Shameka S Erby
Bio
Writer. Storyteller. Creator and wordsmith. Hip-hop lover. Fat Girl. Whiskey Queen.
Stories (1/0)
Magic Words
I looked down at my phone. The number lighting up the screen didn’t have a name assigned, but it wasn’t foreign to me. It was where I’d just come from, in fact. The person on the other end probably knew me better than anyone I’d ever met. And no one called me more often than the number lighting up the screen. But still I continued to stare, not answering. It wasn’t lost on me that I refused to save a number that called more frequently than any other, but that’s just how it is. I have to regain some control over this situation. This is how I’ve chosen to do it. My voicemail kicked in and the ringing stopped. I looked up and out the window. The city raced by, all dark spaces with pockets of light from storefronts and street lights. I sighed. I leaned my head back, hoping to close my eyes and doze for the rest of the ride. But the ringing started again. The phone in my hand lit up, vibrating and squealing. I felt like it was yelling at me. Yelling that I wasn’t in control, that I never would be. I pressed the button and held the phone to my ear, pissed.
By Shameka S Erby3 years ago in Filthy