Phoning Yesterday

A black suit and tie hang on Eric’s dresser. It’s been two weeks. Sitting on his bed, he turns the silver holographic box that had arrived in the post. A cream envelope sits next to it, with a note handwritten in eerily familiar cursive.

Think of me and call.

Lifting the square lid, he pulls out an antique rotary phone and rests it on his lap. The phone has a glossy black case and a translucent dial sitting above pristine white letters and numbers. It is in perfect condition like it hasn’t been used at all.

Eric checks the box for a return address, but that the only name on the box is his own. No address. No postage label. His eyes fall to his father’s funeral card resting on his nightstand. The corner is more worn than the rest of it, a result of his fidgeting during the service the day before.

In a mixture of lethargic disarray and sheer curiosity, he digs into the memories of his childhood and dials his old home number. Shutting his eyes, he places the handset to his ear as the phone rings thrice.

~

4:38 pm, December 27, 1996.

Bargaining voices and calling gulls sound in the darkness. A cold, salty breeze fills his nostrils as he slowly opens his eyes, finding himself sitting on a rocky pier by Loch Linnhe. The water gives a quiet roar each time it laps the rocks beneath him, slowly splattering his olive-green pants with salt stains. His thumb rolls his lucky marble between his fingers: a small translucent orb of glass with a white and blue toothpaste swirl in the centre. In three weeks, he will come to lose the marble on the bus.

“Got your favourite,” a familiar voice calls. Swivelling around, Eric sees his father walking towards him, silhouetted by the market’s hanging lights. Taking a seat next to Eric, he hands him a brown paper bag.

“Thanks, Dad,” Eric replies, opening it to find a slab of freshly made rocky road inside. He shimmies the treat to the top of the bag and takes a bite, shooting his father a cheeky smile.

“Sorry the fish weren’t biting today,” his dad says. “We can try again next week if you’d like.” Eric nods, coating his tongue with the sweet taste of chocolate and marshmallows.

His face drops as a thought crosses his mind.

“Dad,” he asks, “what’s going to happen when… when you’re not here anymore?”

His father slides closer to him, ruffling his carob-brown hair. “No matter when or where you are, whether you’re off exploring the tropical jungles of Africa, or seeing the big cities in America, or—”

“What about if I’m all the way on the other side of the world,” Eric interrupts, “like Antarctica?” He stares into the now half-eaten bag of sweets. His father smiles.

“Even if you’re waddling with the penguins in Antarctica, I will always be with you. In here.” His father points to Eric’s heart. The wind wisps along the loch, rattling the trinkets on the stalls and pulling up the water beneath their boots. “Now then, how’s about I ring mum and let her know we’re on our way? That way, dinner will be ready by the time we get home.” His father pats him on the back, getting up and shaking the crumbs off his jacket.

“Love you, Dad,” Eric says.

“I love you too, son.”

His father walks down the pier to the red phone box, partially covered by a trio of wild juniper shrubs.

Closing his eyes, Eric knows that this moment will be remembered for a lifetime.

~

The phone beeps in his ear, bringing him back to his bedroom. Placing the handset back on the cradle, he wipes the drop of water from his cheek, unsure whether it’s from his eyes or the loch. He looks back down at the note. It has changed.

Two calls left.

Sitting up from the bedhead, his mind lets his heart cling to the memory for a few seconds more before tucking it away.

To the empty room in front of him, the funeral card on his nightstand, and the plastic draped suit and tie, Eric asks, “when should I call next?”