For months and months, this became a habit. Time and time again, I'd pick up the phone, dial his number, and again hear the operator, telling me that he couldn't be reached.
I'd say "I Know".
And then I'd do it again. I couldn't stop. I wanted to but I just couldn't, even though I knew the outcome, even though I, and everyone around me began to question my sanity, I didn't stop.
And so, it became a habit.
Each morning I'd wake up, get myself and the kids dressed, then I'd head downstairs and make breakfast. I'd kiss my husband goodbye as he walked out the door for work. I'd smother the kids in hugs and push them out the door for the bus. And then, it was just me. Everyday, tidying up the house, running errands, and being back on time for the kids to come home from school.
And then I'd pick up the phone.
That cursed phone, it never rang, not really, not anymore. I'd get telemarketer calls, gentlemen who wanted to sell me things, but those were few and far between, never really the call I wanted.
So today, I walked through the door, with the dry-cleaning in hand. I ran up stairs as fast as I could, putting the clothes away in the closet. It was almost time to pick up the phone.
I get downstairs, reach the phone at the landing, and put my hand on it. The metal is cold, almost stinging. "What am I doing?" I asked myself. And turn away.
And then the phone rings and I pick it up. The operator asks if I will accept the charges.
I say I will, asking who it's from.
"I've been wanting to talk to you, Janie" The voice on the phone says.
"I know".
The end
YOU ARE READING
The Yellow Phone
Short StoryA short story centering around suburban 1950s house wife Jane -Anne Teal. Jane-Ann can't stop picking up the phone. Every day at 3:30, Jane-Anne picks up the yellow rotary phone, and every day the person she calls doesn't answer. Her neighbors call...
