Thirty-five Seconds

35 seconds...

There’s a reason for them being called seconds.

I had been trying to talk with my brother. I endured the monotonous ring to hear him answer and say his hands were full with plastic bags carrying food and he would call me back in 35 seconds. I didn’t question him. I simply agreed to wait for him to call back in 35 seconds, as he said.

Hours later I debated canceling my phone account and getting by on email. God, I remember easier times when I didn’t have to make such rash decisions. I remember memorizing a girl’s phone number and dialing it on the old rotisserie phones. It was on that phone I asked a girl out to dinner. She’s been my wife for 25 years.

I don’t need today’s phone...

My thoughts are interrupted as my wife yells at one of our dogs for doing something dogs are inclined to do.

I suggest to her that I don’t need my phone. She parries with the usual and understandable “How will I get ahold of you if I need you?”

I’m a nurse. You can’t get ahold of me when I’m at work. I’ll be home. And you know at what time.

It’s been way more than 35 minutes and my brother has not called back.

I’ve given Coco water and put her in her wheelchair. In the back yard we marvel at the fireflies as the cicadas steel their legs and scream of mad fornication. Coco pisses on her chair, her legs, my legs. It’s warm and real. And it took less than 35 seconds.

I sit my dumpy ass in the mulch next to her. We silently watch the lake clear sky and recant times shared camping and hunting.

We sat for longer than 35 seconds.