Published by: Hannah Rondaris
Date Published: April 2, 2024
Time Published: 6:48 AM
Category: Prose
Theme: Reminiscing about your childhood through your home’s phone, comparing it to how you function then and now
You twirled the curls of the phone, waiting for the call of your friend. What year was it? Your memories were in a haze but you waited. It was Christmas, if you remember correctly. Music played in the background as you sat on a chair too big for a child like you. But your friend was supposed to greet you today, your friend was supposed to greet you for a great Christmas.
These days, you don’t look at your phone anymore. You call it the landline now. It barely comes into your vision as it stays dusting in the corner of the room.
The phone rang and your friend called you. They greeted you and asked you to play a game. Back then, you invented a game through a telephone. You no longer remember the rules, but you memorized them back then. A paper, a pen, scribbles of squares and lines and movement that were jagged. You played as the music in the background changed. You played though the cold was starting to seep into your clothes.
But you don’t play anymore, do you? Today, you picked up the landline because your cell phone is unavailable. Someone called you in for work. It’s not Christmas, it’s too far to be Christmas.
Time passed oddly then. It was quick, it was fleeting. The hours passed and you were on the phone with your friend with nothing else in your head. Your mother would tell you to come off it, but you asked for another minute. You asked for another moment. You giggled into the phone and continued to chat about things you no longer remember.
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