𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐥𝐥
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「 DISCLAMER: 」
ᴛᴡ: ᴄᴀʀ ᴄʀᴀsʜ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ɢʀɪᴇᴠɪɴɢ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴅʀᴜɢs, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏғ ᴡᴇᴇᴅ, ᴏɴᴇ (𝟷) sᴡᴇᴀʀ
ɴᴏᴛᴇ: ᴀᴜᴛʜᴏʀ ᴋɴᴏᴡs ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴄᴇss ᴏғ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛɪɴɢ ᴇᴍᴇʀɢᴇɴᴄʏ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴀᴄᴛs/ɴᴇxᴛ ᴏғ ᴋɪɴ ɪɴ ᴀ ғɪʀsᴛ ʀᴇsᴘᴏɴᴅᴇʀ/ᴇᴍᴇʀɢᴇɴᴄʏ sɪᴛᴜᴀᴛɪᴏɴ
ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2,074
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It's 5:23 PM. The tv plays faintly in the living room, white noise that falls into the subconscious of those in the room. The small, 2 bedroom apartment is utterly silent aside from this.
On the couch lies a man and his son, both sleeping in comfort with the warmth of the other. Father and son, bearing similar resemblance with their shaggy black hair and charming features, are clothed in their pajamas.
Glenn Close is a 30-something father and husband. His home and life is humble, with the father just starting up his Christmas Cover band; The Glenn Close Trio. Between the Christmas Season, he gets by, working as a DJ for weddings and other events.
He barely begins to stir, shaggy black hair draped over his eyes and obscuring his vision. He’s starting to grow it out, for the so-called “Rocker look” he feels will do well on stage. At the moment, is it in the awkward stages of its growth, but he still sports it well.
Opening his eyes, Glenn raises one hand to brush away his hair, his chest rising and falling in a yawning sigh. On his chest, he feels the small weight stir. His other hand remains on his son’s back; Nicholas, sleeping soundly.
The father and son fell asleep around an hour ago, while enjoying a lazy Sunday watching the Disney channel. Nick rested comfortably on his fathers chest, lulled to sleep by his warmth and the rhythm of his breathing and heartbeat.
Glenn smiles with parental love for his child. Only seven years old, bringing both calm and chaos into Glenn’s life. Filling his life with a love and purpose he never thought he could find.
Feeling the need to awaken his tired limbs, Glenn carefully lifts Nick up— he is a heavy sleeper, always has been— and lays his son on the couch, a pillow under his head.
In his very plain pajamas, simply a band t-shirt and sweats, Glenn raises his arms up in a stretch, groaning quietly at the effort. He sluggishly shuffles to the bathroom down the hall.
He notes the silence of the apartment while he uses the toilet— he knows his wife, Morgan, left an hour and a half ago to run to the store, but he expected her to be back by now. The store is only a 15 minute drive, and she only needed a few things.
Leaving the bathroom, Glenn takes a quick peek across the hall into his shared room. Empty, and silent. He also looks into Nick’s room, just for the sake of looking. Again, nothing.
The man scratches his stomach lazily, stepping out of the short hallway. He crosses the living room, making an effort to keep light-footed, letting his son nap undisturbed. He steps into the kitchen, the space separated from the living room only by the countertop and rickety dining room table.
He finds the remote phone idling where it was last left on the kitchen counter. Picking it up, he dials his wife’s number, the set of digits memorized years ago.
The phone rings in his ear as the call is sent out, and Glenn waits calmly for Morgan to answer. As the sound drones in his ear, he pops open the fridge, peering inside at the meager leftovers. He grabs the little bit of orange juice left, taking a swig from the container.
“Hey, this is Morgan. I can’t get to the phone right now, I’ll call you back when I can. Later!”
Glenn pouts half-heartedly as the recorded voice of his wife answers his call. He glances at the time on the stove as the phone beeps and waits for him to input a message. Nearly 5:30
“Hey babe, uh, I was just wondering where you’re at. Me ‘n Nicky here are missin’ ya. Lemme know when you’re heading home, m‘kay? Love you.”
Satisfied with his message, Glenn hangs up the phone. As he lowers his hand to return the device to the countertop, it rings in his hand, startling him with the abruptness.
He answers, clearing his throat subtly.
“Y’ello?”
“Is this a Mr. Close?”
“Mhm. Who’s this?”
“This is Officer Foster. Mr. Close, I’m calling about your wife, Morgan Close.”
Glenn feels a pit of dread begin to form in his gut. He shrugs it off, swallowing the sudden lump that forms in his throat.
“It’s- its uh, Morgan Freeman-Close, actually…”
“.. Mrs. Freeman-Close was in an accident, Mr. Close… A head-on collision.”
“...”
“She was dead on arrival, sir.”
Glenn’s free hand grips the edge of the countertop, his mind dizzy and his legs turning to jelly. His balance wavers, as if someone pulled the ground out from under him. There’s a horrible nausea in his gut, climbing up his chest.
The phone clatters out of his hands, onto the countertop and into the empty sink. He can hear the faint, polite apologies of the Officer. Meaningless condolences as Glenn’s world crashes around him.
She’s dead. She’s dead. He saw her just this morning and now… she’s gone.
Glenn crumbles, leaning over the countertop, throat choked with tears. His hand cradles his face as a sob leaves his mouth, soft and muffled.
“... Daddy?”
The soft, sleepy voice of Nick awakens Glenn from his grief.
Oh God- Nick…
Glenn wipes his eyes that were wet with tears. He swallows hard.
Nick lost his mother. All he had now was… him.
Turning to his son, Glenn forces a smile, looking down at the sleepy boy. He’s clothed in a plain blue pajama set, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes with his little fist. His hair, similar to Glenn’s in shade and texture, is messy and laying flat on one side of his head.
