The Missed Phone Call

She called. Just this morning, as I was getting ready for work, she called me. I didn’t answer it though. I stopped mid-shave and just stared at the incoming phone call and the picture of her. I wasn’t ready to cross that bridge. Not just yet. Too much hurt and too much pain kept my thumb from hitting the accept button.

I placed the phone back down on the counter and went about finishing my morning ritual. Thirty seconds later, my phone beeped. She left a voice mail. Again, I stopped, the razor paused on my throat, and glanced with my eyes down at the flashing blue LED light. I took a deep breath. “Not now.” I said as I let the air escape my lungs. I looked back to the mirror, took another deep breath in and then finished shaving.

The rest of my routine went by without incident, but I kept looking at my phone on the counter, blinking away. I finally pocketed the phone and, grabbing the rest of my daily gear, walked out into the day. The morning was new, the air was crisp with a hint of the oncoming winter and the sun was bright, bringing a hint of warmth but keeping it a beautiful autumn day. I stopped for a second after locking the door, letting the sun hit my face, relishing in the moment of peace before the storm.

Sitting heavy in the driver’s seat and playing with the keys for a moment, the gnawing sensation of the missed call and pending voice mail plagued me. The not knowing was starting to get the better of me. I reached into my pocket, took out the phone and stared at it. “Why in the world do I let her bother me this much.” I thought to myself, my thumb almost drawing the unlock pattern. 

I threw the phone down in the passenger’s seat, took my keys and started the car. Backing out of the driveway I could see the blinking LED light, almost begging to me to respond to it. I turned away, looking in my rearview mirror instead. Hitting the main road, I kept my eyes ahead of me, but I could still feel the cold blue light blinking.

“Not this time. She isn’t going to get to me this time. Not again.” I punched the accelerator and speed down the road, almost as if the speed of the car would separate me from that flashing blue light in the seat next to me. Then somehow, as if by mere thought, the flashing blue light appeared behind me. I could see it, blinking in my rearview mirror. I smiled, happy with having gotten away from the angst of the unlistened to voice mail.

That is, until my brain registered the LED light on the seat next to me in conjunction with the blue light bar behind me. I looked down, saw my speedometer, sighed an unspoken profanity and started to pull over to the side of the road.

“This day is just getting better and better.” I said out loud as I pulled out my license and registration.



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