Let Go

An eleventh hour peace offering comes from a near stranger.

The first call came at 10:00 a.m., and I was at work. My phone was turned off, tucked away in my locker, at the time. That's company policy, so I can't feel too guilty for that. Still, I might have missed that call even under the best of circumstances. I would block unknown callers, and my focus was often so narrowly targeted on immediate demands that I wouldn't check voicemail.

The second call came a few minutes before noon. I was just getting back from the cafeteria, from my 30-minute lunch break, about five minutes early. I hadn't retrieved my phone from my locker to check voicemail. However, that was also just a part of my routine. If I took a detour to check voicemails, I doubted I would have time to enjoy lunch in the cafeteria every day.

The third, fourth, and fifth calls happened between 1 p.m. and 2 p.m. As with the others, I didn't know about them until later. In the stress of the final event, knowledge of the particular time or the particular number didn't stick well in my head, and they just blurred into a retrospective realization that a woman I didn't know well cared enough to contact me.

The sixth call, at 2:30 p.m., happened as I was deep in thought on a project, writing out details, references, and notes, squinting as I checked formatting. I got up to use the restroom, and when I got back, I found a small baggie of chocolates on my desk, next to the keyboard.

By the time I left at 3:30 p.m. that Friday, with a box of personal items in my arms, the seventh call had happened, although I wouldn't know until later, when I checked my voicemail. I did know my firing had happened, thanks to a call from HR to my office phone, and I was crying and numb.

I ate the chocolates in the parking lot, hoping the dopamine hit from the candy would take the edge off of my depression. I turned on my phone, wondering where to navigate to first, LinkedIn or the county unemployment benefits page. That's when I saw the notification.

"Please call me back!" the message said. I had no idea of the person's name, age, or other details. It could have been a used car salesman, following up on a lead from six months back. In fact, in light of other recent messages, I assumed it was, until I got to the bottom of the bag of chocolates.

"From Sharon," it said, and her number was written underneath. It was the same as the unknown number on my phone. I saved her contact info, took a deep breath, and dialed.


Written for

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Today's prompt was: Write a story or poem using this prompt as inspiration: Seven missed calls from an unknown number - the last call left a frantic voicemail "Please call me back!" with no other explanation.