Phones don't usually carry good news at midnight;  she grabbed the receiver, expecting only and always the worst:  instead, a familiar voice, as close as breathing.

Hey, remember me?

Yes, she said, of course I do;  and even in the act of speaking realized how impossible this conversation was about to become; Jake, she said,  how...um,  where...

He laughed,  she could almost see his eyes crinkling at the corners when he had teased her and she reacted just this way;  Babe, you think I forgot about you?

It was him, all right, after all this time, all these years, same voice, same laugh, same warmth flooding through her...it can't be you, Jake, you're...dead.  At the other end "yeah, I know , babe;  it's a bitch, isn't it?-- then  a soft, regretful laugh, and  silence as he hung up the phone.

 

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Comment by Judy Thompson on October 29, 2012 at 11:48am

Oh, Jamie, you caught that.  thank you.  I  had this written months ago, but was never happy with the 'he laughed and hung up"  it was too much like a sneer, a joke, too much like "tough nuts to you, kid".   

@Teresa;  maybe they're not dreams after all.  I've had those kinds of dreams, and realize that they only turn bad when I wake up, and have to deal with the reality.

 

@Joey, Angela, yes and yes.  It would also be nice to have one phone call out as well. Your dime, your choice.

Comment by Jamie Hogan on October 29, 2012 at 11:04am

The soft, regretful laugh was a terrific touch. Made this just the right kind of sentimental.

Comment by Teresa on October 28, 2012 at 9:00pm

I've had dreams like this.  When they're about my best friend of eighteen years, I realize I'm dreaming and tell her, I wish we could stay.  I've snuggled up close, taken walks with her, laughed.  Maybe they're not dreams.  Love this piece.

Comment by Joey Delgado on October 28, 2012 at 7:41pm
I love his 'It's a bitch isn't it?' Says so much about Jake's character, who he was before and, I guess after. Nice six, Judy
Comment by Angela on October 28, 2012 at 7:35pm

Wouldn't it be kind of nice if you could have one phone call, like when you get arrested?  Well put together six.

Comment by Judy Thompson on October 28, 2012 at 3:11pm

@Gita; thank you , miss Gita.  Leave a note saying you want change left where you can reach it.  Then you can wreak havoc on whomever you please =)

@Mike;  thank you .  That comment''s  right up there "I wish I'd written that". 

 

Comment by Gita on October 28, 2012 at 1:27pm

Visitations make me wonder whether there's anyone out there who will get my phone call when I am gone.

Good piece, Miss Judy.

Comment by Mike Handley on October 28, 2012 at 10:42am

Very nice, Judy.  I hate that this ended.

Comment by Judy Thompson on October 28, 2012 at 10:20am

I totally hear that.    It's a kind of mind meld that somehow never quite leaves you.  Sometimes I wake up and see someone--something--leaning against the doorframe, just standing there, looking down.   It's both chilling and comforting at the same time.

I do anniversaries, too. Got one coming up in November.  Even though I don't always remember the date,  some part of me does, and goes right on remembering for me until the rest catches up.

Comment by Diana E. Backhouse on October 28, 2012 at 10:19am

I'll remember never to answer the phone at midnight. Goodness knows who might be trying to get in touch from the other side!

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