Kneeling to be level with his son, Glenn affectionately ruffles Nick’s hair. His son smiles at him and yawns.
“Hey- hey bud,” Glenn speaks with a voice that initially croaks, before he clears his throat to right his vocal chords. “Hey, uh… you want pizza for dinner? Pizza an-and.. ice cream! Yeah, does that sound good?”
Nicholas, unaware of the turmoil his father is silently going through, visibly brightens with excitement at his suggestion. “Yeah! Pizza and ice cream!”
“Alright, yeah!” Glenn inwardly grimaces as he smiles down at his son. “You, uh, put something on to watch, I’ll call for a pizza and… and ask Mrs. Reed to watch you while I run to the convenience store to get the ice cream.”
“Okay!” Nick beams up at his dad, running back to the living room.
Sitting in front of the entertainment system, Nick opens the doors to the multitude of movies inside, picking from the Disney content Glenn had amassed.
In the kitchen, Glenn’s hands shake subtly as he types in the Papa John’s number and orders a pizza. His eyes grow blurred and wet as he slips on his shoes and a jacket. His throat becomes tense and sore with building tears as he knocks on their neighbors door and employs her help.
He keeps it together for the rest of the night. He thanks Mrs. Reed when he returns with two pints of ice cream. He pays the pizza guy with a good tip. He gives Nick dinner, and the two watch Disney movies on the couch. He pretends everything is fine, and watches Nick look around curiously, wondering where Morgan is.
As Glenn puts Nick to bed, his resolve is tested. His son looks up at him with a thoughtful expression as his father puts the storybook away.
“Daddy, where’s Momma?”
Glenn’s movements stutter, sliding the book back into its place on the bookshelf. He glances at Nicholas, mustering a smile that has weakened through the hours.
“She, uh.. she had to go somewhere… she isn’t gonna… u-um..”
Glenn swallows, absently holding Nick’s teddy bear in his hands.
“Let’s uh.. I’ll explain it all tomorrow, okay? I’m beat, and you’ve got school tomorrow.”
Nick stares up at his dad, his head sinking into the softness of his pillow. He nods, beginning to suspect everything isn’t as good as Glenn tries to make it seem.
Glenn smiles down at him, passing his hand over the curls of hair that fall over Nick’s forehead. “Okay, g’night buddy.”
Leaning down, Glenn presses a kiss to Nick’s forehead. Nick wraps his small arms around Glenn’s neck in a brief hug.
“Night Daddy.”
Standing up, Glenn places Nick’s bear next to him on the bed. He silently walks to the door, switching off the light. Nick’s night-light gives off a soft glow beside his bed.
The apartment is silent again. This time, the absence of noise is suffocating; surrounding Glenn, choking him.
He steps away from Nick’s door, left open just a crack by his preference. The father takes the three steps it takes to cross the hallway to his door. He shuts his door, remaining in the dark of his room.
It’s messy, in the space he and Morgan inhabited. Clothes tossed here and there, the bed unkempt. Morgan mentioned cleaning up that morning. Glenn forgot to.
This room was once warm and inviting to Glenn; now, it's bathed in a somber grief. It only invites pain.
The man crosses his room, pausing at a pile of clothes. He stoops down, picking up one of Morgan’s shirts— initially his, but she stole it so often it became hers.
Holding the shirt in his hands, Glenn sits on the bed, on her side. He holds the shirt to his face, taking in a breath— smelling her so clearly, as if he was holding her in his arms.
A single sob shakes his body. It rips out of his throat, as silent as it is. And from one, a second and third erupt forth, until he is sobbing without stop into her shirt. Tears fall from his eyes, turning the black fabric a shade darker from the moisture. He cries desperately, grieving violently.
His choked and muffled cries bring his body to collapse and crumble in his bed. He feels the softness of their pillows under his head, smells everything so familiar and so agonizing. Wafts of her shampoo. Notes of her perfume. The lingering musk of the last bowl they smoked.
His mind wanders back. Back to the previous night. How they laid together, warm, content. Cuddling, their room smoky and musky. How they talked about their dreams, about the bigger picture. About how much they loved Nicky, how much they loved each other. How it turned into kissing and giggling, whispering “shh”, and “don’t wake Nick up”...
And that morning, laying together, chest to back. How he woke her up with playful kisses on her shoulder and neck, and ran his fingers over her ribs to make her laugh and giggle.
How he traced her tattoos and mumbled soft things to her. Mumbled her praise and his gratitude. Marveled over the life he has, married to a woman that showed him compassion and love, scolded him and taught him how to be something more than he was raised. Showed him he could be a good father. Better than the shitbag he had.
And how that was all gone.
That night, Glenn Close grieved heavily. He fell asleep in tears, his last thoughts of tomorrow. Of having to sit down Nicholas and explain to him how his Mommy is never coming home.
Explaining that, in several week’s time, they would have to dress solemn and black, and stand in a field blemished with grey tombstones and watch a coffin be lowered into the earth.
Sending him to school with that knowledge. Going through the day himself, with that knowledge.
Knowing Glenn will do his best, and his best will be lacking in every way. Knowing he will fall back into old habits while trying to keep things together. Knowing as he begins to look strangely reminiscent, his habits will grow hauntingly reminiscent, and his actions will be shadowed with similarity.
Knowing while he may never fail to kiss his son on the head and tell him he loves him, he will fail to comfort him in the right ways, as he has always struggled with. He will hesitate and ultimately avoid addressing the problem, and go on pretending everything will be alright.
Knowing, for certain, in 10 years time, or sooner, he will hate himself, and who he sees in the mirror.
And won’t be alright.
