Dial Tone

A dial tone, a moment of meditation, reflection, and peace before the storm that is yet another mundane conversation. Electronic drops upon a pond that has yet to be frozen by time and augmented by memory. Osmond Vynes observed his fellow rats in boxes listening to the drops fall. Phones strapped to their heads, repeating each interaction to the point of suffering the constant ringing of tinnitus.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice spoke from within Osmond’s head, snapping him out of his trance. “Hello ma’am, this is Osmond Vynes with AD credit lenders, how are you doing today?” Osmond said somewhat mechanically. “I was doing fine until I got another call from you people. What the hell is your problem? Do you people have any idea what DO NOT CALL LIST means?” the woman responded in anger. “I am so sorry, ma’am, I’ll be sure to…” Osmond began but the woman hung up midway through his response. He rolled his eyes and crossed out another phone number from his list. It was the 96th call of the day and the day was far from over, he looked across the jungle of desks. One of his coworkers laughed and seemed to be having a lively conversation, though her face was expressionless; another was reciting the script, explaining to the potential customer how they could improve their life; another coworker apologized to a voice screaming in his ear as he made a masturbation gesture. Within the walls of this figurative rock bottom, the scripted introduction was a constant background noise: “Hello sir/ma’am, this is (drone’s name here) with AD credit lenders, how are you doing today?”

Osmond lives a rather quiet existence; he wakes at 7:26 AM, exactly four minutes before his alarm everyday. He takes a shower, pours himself a cup of coffee, and leaves a mug out for his wife. He wears one of his many pairs of khaki pants, off-white button down shirt, and lilac colored tie in a Half Windsor knot. His commute is typically scored by the classical station. He clocks in each day 5 to 10 minutes before 9 AM and clocks out promptly at 5 PM. His drive home from work takes twice as long due to traffic and he sits and waits in silence with the radio off. Upon pulling into his driveway he takes several minutes staring up the uneven walkway leading to the front door. He exits his vehicle and lumbers slowly to his door as he loosens his tie. Osmond lives in a modest two-bedroom home in Pittsburg, PA. It was home to him and his wife for many years. In the past, they had planned on finding a larger place to raise a family, but it had been a few years since such plans were discussed. Each passing day had become a trial of endurance for Osmond; he takes a deep breath as he inserts his house key into the lock. After opening the door, Osmond shakes his key vigorously to pull it out of the lock; this was a recent frustration to his life, as the key would get stuck in the lock every time it was used. It was quieter than usual in his home on this particular evening, though the sight was nothing close to uncommon: dishes in the sink, lights off, and the smell of old over-heated coffee to compliment the empty mug that rested on the counter. He walked up stairs to the bedroom and cracked open the door to peer within. He saw the shape of a woman under the covers in the dark room, “Exactly where I left you.” Osmond said with a smirk. “Linda, darling…I’d really love it if you could join me, it’s been a long day.” Osmond was answered by silence; Linda said nothing and the silhouette under the covers remained unaltered. “…I’ll be down stairs in case you change your mind.” Linda remained unmoved, the smile ran away from Osmond’s face and guilt swept over him as he closed the door and crept down the stairs, he knew that it was his fault that this was what his life had become. Osmond turned on the television in the living room and listened to the white noise that was the local news as he washed his dishes and threw a box of pre-made pasta in the oven. After eating alone, Osmond returned upstairs, brushed his teeth and flossed before entering the bedroom, turning on a lamp and sitting on the unoccupied side of the bed. He stared at the wall for a moment before looking at the prescription bottle on the nightstand. He picked it up and noticed it was empty, not a single Ambien within. He turned and looked sadly at his motionless partner before returning the bottle to the nightstand. “Goodnight, babes.” Osmond said as he switched off the lamp and lied down.

The night sky was painted with the colors of the cosmos. Linda had the wonder of a young child discovering magic for the first time in her eyes. “This is beautiful, Ozzy! Can you believe the whole lake froze over?” Linda imitated an ice skater dancing gracefully in circles leaving ghostly footprints upon the surface of the lake. Osmond smiled and readjusted his scarf as he took a few wary steps onto the frozen surface himself. He stood still, felt the cold wind on his face, and listened to the sounds of his muse humming as though she was a grand orchestra. She began to walk back toward her husband, when she slipped. Osmond reached out to grab her in a panic; he felt the skin of her hand and suddenly awoke from his dream. He was back in his bedroom; one of the few lights to break the darkness was that of his alarm clock, which read 2:46 AM. Osmond sat up frustrated; he wiped the sweat from his head and left the room without disturbing his bedmate. He went down stairs, to the kitchen where he opened the dated wooden doors of his pantry, pulled out a cookie jar from the top shelf, and placed it on the counter. He was relieved to find an old half finished joint within the jar. He grabbed it and a pack of matches before stepping outside to his back patio area. Osmond didn’t typically smoke marijuana but it helped him with sleep whenever his dreams became too loud. This was certainly one of those nights.

