Prose, poetry, fiction, and rambles from people with a bit too much time on their hands.

waiting, waiting

The dial tone pierced through her ear, the vibrato of the sound tickled her eardrum. A small click indicated the fact that there was someone on the other line. The click lied, and yielded to his voicemail message. She hung up the moment she heard his voice ask to leave her name and number. It was the fifth time she tried to call him that night. The maître d of the restaurant calmly asked her to leave in a thick French accent. She acknowledge the irony of the fact that the restaurant was Italian before finishing a now lukewarm gin and tonic and exiting the premises. It was, after all, one in the morning. Even thinking that he would call back was preposterous.

The sounds of a drunken rendition of Weezer’s ‘Say it Ain’t So’ could be heard through her apartment’s pencil-thin walls. She sat at the base of her bed, waiting for something to happen. She was never the one to take initiative. A beep indicated the cell phone buried at the bottom of her purse was dying. It seemed analogous to the amount of hope she had left for something to happen. The neighbor’s singing stopped, the only audible sounds in her vicinity were the endless stream of cars driving across the street below. There was nothing she could-no-wanted to do but wait. It would only be a matter of time before he realized what she realized in what seemed like ages ago. In this case, ages denote hours. She was lulled into sleep just as the sky turned blue.

A knock at her door brought her back into consciousness. The aroma of a familiar blend of coffee told her who it was. She crept towards the door and slowly opened it, not realizing the door chain was still in place.

“We need to talk.”

[As continued from it’s the little things that set me off]


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