Because They Said That Good Things Will Come To Those Who Wait
All it takes is a fifteen minute phone call for my heart to race, for the stomach butterflies to flutter, and sometimes for my asthma to act up.
My phone will ring at certain times of the day [4:00, 6:00, and 10:15 p.m.] and I will look at the caller ID to see the word Private. Private. That’s ironic, since I already know who it is that’s calling.
“Hello, you have a prepaid/debt call from [pause]/ ‘Mr. Beautiful Smile**’” I love hearing that name after the woman’s automated voice. “To accept this prepaid/debit call press 0, [press 0] This call is subjected to be monitored. Thank-you for using Embarq.”
“Hello,” he always says.
“Hey,” I always say.
“Wasup Jana`, what you doing?”
“Nothing, just [insert: reading, studying, or watching TV].”
A fifteen minute phone call, that’s all it takes for me to be on cloud nine, for me to experience a high without actually taking drugs, just a fifteen minute phone call.
I never care what we talk about, just as long as I hear his voice. I picture his face while he talks. His flawless like brown skin, his hair freshly cut as waves appear all through it, his goatee neatly lined up. I see his smile as he laughs—his straight, pearly white teeth. That smile, that beautiful smile that causes me to smile.
“So, wasup with you?” he says.
“This call is from the Michigan Department of Corrections.” The woman’s automated voice always interrupts.
I hate when she does that because it reminds me of our situation—taking me away from my high—and less importantly it causes us to repeat whatever we had just said.
We usually talk about what it’s going to be like when he comes home, or we reminisce about how it was like when he was home.
“You gonna be on yo way back to school when I come home. I ain’t gonna like that,” he will sometimes say when we were talking about our future. Or:
“I remember when I first moved to Rudgate,” when we were talking about our past.
“You have one minute left,” the automated woman always says, bringing us back to the present.
“Well, I was just calling to see what you was doing,” he will sometimes say. “I love you and I’ll talk to you later.”
“I love you too,” I will always say, sadly. I never want to get off the phone with him. The feeling of loneliness overwhelms me. I go back to writing papers, reading books, studying for tests, and sleeping alone. All the while wishing he is here with me, talking to me as I write my papers, being in my arms as I read Shakespeare to him, quizzing me for an upcoming test, and holding me in his arms as we sleep through the night together.
“Thank-you for using Embarq.” The automated woman says again. Man, I hate that lady.
**For personal reasons, let’s just call him Mr. Beautiful Smile