Rick says, "Previously I have been a welder, truck driver,
warehouse worker, office drone, security guard .... you name it and I
probably messed up at it."
Rick continues, "This short story, ‘Call Back,' is a character study of a young woman who needs to work out some conflicts in her life and become more assertive. Alas, we are left to wonder if she will ever accomplish this."
.... by Rick Hughes
She sat, waiting alone. Every now and then she looked at the
phone. Was the ringer turned off? Sometimes when she set the phone on
the floor the switch caught in the carpet and pulled itself to the 'off'
position. She checked. It was on. Was the phone line out? Very rare,
but she picked up the receiver and heard a steady dial tone. No
messages.
It had always been like this for her. How did she get herself into
these situations? She replayed the interview in her head. Maybe, as
she thought about it, the question was not 'how' but 'why' as she
recalled her part in the conversation. She had been agreeable but
passive, letting the other person guide the interview, leading up to
some indefinite confirmation which was supposed to follow in a few
days. It always ended without resolution, leaving her dependent on a
call back.
It was always up to someone else, a third party not in the room at
that time, who had to be consulted. The person on the other side of the
desk would promise to check with this mystical 'someone else' and get in
touch with her. Then her life would revolve around this mysterious
authority, 'someone else,' who was removed by one degree of separation.
Two degrees if you counted the phone.
Replaying the situation further, she twisted her mind around various
possible outcomes, regretting things not said, things she should have
said to better define herself, would have said if only . . .
Yesterday evening she walked by herself through a nearby park.
Joggers, parents with kids in strollers and people walking their dogs
all passed by her. And so many puppies, pulling on their leashes.
Later in her sleep she dreamed about puppies. She ate them. They
sustained her. But there was one she skipped over, did not eat. It
grew into a wiggly, bony bundle of affection, devoted to her. She knew
she would not have time to give it the attention it needed. Who else
would take care of it?
She sat, looking at the phone.
The Short Stories of Rick Hughes