In-class Texting

The narrator gets a text in the middle of class, and can't wait to see what it might say.

“So when we look at  Miller’s work, we see that the way that he describes the city and city spaces differs from that of Modernist and Realist writers, who gave you visual tours of the spaces and told you what it looked like. Instead Miller contributes to a more contemporary writing style that we still strive for today, that is ‘show, don’t tell.’” The scratch of Professor Terry’s chalk against the board punctuated the end of her statement as she turned back to the class, students quietly dipping their heads in agreement. 

Buzz! Buzz!, my phone demanded from my pocket for the second time that period. I really should have put it on silent… or maybe I shouldn’t be messaging so many guys on dating apps all at once. My cheeks tensed and raised the corner of my lips into a smirk, Maybe my suitors are excited about somethi-. 

“-adding to the feeling of the real and the authentic”. I straighten my back, flicking my eyes around the room to see my classmates scribbling the professor’s words in their notebooks. I follow suit.

* * *

The snow outside melted on my glasses and covered them in a wet film, making the chore of slopping through the half iced over ground that much more of a nuisance. Can’t even check my phone out here, the melting snow will make the screen act up. Ugh. I tugged on the door to the campus center and made my way up the salt stained steps.

The overstuffed couch of the campus center embraced me as I throw my body onto it and peeled off my jacket layers. I dug into my pants’ pocket and pulled out my phone, one missed call from my dad and an unread message from my Brother. Call me, the device’s glazed glass displayed.

A pit forms within my stomach, sucking the liveliness, emotions, and feeling from the rest of my body and concentrating all of its stress and anxiety into my core. My finger slides across the display, carefully pressing the icons that lead to my brother’s contact screen. 

My hand’s appendage makes contact with the green square with the white silhouette of a phone.

Ringing. Ringing. Ringing.

“Hello” the voice on the other side of the line utters in a voice I haven’t heard since I was a child. 

“Hey. What’s going on?” The sound of slow, deep breathes, air filling and exiting from his lungs.

“Hello?”

“Mom’s,”  a weak whimper trembles across the line, the person I was speaking to isn’t an adult ten years older than me, but a teenager. “…she’s dead.”

The metal, plastic, and glass casing in my hand feels light, weightless. The creatures around me walk on two legs, looking at each other but unaware of my presence. They wear  garments of different materials, some absorbing the moisture of the crystals falling from the sky outside, others allowing them to rest on their surface.

“Are you there?”

“Yeah,” I breathe out.

I recognize two of the creatures, they open their mouths and sounds stream out, pausing periodically allowing for the other to flow sounds too. They don’t notice me.

“How do you know?”

Cold air from the runs past my face, leaving me behind as it flows through the room.

“I was going to talk to her about work, about you and I went to her room and…” “She didn’t wake up.”

One of the creatures raises its appendages and rotates its head in my direction. My eyes meet its own and I too do the same. It continues on its way. A tone emanates from the device in my hand, playing over the sound of breathing on the line’s other side. A notification, somebody trying to contact me.

“That’s why Dad was trying to call me.” the words fall flat after coming out of my mouth.

“He called you?”

“Right around when you messaged.” I watch my friends walk back out of the room, still talking to each other, each step propelling them away from me.

“I-” my brother started, the same surprise and uncertainty resonating in his voice from when I called his bluff as a child, “I haven’t told him yet. I, you were the first person I called. I’m  sitting next to her right now.” 

Crying. He was crying. My brother was crying. “I’m sitting next to her body right now!”

“Hey, hey, we’re going to be alright” the lie tasted bitter as my tongue expelled  it out.

“What do I do? Wh- who do I call now?” I listened to the sound of runny mucus being sniffed back into my older brother’s nose.

“Call… Call…” I thought about what my brother needed. I thought about the little boy, sitting in the tub crying, the thin door to the bathroom broken with a hole punched through the middle of it. “Don’t call Dad yet, call… 911? Are they the ones you call when this happens?”

“I don’t know!” he aged a few years as his hot anger filled my ear. Then stillness and whimpering, “I’m asking you…”

“Call 911.” Rebecca tried to sit next to me, but I pointed at my phone and mouthed Not now; she left looking taken aback. “I’ll call Dad.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive. It’s going to be ok. I love you. Call 911.”

“I love you too. Please, please take care of yourself. Please…”

“I will. Call 911. I love you.” I end the call and look at my phone. One text message, from my sister. I’ll give the money in cash to dad and he can deposit it in your account… It’s been two weeks since I’ve called and spoke with her directly.

My phone buzzes again, it’s Felix, one of my “suitors”. Good afternoon cutie ;)