By Liezl Bitas, Year 12
In that very moment, I was terrified. It was ten to midnight and I kept wondering: where was he? I rang his phone about a dozen times, with varying intervals, wishing, praying he was okay. But there was no answer.
Silence. The subscriber cannot be reached, please try again later.
The fingers beneath my phone stiffened with cold. My blood wasn’t flowing through those veins; my brain couldn’t get a hold of those nerve endings. I felt numb. Under my chest, my heart didn’t pump. It swelled with worry, with confusion, with—I don’t know—uncertainty. It made my ribs feel as if they were unbuckling from their place, loosening their grip on my spine and giving way for my lungs to burst. I didn’t realize quickly enough that I had been holding my breath… no, not up until I felt my throat begging and my head throbbing.
Above me was the sterile light from an old fluorescent bulb hanging solely on the makeshift metal roof of the bus stop. I had been waiting for him. With wobbly knees, I stand up from the cold seat and reach out my phone to the dark sky beyond in hopes to get something, an answer, a voice, anything. Hell, even just the sound of the line ringing.
Nothing. Still silence and the monotonous tune of a female voice, echoing The subscriber cannot be reached, please try again later. It almost seemed to be inundating my soul with worry, almost asking me to drop to my knees and sob. Where was he?
Unsteady, I dropped back into my seat, shakily dialing and dialing and dialing. Why wouldn’t he answer? Was his phone not working? Was the connection unstable? Was he in trouble? Was he…Was he—no. I pushed the thoughts away and pressed the speaker of my phone right into the left side of my face. My lips were chapped with the cold, and my nose and fingers were red with pain, the heat from my phone gave warmth to me. If only he would answer.
My watch read a quarter to one in the morning. It had almost been an hour and a half since I’d started calling, forty minutes before I started having terrifying thoughts, and two hours since he was supposed to be here. Occasionally, a few headlights would shine the damp road, making it gleam, and would give me false hope that he was there. But in these hours, only a few trucks and drunk drivers would zoom past me.
Another ten minutes in, an old man asked me, “Miss, might you have the time?” and I told him. Another half-hour, I rang his phone again, to get nothing more than the same emptiness. Five minutes after, I shoved my shaking hands under my legs to keep them warm. But in the next ten minutes, I’ve resolved that my worry should be welcomed and made into action. Where was he?
The available battery capacity of my phone had dwindled to less than ten per cent, making my teeth grind. I dialed 911, but quickly regretted it as soon as I let it ring once, and ended the call. I figured, by making things worse in my head, I could make things worse in reality. Instead, I called my sister who lived at least two and a half hours away to come pick me up. I heard a click from the other end of the line.
“Hello?” she said, yawning. “It’s almost two a..m. What are you doing up?”
I explain the situation to her, making sure that my voice was steady and my feet were grounded. Panicking only exacerbates the predicament.
“Be right there,” she said quickly this time, final and controlled. She was coming for me and that was one last thing to worry about.
But the ache deep in my chest did not lift. Where was he? If he was okay, then we was okay. But if he wasn’t? I couldn’t fathom the possibility of me not being able to do anything, and that was exactly the position I was in. I was cold, but damp altogether, alone in a bus stop in the middle of nowhere with a dying phone. I put it to use, dialing three numbers. 911. After they ask what my problem might be, I told them to look for him, to track his phone with a GPS or find his car.
I stared into the other side of the road. How I wondered how much I wanted nothing more than to be seated shotgun in the car, riding home safely by now. But all I saw was the dark and an empty sidewalk.
I clicked my phone on, bringing the screen to life. Its glow was at a minimum, looking as exhausted as I am. Less than five per cent.
It came to a point where I just rang and rang and rang, getting nothing more than silence, quickly followed by a The subscriber cannot be reached, please try again later. I did this at least six times, to the extent that my hopes were low.
The battery was dwindling faster than I had ever experienced.
If it died, then he wouldn’t be able to call me.
If it died, then I wouldn’t be able to call him.
If it died, 911 would not be able to tell me if they found him or if they didn’t.
If it died, my sister would only get a hold of me by past two.
If it died, and he was in an accident, I wouldn’t know.
If it died, it would take more than the screen’s temporary blackness to its grave.
I dialed once. Silence. The subscriber cannot be reached, please try—Twice. Nothing. The subscriber cannot be—-Thrice. The subscr—-No. The sub—No! The—-Stop. I had to stop.
One percent. My hopes were low. Where was he? I looked up at the moon, mocking me with its glow. It’s in the dead of night and I can’t do anything.
I held my phone tightly, knowing I had it only for a little while more. Where was he? Where was he? Where was he?
After dialing thrice more, I got what I begged for.
Ring, ring, ring…
A ring. My heart fluttered with hope.
Ring, ring, ring…
It sang a melody beneath my chest.
Ring, ring, ring…
I never wanted to hear silence again—never, never again.
Ring, ring, ring…
Just wait. You can wait just a little more.
Ring, ring…
Please. Answer.
Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring…
It had been too long. He wasn’t coming.
The subscriber cannot be reached.
Silence. The subscriber cannot be reached, please try again later.
The fingers beneath my phone stiffened with cold. My blood wasn’t flowing through those veins; my brain couldn’t get a hold of those nerve endings. I felt numb. Under my chest, my heart didn’t pump. It swelled with worry, with confusion, with—I don’t know—uncertainty. It made my ribs feel as if they were unbuckling from their place, loosening their grip on my spine and giving way for my lungs to burst. I didn’t realize quickly enough that I had been holding my breath… no, not up until I felt my throat begging and my head throbbing.
Above me was the sterile light from an old fluorescent bulb hanging solely on the makeshift metal roof of the bus stop. I had been waiting for him. With wobbly knees, I stand up from the cold seat and reach out my phone to the dark sky beyond in hopes to get something, an answer, a voice, anything. Hell, even just the sound of the line ringing.
Nothing. Still silence and the monotonous tune of a female voice, echoing The subscriber cannot be reached, please try again later. It almost seemed to be inundating my soul with worry, almost asking me to drop to my knees and sob. Where was he?
Unsteady, I dropped back into my seat, shakily dialing and dialing and dialing. Why wouldn’t he answer? Was his phone not working? Was the connection unstable? Was he in trouble? Was he…Was he—no. I pushed the thoughts away and pressed the speaker of my phone right into the left side of my face. My lips were chapped with the cold, and my nose and fingers were red with pain, the heat from my phone gave warmth to me. If only he would answer.
My watch read a quarter to one in the morning. It had almost been an hour and a half since I’d started calling, forty minutes before I started having terrifying thoughts, and two hours since he was supposed to be here. Occasionally, a few headlights would shine the damp road, making it gleam, and would give me false hope that he was there. But in these hours, only a few trucks and drunk drivers would zoom past me.
Another ten minutes in, an old man asked me, “Miss, might you have the time?” and I told him. Another half-hour, I rang his phone again, to get nothing more than the same emptiness. Five minutes after, I shoved my shaking hands under my legs to keep them warm. But in the next ten minutes, I’ve resolved that my worry should be welcomed and made into action. Where was he?
The available battery capacity of my phone had dwindled to less than ten per cent, making my teeth grind. I dialed 911, but quickly regretted it as soon as I let it ring once, and ended the call. I figured, by making things worse in my head, I could make things worse in reality. Instead, I called my sister who lived at least two and a half hours away to come pick me up. I heard a click from the other end of the line.
“Hello?” she said, yawning. “It’s almost two a..m. What are you doing up?”
I explain the situation to her, making sure that my voice was steady and my feet were grounded. Panicking only exacerbates the predicament.
“Be right there,” she said quickly this time, final and controlled. She was coming for me and that was one last thing to worry about.
But the ache deep in my chest did not lift. Where was he? If he was okay, then we was okay. But if he wasn’t? I couldn’t fathom the possibility of me not being able to do anything, and that was exactly the position I was in. I was cold, but damp altogether, alone in a bus stop in the middle of nowhere with a dying phone. I put it to use, dialing three numbers. 911. After they ask what my problem might be, I told them to look for him, to track his phone with a GPS or find his car.
I stared into the other side of the road. How I wondered how much I wanted nothing more than to be seated shotgun in the car, riding home safely by now. But all I saw was the dark and an empty sidewalk.
I clicked my phone on, bringing the screen to life. Its glow was at a minimum, looking as exhausted as I am. Less than five per cent.
It came to a point where I just rang and rang and rang, getting nothing more than silence, quickly followed by a The subscriber cannot be reached, please try again later. I did this at least six times, to the extent that my hopes were low.
The battery was dwindling faster than I had ever experienced.
If it died, then he wouldn’t be able to call me.
If it died, then I wouldn’t be able to call him.
If it died, 911 would not be able to tell me if they found him or if they didn’t.
If it died, my sister would only get a hold of me by past two.
If it died, and he was in an accident, I wouldn’t know.
If it died, it would take more than the screen’s temporary blackness to its grave.
I dialed once. Silence. The subscriber cannot be reached, please try—Twice. Nothing. The subscriber cannot be—-Thrice. The subscr—-No. The sub—No! The—-Stop. I had to stop.
One percent. My hopes were low. Where was he? I looked up at the moon, mocking me with its glow. It’s in the dead of night and I can’t do anything.
I held my phone tightly, knowing I had it only for a little while more. Where was he? Where was he? Where was he?
After dialing thrice more, I got what I begged for.
Ring, ring, ring…
A ring. My heart fluttered with hope.
Ring, ring, ring…
It sang a melody beneath my chest.
Ring, ring, ring…
I never wanted to hear silence again—never, never again.
Ring, ring, ring…
Just wait. You can wait just a little more.
Ring, ring…
Please. Answer.
Ring, ring, ring, ring, ring, ring…
It had been too long. He wasn’t coming.
The subscriber cannot be reached.
THE END.
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