Fading Desert Footprints (Complete)

'No man has a good enough memory to be a successful liar.' Abraham Lincoln

I sip my morning coffee, and have a few hours before the memorial. I notice the Fedex box at the door, waiting like a forgotten quest, and bring it to the table.

The tape bunches and folds as I attempt to tear it. I have to relinquish some masculinity and use a knife.

The box is full of Kelly's clothes; a familiar blue blouse, and bluejeans. A plastic 'Ziploc' bag rests on top of the pile. It contains some earrings, a green pendant, and her cell phone. I open the bag, take out the phone, and press the home button. It is still charged, and the locked screen shows 57 missed calls. Most of them, if not all, would be mine.

I have had to buy three phones over the last year. The first one was rendered unusable by clumsiness; in the bathroom, after brushing my teeth, I took out my phone to look at the time, and my sentimental Motorola flip-phone slipped out of my hand. It bounced in my hand like the slow motion replay of a fumbled football, and then fell into the toilet. I gagged as I fished it out. It didn't work anymore, which was bittersweet; I would have bought a new one anyway.

Months later, my new Blackberry slipped out of my jacket as I was hanging it up. It landed lightly on the doormat, but the screen exploded into cracks, and parts skittered across the floor. It looked like a car accident.

However, Kelly's delicate necessity survived an explosion that destroyed a house, and an inferno that rendered her unidentifiable.

I can imagine an Armageddon from a nuclear war, or a Higgs Boson particle experiment that goes wrong. It would decimate everything, level the world and remove every sign of life. The only evidence of man after all the skyscrapers and highways are erased will be a small, perfectly intact square box sitting on a rock, waiting patiently with endless battery life for someone to come by and make a phone call.

Yet, the day before, at the precise moment someone needed to make an important call, their Samsung Galaxy could spontaneously combust.

Phones are integral to our lives; a lifeline to connect us to the world that is just out of sight. A person could know what friends are doing, their bank account balance, or overseas news, before getting out of bed.

It is tempting to try to unlock her phone and obtain access to things like photos and Facebook, but it is not necessary; her locked screen background is a selfie of her, and a man.

They are both wearing sunglasses. Kelly has a wide smile displaying perfectly white teeth; her hair is untied and flows freely around her face and down the front of her shoulders. Her arm is outstretched to take the photo, and his arm is wrapped around her.

It is hard to introduce a boyfriend to a judgemental father. I am no exception, and jump into action.

I analyze the picture. He has brown hair, a thin smile, and three days of facial hair.

He is hiding behind sunglasses which reveals deception. He smiles like a liar for the picture, while clutching her with possessive, grubby paws. This man is also lazy; Kelly is taking the snapshot, and, he hasn't shaved.

She should have been dating that male-Kelly loser; better the devil you know.