Calling Home
After three rings my father answers the phone.
"Yeah?" He says.
"Dad?" I say. "It's Henry."
"One minute," says my father, and then, away from the phone, "Henry's on the phone, honey."
I can make out some kind of clattering sound followed by a long curdled shriek, and then my father comes back on.
"Your mother wants to know if you're eating enough," he says.
"She does?" I ask. "Is that what she said?"
"More or less," my father says.
"Is Mom mad at me?" I ask.
"Ah, not really," my father says. "She's just...hungry."
"Hungry?" I ask. "Is something wrong, Dad?"
"That virus makes things a mite difficult, but..." my father says, and then I hear him yell, away from the phone, "Git! Get away from her, Scooter!"
"Dad," I say. "What virus?"
"That one that makes you want to eat folks," he says. "You know."
"Makes you...!?" I say. "Are...are you guys okay?"
"Git, Scooter!" he yells, and then, muttering, "Damn dog."
"Dad!" I shout. "Are you okay?"
"Hm?" he says. "I'm okay, but your Ma caught it."
"What?" I say, stunned. "Why didn't you tell me? Why isn't she in a hospital?"
"Nothing to be done," he says, and I can almost hear his shrug over the phone. "Besides, the hospitals are overrun, anyway."
"Over..." I start, but am interrupted by sharp barking and a loud whine on the other end. I hear my father shout, and then groan.
"Dad!" I shout. "Dad!"
"I'm here," he says. "Your Ma just got Scooter, though."
"What?" I ask. "Got Scooter? Got him how?"
"Ate him," he says. "Eating him now, anyway. Chain was too long, I guess."
"Mom...she...I...I don't understand," I say.
"I told you son, it's that virus. People all over got it. It's so a body can't even walk the streets without fear of getting bit. Broke my shovel 'cross that Jenkins boy's head just yesterday. You went to school with him, didn't you?"
"Uh...yeah," I say. "Greg. His name was Greg."
"Well, anyway. Nice to hear from you son," my Dad says. "I'd best clean up this mess now."
"Okay...I...uh...wish Mom a happy Mother's Day." I say.
"Talk to you soon, Henry," my father says. "Be good."
"Bye, Dad," I say.
After three rings my father answers the phone.
"Yeah?" He says.
"Dad?" I say. "It's Henry."
"One minute," says my father, and then, away from the phone, "Henry's on the phone, honey."
I can make out some kind of clattering sound followed by a long curdled shriek, and then my father comes back on.
"Your mother wants to know if you're eating enough," he says.
"She does?" I ask. "Is that what she said?"
"More or less," my father says.
"Is Mom mad at me?" I ask.
"Ah, not really," my father says. "She's just...hungry."
"Hungry?" I ask. "Is something wrong, Dad?"
"That virus makes things a mite difficult, but..." my father says, and then I hear him yell, away from the phone, "Git! Get away from her, Scooter!"
"Dad," I say. "What virus?"
"That one that makes you want to eat folks," he says. "You know."
"Makes you...!?" I say. "Are...are you guys okay?"
"Git, Scooter!" he yells, and then, muttering, "Damn dog."
"Dad!" I shout. "Are you okay?"
"Hm?" he says. "I'm okay, but your Ma caught it."
"What?" I say, stunned. "Why didn't you tell me? Why isn't she in a hospital?"
"Nothing to be done," he says, and I can almost hear his shrug over the phone. "Besides, the hospitals are overrun, anyway."
"Over..." I start, but am interrupted by sharp barking and a loud whine on the other end. I hear my father shout, and then groan.
"Dad!" I shout. "Dad!"
"I'm here," he says. "Your Ma just got Scooter, though."
"What?" I ask. "Got Scooter? Got him how?"
"Ate him," he says. "Eating him now, anyway. Chain was too long, I guess."
"Mom...she...I...I don't understand," I say.
"I told you son, it's that virus. People all over got it. It's so a body can't even walk the streets without fear of getting bit. Broke my shovel 'cross that Jenkins boy's head just yesterday. You went to school with him, didn't you?"
"Uh...yeah," I say. "Greg. His name was Greg."
"Well, anyway. Nice to hear from you son," my Dad says. "I'd best clean up this mess now."
"Okay...I...uh...wish Mom a happy Mother's Day." I say.
"Talk to you soon, Henry," my father says. "Be good."
"Bye, Dad," I say.
Yikes. I'm speechless. I have no speech.
Posted by: Gretchen | May 07, 2007 at 07:56 PM
My mom wasn't THIS bad when the cat went on the bed.
and for mother's day I was gonna get her flowers...
Posted by: Faith | May 07, 2007 at 10:19 PM
My mom wasn't THIS bad when the cat went on the bed.
Posted by: Faith | May 07, 2007 at 10:20 PM
Man. I wish my dad could handle this that well.
Posted by: Enna Isilee | May 09, 2007 at 08:36 PM
Thank you for the lovely Mother's Day story, honey. You are so tender.
Posted by: the wife | May 10, 2007 at 09:17 AM
;D I'll be watching out for this virus ;D
Posted by: Taiger | May 11, 2007 at 11:54 AM
Does your Mother know you write this stuff?
Posted by: Stubby LaRue | May 11, 2007 at 02:43 PM