“How are you? Okay. I’m good. Don’t worry about me. I just wanted to hear you. Get some sleep. Have a safe trip. And… and be careful.”
It took him about four tries to hook the pay phone back into its cradle because of his shivering. He stood there for a few minutes, breathing inside a glass box fettered by graffiti and the haze of the city’s urban pollution. Such conversations confused him. At times, they transported him to a country, a home, an embrace a half-world away, they filled him with a warmth that made his fingertips tingle Sometimes they bridled him, and he let his anger warm him instead, as he stood there huddled against the cold and the crowds, cradling his temporary link to the woman he loved. Other times, they bemused him, and he flicked his fingernails over the calling card inserted into the booth, listening to the reality of his nails clicking and the elusiveness of the soft voice chatting on the other end of the line. Everyday conversations—until today.
This would be the last. If she joined her team on the rocket, there would be no coming back. No more voice. No more she. The realization struck his skull like a freezing blast of water from the showerhead, leaving him breathless. His premonitions always happened like that.
He picked up the receiver again. Dialed again. “Pick up,” he begged. His voice closed, and he cleared his throat.
Breathless pause.
And then that familiar American accent—“Hello?”
“It’s me.” He didn’t realize how hard he was clutching the receiver until the peeling black paint crackled against his palm.
“What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
“Yes. No. I’m not. I need to talk to you. Do you have time?” Do you have time? Did he really say that? He wanted to kick himself.
“Honey, I’m leaving in an hour. I’ll try to jack into some headphones up there in space. They said they got a webcam for us. Can it wait? Or just—tell me over the phone, okay?”
He leaned against the inside of the phone booth, his free hand pressed against the glass wall. “I’m in love with you.”
There was a pause. “Ah.” Her voice was heavy with tension—and relief—and, warmth. One word, so strong. “I was hoping for that.”
“Is that all you can say?”
“I was afraid of it. I was hoping for it. I wanted it. But sooner. I needed it sooner. Now… now what?”
“Now, don’t go to the moon. Don’t get in that rocket. Let someone else go. That’s not your trip. It’s not your time. Come back…” He took a deep breath, closed his eyes. Hard words, so easy once he said them. “To me.”
He thought he could hear her smile. This would be the last phone-booth conversation. But only because she was coming back to him. “I thought you’d never ask.”
He already knew that only in a couple days the Apollo 567 would burst into flames. But she would be safe, back in his arms.
"Angreek87"
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