Analog
1997 was a bad year for love
The sun.
Ancient and predictable. Rising in defiance to the dewy quiet darkness. Unfettered in its promises.
Promises that pierced through a cloudless sky right to Claudia’s eyes.
She squinted at its persistence. Welcomed into another August day. Is there hope at all?
Claudia’s senses, awoken from the sweat combed around her hairline. The rising heat made her skin itch. The bed, now uncomfortable, lifted Claudia up from her solemness. She needed coffee.
He promised to call. She’d waited so long to hear his voice. Soft and low, monotone and certain. As certain as the train roared by her house every two hours. It rattled the windows and shook glasses in the sink. It honked it’s horn, and soared past. As shiny as a grey bullet.
It was eleven o’clock.
It’s been so long since she’d seen other people. People still existed, but Claudia was on hold. People were still living their lives, going about their tiny worlds. Claudia just wasn’t one of them.
She walked down to the living room and stared at the yellow wall phone. Nowhere to go. Claudia waited for his call. She didn’t even have a call waiting, and she wasn’t going to miss it. She carefully thumbed through her record albums until she saw the familiar…
