The phone shivered with its first tentative ring, then burst into a relentless, endless trill. Again?
The sound sliced the quiet of the room like glass. James shut his eyes. It was her, the one whose name belonged in romance novelsEllie. Hed met her only a couple of times, and in a moment of foolish weakness theyd swapped numbers. Who else could be calling? Lately no one had called him at all. It was as if the world had erased him from its address book, leaving him alone with the insistent ringtone and his own thoughts.
He pressed his forehead into the mattress, trying to drown out the persistent buzz. He wanted to fling the phone out the window, smash it on the pavement until it was nothing but shards of glass and plastic. If he couldt fix his life, he could at least break the thing that tethered him to the outside world.
But the phone kept ringing.
James swung out of bed and walked toward the sound. The device, as if sensing his approach, rang even louder, almost daring him. Come on, pick up! it seemed to say. He answered, guided by some ancient reflex.
Hello?
Its me! a bright, carefree voice chirped, cutting through the air with its lightheartedness. Why did you take so long?
Im busy, James grunted.
Then why did you answer? Ellie asked, a sly smile almost audible.
Because Im not made of steel! he snapped, his tone turning harsh. Whats so hard to understand? Youre relentless with your calls!
I just feel youre at home and that youre not okay.
And what else do you feel? he replied, his sarcasm sharp as a sting. You waited for my call.
I? Waited?! he scoffed.
He wanted to toss the handset and curse with the dirtiest words he could think of. Those three weeks of daily calls had arrived at the lowest point of his life, when nothing seemed worthwhile: work, idleness, food, drinkall lost their appeal. All he wanted was to disappear, to evaporate, to cease being a grain of sand in the great, indifferent grinder of existence.
Listen, his voice suddenly dropped, flat and weary. What do you want from me? What?
A brief silence hung in the line.
Nothing. I think you need help, Ellie said.
Dont speak for me. I dont need your help. Not at all.
But I can sense it!
Then dont feel it! James snapped, his patience snapping like a dry twig. Who do you think you are, feeling all this? A saint? A saviour of lost souls? Go help grandmothers cross the road, feed stray cats. And leave me alone. Got it?
The silence on the other end grew thick, heavy. Then a couple of quick beeps. The line went dead.
Great, James muttered to himself. She knocked herself in. Pushed her way where she wasnt wanted.
That day no one called. The next day, no one called. Ellie didnt ring a day, a week, or a month later.
The silence hed craved now pressed against his ears, ringing, absolute, unbearable. It offered no rescue, only solitude. In the evenings he found himself lingering over his phone, waiting, clinging to a ridiculous, humiliating hope: maybe now maybe any moment
He stopped going out at night, afraid to miss a possible call. What if she calls and I dont hear? Shell think Im ignoring her, get hurt forever. The word forever frightened him more than the stray dogs that seemed to sniff out his vulnerability.
Soon a new compulsion arriveda need to vent. To pour out the sticky black mass that had built up inside. But to whom? His neighbour? The neighbour lived a simple life of wages, football and women, a happy bloke.
So James began talking to himself out loud. In his empty flat his own voice sounded hollow and unnatural.
Why isnt she calling? he asked his reflection in the dark window.
You pushed her away, bluntly, without courtesy.
But she called every day! Persistently! That must have meant something, right?
And you told her she wasnt needed. You rejected the hand she offered in your darkest hour.
He argued, proved, got angry at himself. In the end his inner interlocutorhimselfwon. It forced him to admit a simple, chilling truth: he needed those calls. They were a breath of air for a drowning man, proof that he still existed for someone, that he wasnt a ghost.
Ellie didnt call.
James spent evenings staring at the silent phone. Inside, everything tightened into one huge, mute scream. Just call please he whispered.
The phone stayed mute.
He collapsed onto his bed long after midnight, never seeing a miracle. He slipped into a restless, jittery sleep, and seemed to hear the ringtone again.
He snapped awake. He hadnt been dreaming. The phone was ringing, truly ringing, that insistent, living buzz. He snatched it up.
Hello? his voice trembled.
Hi, the familiar voice sounded, a little forgotten now. Did you call me?
James closed his eyes. A smile spread slowly across his facethe first in weeks. Bittersweet, weary, and profoundly relieving.
Yes, he exhaled. I think I called.
A pause followed. It wasnt the heavy, reproachful silence of before. This pause was alive, taut like a string, but without hostility. He heard her steady breathing on the line, and his own heart thudding, uneven and loud.
I he stammered, searching for words that werent excuses or fresh barbsjust plain truth. I sat and waited. Every night.
I knew, Ellie replied, quietly but firmly, without any triumph. I was struggling too. But I decided I couldnt be the one to call first any more. That had to be your decision.
He imagined her, probably sitting with her phone in hand, battling the urge to dial his number. The picture struck him as oddly touching.
Im sorry, James breathed, the hardest word to say. It burned his throat like hot coal, yet it had to be spoken. For acting like a fool.
Accepted, her voice carried a light, forgiving smile. Though yes, I was a bit harsh. I almost broke the kettle in frustration.
He laughed involuntarily, a short, relieved chuckle. That mundane, alive detail snapped him back into reality.
Is he okay? he asked, now serious.
Fine. Ill keep him safe as my own eyes.
They fell silent again, but this silence was shared. They listened together.
James her tone grew serious once more. Whats really happening?
He shut his eyes. Previously that question would have sparked rage. Now it only produced a strange weakness and a desire finally to speak out.
Everything, he said slowly, sliding down to the floor, leaning against the sofa. Work turned into hell. Debts piled up like a snowball. I feel Im teetering on the edge of a cliff, ready to fall. And a total emptinessas if Ive burnt out from the inside. Nothing I want. No one.
He spoke at length, fragmented, not sobbing, just stating facts like a doctor giving a diagnosis. For the first time in months, someone listened. No interruptions, no advice, no pull yourself together or itll get better. Just listening.
When he fell silent, the only sound on the line was her breathing.
Thank you, Ellie finally said. What did you say?
Now you understand why I was out of it? he replied with a bitter grin.
I do. It doesnt excuse the rudeness, her voice hardened again. But now I know what Im dealing with. Thats better than guessing.
What will you do with that? he asked, curiosity sparking.
For starters, she said firmly, go to the kitchen, put the kettle on. While it boils, open a window for at least five minutes. Fresh air is essential for the brain, and you seem to be starving for it.
James obeyed, rising from the floor.
Im going, he told her.
Good. While you do that, Ill stay on the other end. Afterwards well sort out the job, the debts, that abyss you feel youre falling into.
Her voice held no pity, no coddlingjust solid confidence, as steady as a rock. In that confidence lay the strength hed been missing.
He shuffled to the kitchen, phone pressed to his ear. He set the kettle boiling, struggled to unstick the old window, letting cool, rainscented air drift in. He took those first tiny steps forwardtoward life.
And he realised it was only the beginning: a long, hard conversation, perhaps even a meeting. But for the first time in ages he didnt feel alone inside his crumbling fortress. Someone was reaching a hand from the outside, and at last he was ready to take it.
