540. Mud on the phone

540mudonphone

When Miriam answered the phone her hands were dirty from gardening. She’d been weeding the anemones that were beginning to sprout in spring. Her son, Josh, had planted about ten bulbs years and years ago. Now every year Miriam got a veritable symphony of anemone colour.

It had been raining so she made the phone muddy when she answered the call. No time, of course, to wash hands before answering the phone. How easy to miss a call. How easy, too, to get mud everywhere.

Josh was dead, said the phone call. Killed in a factory accident. Dead.

“Josh?” said Miriam. “Josh?”

“Josh,” she said.

“Josh.”

“Josh?” she said.

“Josh.”

This is the chattanooga choo chew the fat chat:

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s