Slapping my cheek, I shake all negative thought out of my mind. “They’re just caught in traffic.” I ramble to no one particular. “Yeah, and they have no cell phone signal.”
Lies. Nine hundred people live within the town limits. No one gets caught in traffic.
Florescent blue flakes fall on my lap as I pick at my nail polish, and my eyes flicker between the clock and front door. Would it hurt for them to at least call?
The second hand ticks away at a fast, agonizing speed. 3:30, 3:31, 3:32, 3:33, 3:46, 3:50… The time ticks away, and I begin to pace.
Where are they?
Falling on the love-seat, I scream into a throw pillow. After a much needed meltdown, I angrily chuck a candle holder at the clock. Glass showers the carpet. Reading the clock, I feel a little bit of the frustration dissipate. It will be eternally stuck at five ‘o’ clock.
The phone rings and I dive over the coffee table.
“Hello?” I rub my severely bruised shins. “May I ask who’s calling?”
My heart sinks as a gruff voice echoes from the other end. “Tell Phil that he has until tomorrow to bring me what he owes, or else-”
Slamming the phone on the receiver, I unplug it, throw it to the ground, and stomp on it. A broken piece of plastic runs into my foot. I kick it away. Biting my palm to stop from crying in pain, I hobble into the kitchen.
Milk. I need milk. Milk calms my nerves.
Opening the fridge and grabbing the milk carton, I hiss out a blasphemy when it slips out of my grip and smashes down on my foot. My vision blurs with tears. Why didn’t they at least call? I crumple to the ground and sob into my now soiled shirt. I imagine my friends at our favorite coffee shop and laughing over their choice drinks.
Laughing at me.
“Happy birthday to me.”
Copyright © 2015 by Nita Pan
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