! And he had a message for you!” I smiled not understanding what I was about to say.

“What was that sweetie?” She got down on here knees to meet me face to face.

“He said don’t open the door and talk to the shadowy man or you’ll end up in here like me. No matter what!”

Just then a there was a knocking on the door. “HELENA OPEN THE DOOR. ITS YOUR DAD. I NEED YOU!”

Advertisements

Julie: The Artist.

Julie sat down on the brown couch in the lobby area. TV’s were blasting the news, latest things the crazy president was doing, the stock market crash, the murder in some small town with enough mystery to keep the nation captivated. The magazines on the coffee table in front of her showing happy scenes of housewives decorating the perfect summer themed parties with their husbands in a ‘Kiss the Cook’ apron and grilling spatula, the latest star and their tragic on screen romance turned real life love story, and a children’s magazine.

It seemed out of place for the office setting, maybe a client brought their child or a secretary brought her son to work. Her meeting was pushed back half an hour, they were thoughtless-only telling her after she had already walked through the door. Julie picked up the children’s magazine and flipped through the simplicity. The activity pages had been scribbled in red and yellow crayon, perhaps the child was not appropriately aged yet. She kept flipping until she got to the main article, it was short but the message was powerful. A child wouldn’t understand the moral but it made Julie think.

What was she doing here? Pitching her big idea to some soul sucking corporation? Was she selling out? Was this the right decision? Her husband might have thought so-if he had stayed around long enough for her to finish the concept drawings. She took out her portfolio and stared at her drawings. She glanced back at the magazine.

Julie stuffed her drawings and the magazine back in her satchel got up and walked towards the front desk. She told the secretary to apologize to the men she was to meet with today, but she wouldn’t be coming back.

“What ever it is that you want to do, do it for yourself. Happiness comes from your own success.”