092906 freewrite
This week I'm taking section of the news (ie science, politics, business, etc) and writing based on the reading:
I picked up the phone the other day to call you. I had it in my hand where it felt heavy. It beeped when I took it off the charger and the dial tone sounded through a coarse weave of static. I even started to dial your phone number.
I got as far as the area code before I hung up. The was something in the line, an arc of electricity reverberating, a pause, a cough. I hadn’t dialed you and the dial tone wasn’t such a distant memory. It’s resonance still remained on the follicles of hair in my ears, the waves dampening gradually and re-excited by the tone of the three digits I pressed.
I held my breath and pressed my ear into the receiver. Someone was there, I’m sure of it.
I hung up the phone and drifted around the house. I spied some books I should have returned weeks ago. Especially now that Noam Chomksy is so popular. The dishes in the sink needed to be washed, so I fumbled with them for a while before brushing my hair with 10 strokes, going to the bathroom and returning to the phone to call you.
We had a date and I couldn’t make it. A meeting came up and you now how I am with those meetings. They’re so important to me. If I can make a difference.
I picked up the phone again, listening closely before I pressed any numbers. It sounded off, the dial tone. It sounded like it was waiting, if that’s possible for dial tone. Strange, huh?
I pressed the channel button to see if that made a difference. I turned it off and on again, to see if that made a difference. Instead of calling you, I unplugged and plugged the phone, I went to the store and bought another phone, to see if that made a difference.
I wanted to talk to you before the meeting, to let you where I would be, to reschedule our date, to find out about your trip. That wedding in Turkey, I wanted to hear about the evil eyes and if you were able to bring and saffron and turmeric back for me. You know I love to cook.
I called time and weather just to see. But it was still there.
I picked up the phone the other day to call you. I had it in my hand where it felt heavy. It beeped when I took it off the charger and the dial tone sounded through a coarse weave of static. I even started to dial your phone number.
I got as far as the area code before I hung up. The was something in the line, an arc of electricity reverberating, a pause, a cough. I hadn’t dialed you and the dial tone wasn’t such a distant memory. It’s resonance still remained on the follicles of hair in my ears, the waves dampening gradually and re-excited by the tone of the three digits I pressed.
I held my breath and pressed my ear into the receiver. Someone was there, I’m sure of it.
I hung up the phone and drifted around the house. I spied some books I should have returned weeks ago. Especially now that Noam Chomksy is so popular. The dishes in the sink needed to be washed, so I fumbled with them for a while before brushing my hair with 10 strokes, going to the bathroom and returning to the phone to call you.
We had a date and I couldn’t make it. A meeting came up and you now how I am with those meetings. They’re so important to me. If I can make a difference.
I picked up the phone again, listening closely before I pressed any numbers. It sounded off, the dial tone. It sounded like it was waiting, if that’s possible for dial tone. Strange, huh?
I pressed the channel button to see if that made a difference. I turned it off and on again, to see if that made a difference. Instead of calling you, I unplugged and plugged the phone, I went to the store and bought another phone, to see if that made a difference.
I wanted to talk to you before the meeting, to let you where I would be, to reschedule our date, to find out about your trip. That wedding in Turkey, I wanted to hear about the evil eyes and if you were able to bring and saffron and turmeric back for me. You know I love to cook.
I called time and weather just to see. But it was still there.
posted by InkSpot | 5:00 AM
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