Phone Calls

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is just something I wrote instead of studying one day.

Submitted: February 19, 2014

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 19, 2014



It was half-past the second helicopter. The ever-dwindling window of sleeping  opportunity was becoming a problem now. Normally, he takes his melatonin and L-theanine immediately after the second helicopter flies over. But recent events have caused this to changed.

The phone has been ringing..And not his cell phone either. The wall phone. The man didn't even notice it was there until the second semester, in its pale, faded yellow tint adjacent to the mirror. Who could possibly have this number, and moreso, be calling it? 

The first few nights, he ignored the ringing until it stopped, hardly troubling his sleeping ritual. After the first few nights however, the ringing became unbearable. This was his space and nobody was permitted to intrude. His safe haven and his solitude. Sure, through the double-locked door some noise still poured in from the night time antics of his peers, but everything in this particular room he controlled. And that's how he liked it; his own place for hiding.

Not being particularly fond of phone conversations, he picked up the phone and gently placed it back on the receiver. Other than the inconvenience of getting out of bed, this was the correct solution. Hopefully the caller received the hint.

Until the ringing continued through the weekend. The man followed his normal protocol of picking up the phone and placing it back down, with the strength of his downstroke increasing night by night.

Finally, when the calling continued into its second week, the man decided to listen to it this time. With the phone placed to his ear, he wasn't sure what to expect. Probably just a telemarketer or a student survey center. But its 2 am. Surely the university wouldn't fund any type of organization that would call at 2 am, nor would any student particularly care about much at 2 am outside of which frat party was the largest that night. Telemarketers are persistent, he thought, but they couldn't possibly be paid to work these late hours. They could be based outside of the country, but who would care about someone at this institution in other parts of the worlds? 

But what he heard, was an old man. Or woman. It was hard to tell through the solemn, gravelly voice. "Hello, is this you Jeanine?" He paused. The voice had a warm concern to it, with a lonely undertone that seemed inescapable. For some reason, the man connected to it.

Myers-Briggs told the man he was an INTJ, which stands for introversion, intuition, thinking, and judgment, and INTJ's in particular do not casually talk to strangers, especially on the phone. Yet some strange feeling took control of his body as he held the phone to his ear. He was intrigued by the thought of another human being staying this consistent and this concerned on a nightly basis. And this need to have a chat with Jeanine was somewhat reassuring. This made him feel like a piece of the puzzle, in some unexplainable way.

"I'm sorry, no, this is not Jeanine. But I wouldn't mind having a chat with you, if you would be so inclined."

© Copyright 2019 Royce Alden. All rights reserved.

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