Year: 2015

http://dcttr.blogspot.com/2015/06/guest-post-andrew-joyce-and-danny.html

Originally posted on Chris The Story Reading Ape's Blog:

The Black Telephone…

When I was a young boy, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood..

I remember the polished, old case fastened to the Wall.

The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box.

I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother talked to it.

Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person.

Her name was “Information Please” and there was nothing she did not know.

Information Please could supply anyone’s number and the correct time.

My personal experience with the genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor.

Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer, the pain was terrible, but there seemed no point in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy.

I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway.

The telephone!

Quickly, I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing.

Climbing up, I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear.

“Information, please” I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.

A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. “Information.”

“I hurt my finger…” I wailed into the phone, the tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.

“Isn’t your mother home?” came the question.

“Nobody’s home but me,” I blubbered.

“Are you bleeding?” the voice asked.

“No,”I replied.“I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts.”

“Can you open the icebox?” she asked.

I said I could.

“Then chip off a little bit of ice and hold it to your finger,” said the voice..

After that, I called “Information Please” for everything..

I asked her for help with my geography, and she told me where Philadelphia was.

She helped me with my math.

She told me my pet chipmunk that I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.

Then, there was the time Petey, our pet canary, died.

I called, Information Please,” and told her the sad story.

She listened, and then said things grown-ups say to soothe a child.

But I was not consoled. I asked her, “Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?”

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, “Wayne, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.”

Somehow I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone, “Information Please.”

”Information,” said in the now familiar voice.

“How do I spell fix?”I asked.

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest .

When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston.

I missed my friend very much.

“Information Please” belonged in that old wooden box back home and I somehow never thought of trying the shiny new phone that sat on the table in the hall.

As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me..

Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then.

I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle .

I had about a half-hour or so between planes.

I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now.

Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, “Information Please.”

Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.

”Information.” I hadn’t planned this, but I heard myself saying, “Could you please tell me how to spell fix?”

There was a long pause.

Then came the soft spoken answer, “I guess your finger must have healed by now.”

I laughed, “So it’s really you,” I said.

“I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time?”

I wonder, she said, “if you know how much your call meant to me.”

“I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls.”

I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.

“Please do”, she said.

“Just ask for Sally.” Three months later I was back in Seattle.

A different voice answered, “Information.”

I asked for Sally. “Are you a friend?” she said.

“Yes, a very old friend,” I answered.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” She said, “Sally had been working part time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago.”

Before I could hang up, she said, “Wait a minute, did you say your name was Wayne?”

“Yes” I answered.

“Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you.”

The note said, “Tell him there are other worlds to sing in. He’ll know what I mean.”

I thanked her and hung up.

I knew what Sally meant.

Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.

“I’m just a soul whose intentions are good. Oh Lord please don’t let me be misunderstood.”

   That is a line from a song that was popular in the 60’s. It also sums up my thinking.

If you will allow me I’d like to give you my side of the story. I know the papers and television have painted me as a monster, something that should be exterminated at the soonest possible moment. But I did what I did for a very good reason.

It started on that cold day in February two years ago when she walked into my shop. At the time I was a woodworker, a cabinet maker. She was not beautiful, but then again she was not unpleasant to the eye. I can still remember her first words, “Are you Abner Crochet?” Seeing as how that was my name, I answered in the affirmative. My time is limited, they will be coming for me shortly, so I’ll have to leave a much out of my narrative, but the salient facts are as follows.

She said she wanted me to construct an old fashion type wardrobe of maple with cypress shelving. But I ask you, if that is all she wanted why in heaven’s name did she come on to me in such a manner?

What manner was that you may ask. Well, I will tell you.

At our third meeting while I was showing her the plans I had drawn up for her commission, she placed her hand on mine. Yes, I know that does not seem like much, but you did not see the look in her eyes. After that day the relationship grew. She would come by almost daily to check on the progress of the piece, at least that is what she claimed. I knew different, she was falling in love with me as I had fallen in love with her.

Then the day came when my work was done. She was thrilled with the finished product, and over and over again she told me that I was an artist and my work should be in museums. That made me feel good, not because she liked my work: I felt good because she loved me, and I was in love for the first time in my life.

I expected her the next day when the piece was to be picked up. However, I was disappointed. She had sent two workmen in her stead. So I called her, and can you believe it, she pretended that she had not the slightest feelings for me. She said, “I assume you’re calling about the bill. Well, I’ve already sent off the check with a little extra because my fiancé loves it so much. It is to be my wedding present to him.”

What was she talking about? She had not once mentioned a fiancé! She touched my hand for God’s sake! I had to think. I could only mutter a weak thank you, and hung up the phone.

Admittedly, I have not been around women very much. Until she came into my life I don’t think I’d even touched a woman. But I knew she felt towards me as I felt towards her. She placed her hand on top of mine!

“Yes … yes …”

I’m being told I must gather my belongings for the move. But before I do so, I must explain myself. I’ll be brief.

Knowing she loved me as I loved her meant only one thing. She was being forced to marry against her will. And I decided that I would have to intercede on her behalf. That is why I broke into the apartment. I was only going to reason with the man. Tell him of our true, great love.

Then my world, all my hopes and dreams, crumbled before me. When I flicked on the bedroom light … when I flicked on the bedroom light … even now it is hard for me to put into words what I saw. When I flicked on the bedroom light there he was, and there she was. They were lying in the same bed! And neither one of them were decent. It was then that I knew my one true love had betrayed me.

I know I said I went there only to convince my rival that he should bow out of true love’s way, but that does not explain why I brought along the hunting knife. Was I subconsciously planning to do harm to the man? I do not know.

However, it is all academic. When I saw the two—my love and that vile man—intertwined upon the bed, I lost all reason. I did what I had to do to save my love. He just got in the way. I knew she loved me, but now that she was sullied by another, she could never have me. So, the most humane thing I could do was to end her life. I did not want her living a life of regret because she had lost my love. And him? I said he got in the way. He fought, and he fought hard to protect my love, however, it did give me great joy to dispatch him into another world.

So, you see my friends, what I did I did out of love.

They are moving me to the death watch cell now. Soon I will have my hair shaved and the gel placed thereon, for good conductivity you know. Then I’ll get my allotted 50,000 volts. I am happy as I write these words, my true love and I will be together in a very short while.

“I’m just a soul whose intentions where good. Oh Lord please don’t let me be misunderstood.”

http://geni.us/2CUG