__________________________________________________

The scenery was art to Osmond as he drove home on this Friday evening; he admired it and knew it was special because it wasn’t long until he would never see it again. He parked in his driveway, walked briskly up the walkway and opened the door in a fluent motion. He barely had to shake the key to get it out of the lock this evening. As he walked in and turned on the lights he saw a woman on the couch and realized that he had forgotten about Linda for a brief moment. She sat with her legs crossed, gazing at the wall. “Hey babes.” Osmond said after a short pause as he entered the room. “I had some great news at work. We’re going to move down south where it’s warmer.” His partner remained unmoved despite his excitement. “It’s gonna be a way better job too, less calls, more money.” Osmond continued. “Life is going to be a lot better, Linda. You’ll see…” Osmond stated though he lost steam, his wife was indifferent. Her eyes remained fixed on the wall. He walked out of the living room deflated and continued his nightly routine.

Osmond’s last week at the office passed him by quickly; it was Thursday and he hadn’t asked anyone to help move his furniture and boxes. He found luck after being asked by a coworker to pose as a supervisor for an angry customer. “Walter, was it?” Osmond asked a man he had seen on at least a hundred occasions prior to this. “Yeah, call me Wally! Thanks, dude, I’m not very good at faking a different voice when they ask for a manager.” Wally responded gratefully. “Wally…don’t feel obliged, but I have an awkward favor to ask considering we haven’t really spoken much.” Osmond began. “Shoot.” Wally said shortly before agreeing to help Osmond with his move.

It was 9:13 AM on a Saturday when there was a knocking at Osmond’s door. He had slept much longer than intended as a result of tossing and turning most of the night. Osmond ran down the stairs and opened the door. Wally was sporting shorts and a white T-shirt splattered with dry paint, he seemed much younger without the typical work attire. “Wally! Good morning, come on in, you want some coffee?” Osmond asked. “Sure, I’ll take some, thanks man. I like your place.” Wally said as he walked further in the house and observed the environment of packed boxes and barren walls. Wally walked into the kitchen following Osmond before he stopped suddenly and began to stare at the woman sitting on the table. He looked at her and back at Osmond, then back at her several times. Osmond, oblivious, went on making the coffee. “You like sugar and cream?” he asked casually. “Um yeah…look Oz, I don’t want to be rude, like…I don’t know you and I don’t wanna pass judgment or anything but…is that a sex doll?” Wally stammered. “Oh…OH, oh no, oh that’s…yeah, uh that’s a bit of a story.” Osmond responded. There was a pause of silence only broken by the bubbling sound of the coffee maker. “Okay, so about 6 years ago I lost my wife in an accident…pretty suddenly…she fell through some weak ice on a frozen pond…I couldn’t help her, she was…” Osmond trailed off. “Any…anyway, I went through phases of different coping mechanisms and substance abuse, it was really destroying me as a person. One day, I was particularly lonely and started searching for another crutch. I found that in the form of this…well…this three thousand dollar sex doll that resembles my Linda almost perfectly. I know it sounds weird but it really grounded me when I was feeling lost to talk to it, to carry it around the house, to spray it with her old perfume and rest my head in her…it’s lap…I’m sorry, that’s probably way more than I should’ve mentioned, I’ve just never really talked to anyone about it.” Osmond stopped, not knowing what else to say. “No no, it’s fine man…just…wow, that’s all kinda heavy. I’m not sure how she would’ve felt about this.” Wally answered. “Yeah, I’ve definitely thought of that.” Osmond conceded. “Well…what should we put in the truck first?” Wally said after a pause. “I guess the couch.” Osmond replied feeling oddly better. The two men moved piece after piece, box after box all the while having a lively conversation. They talked about their shared love for music, their disagreement of which basketball teams would make the playoffs in the coming year, their opinions on what makes the perfect hamburger, and plenty of other topics that Osmond had not heard another’s thoughts on in what felt like a lifetime. It was 8:32 PM and Osmond gave a hug to the first friend he had made in years only to say thank you and farewell. Wally entered his car and started the engine, Osmond entered the moving truck; he twisted the key and began his new life. As he drove into the evening, the interior of his home was now almost entirely empty, clothes hangers in the closet, nails without pictures on the walls, and a woman lying by the window.