Call in the Night

This is a story I wrote and published thirty-two years ago. I’m posting this ‘cause I want to see how it stands up so many years later. I also want any feedback you can give me. I tried to expand on it a few years back, but it looked like it’s that kind of story where it’s best the way it is.

Call in the Night

            The phone must have rung for at least five minutes before I woke out of a deep sleep to fumble for it.

            “Hello,” I mumbled.

            “Allan,” she asked, “Is that you?”

            I started to say no, it wasn’t.  Allan died two days ago because of a lack of sleep.

            “Nancy, is that you?”

            She didn’t answer for a moment.  I could hear her soft breathing on the other end, and knew the answer to my question. 

            “Uh, huh,” she finally said.  “Sorry to call so late, but I just had to speak to someone.”  She paused, and I heard her take a deep breath.  “No, that’s not true.  I had to talk to you.  Someone else just wouldn’t have been the same.”

            I reached for a cigarette on the nightstand.  As I was lighting it, her voice came over the phone.

            “You know you shouldn’t be doing that.”

            I grinned.  She always hated my smoking in bed.

            “What’s the matter, Nancy?” I said, changing the already sore subject.

            “Nothing major,” she said, “I just thought you might like to know I’m getting married tomorrow.”

            I dropped the cigarette on my chest.

            “Damn!” I yelled, jumping to my feet, stamping out the brush fire that was breaking out on my chest.

            She laughed on the other end of the line.  “It isn’t that bad, is it?”

            I told her about my now barren chest, knowing I would get another lecture.  To my surprise, I didn’t.

            “At first, I wasn’t going to tell you about it, “she began, “but then I realized how it would sound coming from someone else.” She paused, “I didn’t want you to get hurt.”

            I started to tell her that was nice of her.  Nice of her to call her ex-husband of two months to tell him she was in love with again and getting remarried.  Nice of her to tell him that she was marrying a man she only knew for…

            “How long have you known him, Nancy?”

            She must have caught the bitterness in my voice.  “About a month,” she answered slowly.

            “Hmmm,” was all I could say, reaching for another cigarette.

“But he’s so good to me,” she began, “It’s like we’ve known each other for years.”

“We only knew each other for three months before we got married, Nancy,” I started, “and look what happened to us.”  I didn’t tell her that she said it seemed we had known each other all our lives as well after we first met.

“I know,” she reasoned, “but it’s going to be different this time.”

I didn’t answer for a long time.  “I hope so, Nancy. I really do.”  And to my surprise, I really did.

“Well, I’ve got to go,” she said, “We’re leaving early in the morning for the coast.” She paused, “I’m sorry again for calling so late, but I really wanted to talk to you about it.”

“Thanks,” I smiled, “I always enjoy getting a call from a lovely lady at two in the morning.  But it always seems that they call me to tell me of their upcoming nuptials.”

“Wish me luck.”

“Always.”

I hung up the receiver.  Taking a long drag on my cigarette, I wondered if someone else had gotten a call the night before we had married.  I hoped I’d never find out.

I crushed out the cigarette.

Meeting my wife...the Final Chapter?

As they say, the rest is history. I could go on and talk about how I didn’t get home until almost 2:30 that night, and that I, Chris, and her friend Nancy (who brought her to the happy hour---thank, you, Nancy), went to places they thought they’d never go to, but I’ll save that for the future. All I will say now is that six months later Chris and I were engaged, and then a little over a year after we first met, were married. And the adventure still goes on…

Meeting Chris, Part IV

I pulled into the parking lot of the Ramada Inn around 4pm. I had gone home to change and freshen up a bit before getting there, so I was about a half an hour late getting there and I was hoping that the seat next to Mona’s sister had been taken. When I walked into the lounge, I saw everyone sitting around a big, round table---there must have been at least twenty people there, and there was only one seat available. It was not next to Mona’s sister. I didn’t recognize the woman in the seat next to the vacant one, but on her right was Nancy, another English teacher at the school. As I walked over to the empty seat, Bob called out, “Well, it’s about time you got here.” He looked over at Mona and the woman sitting next to her and grinned. “We managed to hold on to one empty chair, though…over by Nancy’s friend there.”

As I sat down next to here, I held out my hand and introduced myself. “Allan Jackson, “I said as she took my hand.

“Chris Parson,” she answered. “Looks like we’re both new to this group.”

“Good,” I grinned, “we can protect each other. I’ve never been in a room with so many teachers drinking.” I paused as I poured a beer from the pitcher on the table. “We could be in trouble.”

“I hope so,” she said, smiling back at me and raising her glass. “I’m a teacher too.”

Meeting Chris, Part III

By the time Friday’s classes finally ended, I really wasn’t in a mood to go out---I was just exhausted and wanted to go home and take a nap. As I shuffled through the teacher lounge to sign my time sheet, the staff there was lively as ever. “Hey, Jackson!” It was Bob, a veteran English teacher who was my mentor during my first year teaching there. “Are you ready to get happy?” He grinned, “I hear Mona’s sister is coming today as well.” There were some snickers from around the room. “My sister is always dying to meet new teachers,” Mona said, “especially when they’re male and single.” This confirmed my need to get home and hide. “I don’t know,” I said, “I’ve got a dandy of a headache.”

“C’mon,” Bob urged. “A couple of drinks and you’ll feel much better.”

“I’ll be there,” I said, “but I’ll be a few minutes. I need to get home and let the dog out.” It was the only thing I could think of at the moment.

“Okay,” Mona said, “but don’t be too late. I’ll try and save you a seat.” She winked at me. “Right next to my sister.”

I didn’t know then that it wasn’t Mona’s sister I’d be sitting next to…

Meeting my wife, Part 2

It was February 5, 1988, and I had just started teaching at a high school in Winter Garden, Florida. Scared, nervous, and fresh out of graduate school, I felt like a stranger in a strange land as I walked the corridors and classrooms of this huge high school. The only refuge I found that first week of teaching was in the teacher’s lounge, and my comrades in arms sensed my anxiety and quickly took me under their wings. As Friday slowly approached, I noticed a sense of hopefulness permeate the room. “It’ll be Friday soon,” Nancy told me, “and we all LIVE for Fridays.” She smiled, “Especially Friday afternoon Happy Hour after school’s out!” Everyone cheered, and Tom, another teacher, said to me, “Naturally, you’re invited. We have to make you an official member of the ‘Tempestuous Teachers Society.’”