Re: RE: Poor Cell Phone Reception 8/28-9/3

Home Forums Motivation Station Writing Prompts and Challenges Poor Cell Phone Reception 8/28-9/3 Re: RE: Poor Cell Phone Reception 8/28-9/3

#359570

jenkitch
Participant

“Well, honestly, Eric! I don’t see what makes you think that you can’t ever wash your own underwear. . . I know! And like I told you, I am scheduled to wash whites tomorrow. No! It’s time you take responsibility for your own laundry. Now, don’t give me that. . .”

This was the second call from my son, Eric this commute. First, he wanted to know what time his bus came to pick him up. As if he hadn’t been riding the bus to school this whole first week. I was patient during the first call. Now, I was irritated. Sometimes it seemed, I was seen as a slave in my own home. Not only was I solely responsible for providing for myself and my two children, I was at their beck and call. It was time for a change.

Loud static interrupted my plaintive son’s whines, then to my surprise and fascination, I heard a high-pitched, somewhat witchy voice.

“Eric?” I prodded, “Are you there?”

Nothing. Again, I heard the woman’s voice. As I pulled to the stoplight, I was able to make out a few words of the conversation.

“The green stone. . . bring it to. . . I’ll be there waiting. It must be done tonight. . . Finally, it is time. . . waited so long. . . Agatha will be coming. . .”

Just then, a crackly old man’s voice responded, this time quite clearly. “Agatha has no right to witness this. She has had no part in the acquisition or care of the green stone. Fortune has no gift for that lazy, doubtful hag!”

The witchy woman laughed, “Gavin, you. . . understand her doubts. . .squelched when she sees. . .will tell others. . .”

I tipped my head, trying to get a better signal. Though I didn’t know these people, I somehow felt almost frantic, as if I needed to hear more of this conversation. It was as if I was supposed to be a witness to the plans being made

“Well then, anyway,” the old man continued. “We’ll need to meet when it’s dark. About 11:00, I’d say. You said at the pond on 37th street?”

“Yes, it must be near the museum. . .the rock will lose power. . .it’s too far away.” The woman explained.

“Tonight, then,” said the man.

The call was over. I really knew nothing about any of this. Why, then did I feel so compelled? Was it simple curiosity that had left me hanging on every word? No, somehow I felt that my intercepting this conversation on this day, at this time, was no coincidence. It was destiny.