Lacking Fragments: A Novel (Completed)

A Soundless Three-Minute II

For a few moments we settled down in the hotel room. Quiet. Tranquil. However, during the passing flow of calming non-conversation between me and Kiki, the hotel porter who was assigned to assist us had returned. It was his second time around. This time he was holding one big plate containing my food favor: rice, meatloaf, and slice of chocolate cake.

     In response I had told my gratitude to him; I said it could be the last thing for his room service for tonight. "You're welcome," the porter obliged. "Still, sir, if you need anything again, there is a telephone beside one of the beds. Right there. Call the front desk without hesitating... We're glad to provide for your needs. Goodnight again, sir."

     After service, for the second time too I closed the door. With plateful dish on my hand I went to the nearest table of the hotel room. I then put the plate down. I cut the meatloaf with the spoon. And then I started to eat parts; all while I looked at Kiki pulling off her console out of our baggage. Munching, I could say at first few bites that the meatloaf was perfectly cooked, at least, a lot better than what we ate at the fast-food chain earlier this dusk. Better than McDonald's. Of course, I tried to offer some to my daughter. "I'm still full," she said, resisting. Instead of joining me, Kiki switched on her portable console— her own Game Boy Advanced SP. And there, Kiki played Mario Kart: Super Circuit as she rested on her chosen bed. The sound effects of the said game filled the once-silenced room. As I ate, I watched my daughter push buttons in order to play. To race. To win virtual competitions between herself against the AIs.

     Looking at her like this, I found myself thinking of her mother, Annalise. Temporarily. One bite of meatloaf to another I pictured my wife talking with her coworkers, her inferiors, and the firm's Junior Marketing team. All of them, inside that conference room the receptionist had told me. And as always, even in night daydreams, my wife appeared busy with handful of duties.

     I finished eating the meatloaf.

     Like a switch of lightbulb turned on, I thought of contacting Annalise.

     But right afterthought I realize I had forgotten to bring Kiki's android cellphone with me. Her phone. I left it on the bathroom. By this I muttered in disappointment. I couldn't blame anyone but myself, yes. My forgetfulness. I mean, how could I leave the phone— an important thing to keep in touch with her mother, the device? It was too infuriating. It was disaster to think what old age can do to everyone of us. In my case I wouldn't be able to contact my wife without it. If ever she didn't find the long note I placed on our refrigerator, I think I might've just sent her a message through Facebook Messenger app. Although, since I forgot to bring the phone, I was at loss and frustration. I had no option as of now except the telephone.

     This led to another problem.

     I went to the side of the bed where the telephone resided. I readied my fingers to push down some buttons. But I didn't know what to input. "Kiki," I just called my daughter. "Our home number... did you memorize it?"

     "Why? There's no one in the house."

     "I'm calling Anna."

     "Ohhh," she remembered. "Mother."

     "It's an important call. You better listen."

     "Alright," she settled. "But what do you think, Father? Is Mother home by now? She might still be in the office... you know..."

     I nodded confusing; tilted my head.

     "Well, as for the question, not yet... The numbers are too long for me. I'm awful with numbers."

     "Oh no."

     "I do have copy though," she said, showing the school item. "Here, take a look. It's in the back of my ID."

     From her bed to mine, Kiki unworn her ID and lent it to me. But I stopped her midway. "No need. Just recite it to me," I asked kindly. And so, my daughter did read it. Kiki rendered each digit through her voice, whilst I pushed the said numbers on the dial pads. Inputs. Number inputs. And when all numbers were completed, united, I began to dial.

     I waited.

     Waiting, the telephone kept ringing for seconds. I then told my daughter, "She's gonna get angry, I presume," of which I meant. Based on how I knew Annalise, the possibility for it to happen is just high enough. "There's no other way around. We're like, I don't know, AWOL people."

     "Sure, she will," she replied.

     I inhaled. For the first few seconds, I didn't breathe. I waited for the ring to be stopped by its own. Of which, in half-minute, I had the other line answered. Finally.

     Finally, someone picked up the call from home. She was home.

     "Anna?" I sparked the talk, the conversation. "Hello, liste—"

     "Jesus Christ!!" she roared, blaring the sound traveled across; to where even Kiki heard it, on the other hotel bed. "What were you thinking?"

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