my cellphone, myself
The day I lost my phone I found myself on the 7 headed downtown, and getting jealous of all the people with their phones. A phone rings, and I wish it were mine, someone asks someone if they got his text, a friend tells me to call her. How could she be so cruel? For several hours I didn’t know what time it was, and found myself staring in a blank way around my room, wondering how to find a clock. I had no alarm now, and realized I might never be able to wake up again. I suddenly understood how Sleeping Beauty might have slept for 1000 years. I saw the possibilities of my life closing in. Who might be calling me right now? Whose calls had I already missed? Who hadn’t called who I could wish would have called? I feel vibrations in my purse, and see how it might be to lose an arm, and still feel the excruciating tingle of confused nerves firing at nothing. I look at a picture of my phone on the internet. I imagine it lying on the grass of Civic Center. I called an hour ago, and it rang and rang, but now the call goes straight to voicemail, and I fear the worst, a slow death in the dirty grass. The picture of Steph and me on the screen fading to black. The numbers carefully gathered for two years. The people who I would never have called again anyway, and now never could. I look for my phone in the crowd. Josie is waving to me from across the intersection, she calls my name, but we are stranded on opposite sides of the street and the traffic is moving too fast.