You Know My Steez

He awoke to a phone. Slowly, groggily. The ring was meant to sound like the bells inside an old rotary phone, but they weren’t as substantial. They were thin and flimsy, barely enough to top the heaviness of his sleep. He noted the tone with nostalgia. Then he was mildly awake, his brain moving to some other time.

He brushed his teeth, remotely, dizzily, making a note inside his thoughts not to forget to bring his metallic dental pick. The dental pick was not part of his tool kit, but it would be useful.

They say the most effective way to get attention is to yell “fire!” if you want someone to help you. A passerby, that is. He wanted to tell that to his daughter before she went to school today. She had turned thirteen, and he wanted her to know that people would be more inclined to help her, or at least stop what they were doing, if it was possible their own lives were in danger. He had to get to work, according to his phone.

So he went. He went scraping and peeling. Not paint, but he treated it like paint. He put on his thick plasticine gloves, to protect the pores in his hands; he put on his mask to protect himself from the smell, which would remind anyone of death.  So he went, about maneuvering his industrial-strength tongs. All the while, he imagined it was nothing more than cleaning up after a barbecue.

Clickity- Clackety. “It was pretty messy, yeah. But…”. A voice trailed off under the sound of a keyboard. The trains weren’t delayed. She stood reading her book, until a man brushed past her, bumping her shoulder. Looking up, she noticed everyone rushing towards the same little doorway. Where is everyone going?

Finally she sat down, but the chatter of Conversations to People Not Present never receded into white noise. She heard a man giving his opinion on the upcoming election to his invisible, opinionless friend. She heard the woman behind her asking an unseen babysitter to please not give the child gummy vitamins so late at night.  There was the voice of another man she couldn’t place, as loud and clear as if he were addressing her directly. He might have been talking to the woman with the babysitter, the two talking over each other as if in an argument about entirely different subjects. He wasn’t shouting, but he was angry and wanting that other someone to Listen Carefully. You gotta talk quick, Babe, or I’m gonna lose ya. Everyone loves the holidays; everyone hates the holidays.

The man next to her was from South Africa, she guessed. He wasn’t distinct looking, but when he finally spoke, she was happy to recognize his accent and have him look her in the eye.

The train chugged along, over God knows what. She stood up, nearly falling over as she  said goodbye to the South African she would never see again.  She tossed her paper coffee cup into the trash. 

Nearly everything is disposable.