I just noticed it's the last day of May and seeing as I've yet to a go a month without finding something to post, I thought I better get on it. Here is an excerpt from my on-going Doc Saga which I write sporadically whenever mood and time line up. I think this part can stand alone.
Salt in the Wounds
I could dial her number in the dark.
“Hey, I’m too busy to pick up right now. Probably off doing something cool. Maybe fighting terrorists or something. Anyway, leave a message!” And then the inevitable, “The mail box belonging to Doc is full.”
Over the past couple days, dialing her number had become a compulsive act. I knew exactly how many rings it took for voicemail to pick up. So well I didn’t count anymore. I could just feel the correct length of time.
As soon as I hit end, my fingers started itching to dial again. It was ridiculous and I knew it. Every time I dialed I became less and less sure of what I would say if she did pick up. No, it wasn’t for me to say anything. What needed to be said, she had to say.
My phone rang. My heart leapt. I looked at the call ID and my heart stopped. The number displayed was meaningless to me.
“Hello?” I said, hoping it was a telemarketer I could let out some of my aggression on.
“Hi,” said Laura’s voice. “Why didn’t you pick up before?”
“I didn’t recognize the number.” When had I given her my number? She’d asked me out through Chance. It’s not like we’d spoken on the phone before. “I’m sorry,” I added for good measure.
“I think we should talk about what happened the other night.”