Phone Book for the Apocalypse

“Well, looks like this is it. Gonna be weird not waking up to your sorry excuse for ukulele playing at five in the morning.” He paused for a moment, blowing out a pocket of air and tapping the steering wheel before he went on, “I’m sorry I was a bit of an ass to live with. Lot on my mind, I guess.”

Another pause.

“This is Michael, by the way, in case your phone’s caller ID isn’t working again. Anyway, hope you made it back okay, and that the family’s well. Take care, Alex. Love ya, man.”

Michael hit one of the buttons on the steering wheel to end the call.

The wiper blades raced in front of his eyes, shoving the falling ash from his Mustang’s windshield. Michael pushed the button again and said, “Call Jessica.”

***

Grant closed the cabinet, returned an old wooden chair he had used as a stepping stool, and placed the unopened bottle of scotch on the kitchen counter. No more than two weeks ago did he become 13 years sober. At this point, Grant couldn’t see the harm in one glass.

Strolling about his living room of over 40 years, he caught a glimpse of fading sunlight peeking through a window. The warmth penetrating his skin was comforting. He downed the glass of scotch.

***

“So, I just wanted to say thanks for the opportunity to work with you over the past few years. I feel like I’ve learned so much from you, and…I just wish we had more time to finish the program. I’m sorry…I feel like I should have put more into it. Maybe then we would have been able to finish it. Maybe it would have made all of this worth it.”

“But I guess that’s life, right?” Michael continued. “Just one big waste of time...”

He blew more air, trying to think of anything else to add. “But…yea. Thanks again, Jessica. Hope the family is well. Give them my best. See ya.”

***

Grant pushed a tape into the VCR player and collapsed onto his brown, leather recliner. His empty glass sat on the end table between the chair and a faded, blue couch.

He reclined, watching the old home video. He had watched all of them over the past few weeks. It was better than listening to all the depressing reports on the news.

This video was his favorite. Grant’s unrecognizably younger voice commanding his young son to come inside. His son was out in the yard, bouncing on their trampoline. It was pouring rain outside. His wife pestering him to let the boy have his fun. She was curled up on the couch, shielding her face with a pillow. She hated that stupid camera.

Grant shifted his head away from the TV and gazed at the empty couch. All he could do was smile.

***

The ringing tone in Michael’s car again turned into a voicemail message, followed by a beep.

“Hey, what’s up Spence? Shit, man…it’s been awhile. Probably not since your wedding. How’s Karen? Sick of you yet?”

He paused, drumming on the steering wheel and taking an exhale before he continued. “Remember playing beer darts at your bachelor party? When I stuck a good one into your leg? Never heard anyone scream like that in my life, heheh. God, that was a good night. Puked my guts out the next morning though.

“But, for real, man. Your wedding was probably the happiest day of my life. Didn’t sleep the night before. I was so excited. Didn’t help that I just started writing the best man speech at 5 a.m. that morning. Totally worth it though. Pretty sure I crushed it.

“But, um…I’m sorry that I never came back to Pennsylvania to visit like I said I would. It’s just…I don’t know. Always been hard for me to go back. You know me.”

Another pause.

“So, yea. You take care, and give my best to Karen. Love ya, man.”

***

Grant arose from his recliner to take out the tape and return it to the toy chest in the corner of the living room with the others. He checked his cellphone on the end table. No calls. No messages. The time had read much later in the night than he had realized. He began setting the kitchen table for a late dinner.

***

Again, the ringing tone echoed within Michael’s car.

Michael’s tapping on the wheel became frantic. “Come on. Come on. Pick up.”

“Um, hey Emilia. I know I’ve left you like six messages today, but…I…I miss you. I know you’re with Eric now, and you have your own family now, and that’s great. But, we used to be so close before you moved. And now, it’s just…I don’t know, it sucks.

“It should have been me. I shouldn’t have let you take that job in Arizona. I should have just gone with you, like you wanted. We were so happy. I was happy. I just thought my future was out here, and I was just so damn stubborn.

“Emilia, I can’t stop thinking about you. I…I don’t know what to do. Emilia, I’m so sorry. I—”

A sharp beep came from the speakers, dropping the call as Michael’s phone battery died.

“Fuck!” he burst, hurling his phone at the stereo.

Michael allowed his foot to press against the floor. He let his eye lids drop, and his hand drop off of the wheel.

***

Grant sunk back into his recliner after dinner, picked up his phone, and dialed a number he hadn’t in years. There was no answer, just a voicemail.

“Hey Mikey. Sorry, it’s been awhile,” Grant admitted. “How’s city life treating you? Taking care of my old Mustang?

“I...uh...hear Seattle gets a lot of rain. Thinking of getting you a rain coat for your birthday, once I figure out how this Amazon thing works.”

Grant paused a few moments, tapping his phone.

“I...uh...hope you’ve had a good life, and you have been able to find some peace these last few days. I...I love you, son.”

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