Aching Contact

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
Loss, lost

Submitted: July 22, 2011

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Submitted: July 22, 2011

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There is a number, one not known by memory, but one assigned to someone I love.

A number called infrequently and at other times often.

I always see this number first while trying to find another, searching for someone with the same last name, someone who is hurting from great loss.

 I try to remember how long it has been, time has clearly not flown by.

It has been nearly two year's since his exit, two year's used to seem like a long time...

I pass over his name to find who I wanted to call, the person responsible for bringing him into this world, to see how the weather is, how the weeds are growing?  My real intention is to attempt a conversation about his death, and how painful it has been for us all.  She is not there and I leave a message to tell her about how hot and sunny it has been.

I scroll back to his name in my contact list.  It is directly above my oldest brother's, followed by his surviving wife's.  How could it be that my brother and brother's wife have both disappeared recently????

What if I call his cell phone.  He always answers it when I call.  A hello that sounds nearly as deep and identical as my own, to tell me about his latest adventures, his new job, his struggles with a brain tumor and how it might get bigger and not be as operable as before.  

I am tempted to call it, to call it there and then.  To reconnect with what has been lost.  A number assigned to him, a conduit for casual and comforting conversation.

Hot car ride home- another red light- ugh, more time to think yet again, a car radio turned up, way to f-ing loud (boom, Boom-Boom).  Laying on the horn behind me, oops light is green- rumble, bump, why the hell not, I call him.

I tap his number and it rings and keeps ringing...

Should I leave a message?

Someone answers...

...it is not him, what do I say to her?

I ask if Paul is there...

She said she does not know who I am talking about.  She seems nice and I say Paul Michaels.  She said she is sorry, but I may have the wrong number.  She pauses between words and senses my disappointment.  I can tell she is trying to think about him, if somehow she knows him, trying to help.  I tell her I must have the wrong number.  She says his name sounds familiar, but she just cannot picture him, but wishes she could help.  I thank her an say goodnight.  She tells me that she hopes I can find him.

Stupid, odd, and the confirmation I was not looking for.  Yep, he's dead. Number reassigned.  He is far away- no text message, phone call or ouija board will get to him.  

No app for this, no feeling his presence, just the longing to say a few words, just the wish and knowledge to know he can hear me.


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