The future keeps calling at odd hours. I let it ring, then listen: static, old jazz, the sound of far-off rain. “This is your only reminder,” it hums. “Tomorrow is coming. Dress warm.”
Delete. Too late.
The next message arrives before I’ve set the phone down. A voice, sharp and familiar. My father, long dead, clearing his throat like he used to when about to say something important. “Pick up.” The phone vibrates in my palm, hot and insistent. I answer. Silence—then, softly, “Come home.”
A second line crackles in. It’s me, older, laughing. My hand shakes.
“Don’t hang up.”
Nicely written surreal, if not a bit eerie, tale.
“This is your only reminder” a clever phrase denoting present and past.
Poignant focus on family relationships.