A Call from Virginia

Best of the Boards
Vela Damon


The chirp of the cell phone awakens you, the modern day rooster crowing at dawn. But it’s Saturday. Nowhere special to be, no need for an alarm. Who could be calling at this hour? You squint at the caller ID, eyes muzzy from lack of eyeglasses and sleep. Virginia, you think it says. But you don’t know a Virginia.

You set the phone aside unanswered, roll over to catch a few more winks.

Later, the memory is gray, uncertain. No missed calls. No Virginia.

During supper, the phone chirps again. You move to answer it, but your husband moves faster. He takes the phone into the bedroom, closes the door. You sit at the table, staring at the food growing cold on his plate. So specially prepared, such a waste. Surely he hasn’t been eating enough.

You wonder which one of you will miss him more when he finally does.

You, or Virginia.
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Vela grew up in the south surrounded by kudzu and not much else. For fun, she had a choice between books and mischief. Usually she chose books. Now she lives in a kudzu-free region of the Lone Star state. When she’s not writing, she hopes to run across some of that mischief she passed up as a kid.

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