"Dial Tone" is a flash fiction story that I originally created as an experiment playing with one-sided communication. The entire story consists of a single perspective, one side of a phone call as if you were sitting in the room watching it happen. (4 minute read)
Hayden picked up the receiver; it was one of those old-fashioned phones he’d dug out of the attic, a relic from his own childhood. He plugged it into the jack on the wall, the coiled cord cascading over the edge of the counter. The receiver made the familiar, dull humming sound of the dial tone, and he breathed a sigh of relief—still works. Resting the receiver between his shoulder and his ear, Hayden took a deep breath and punched in the familiar number, a number he’d punched into his cell phone many times before without hitting send. That was why he was using his old landline; no send button meant he couldn’t chicken out.
Looking around the dingy kitchen, he closed his eyes and bit his lip. It had been three years—three years since he last heard her voice—three years since the blowup. He’d given her her space—she’d asked for it—he’d left the door open—she’d never walked through. Reaching out now, after so long, felt weird. It shouldn’t, but it did.
He punched the numbers, each beep sounding slightly different. The toneless music of his childhood. He put his ear to the receiver and waited.
“Hello.” He was tentative, not too formal, not too casual.
[ . . . ]
“Right, I know—I just—”
[ . . . ]
“I just thought it was time to clear the air so to speak.”
[ . . . ]
“I didn’t say that.” Hayden closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. “Or if I did, I didn’t mean that. I wanted to know what you were thinking.”
[ . . . ]
“No, not what were you thinking, what were you thinking.”
[ . . . ]
“It’s not the same thing. It’s not. I put the emphasis on the—It doesn’t matter.” He could feel his shoulders tensing again. He shifted the phone to the other ear. “It might be the connection, maybe the inflection didn’t come through.”
[ . . . ]
“I’m calling from a landline.”
[ . . . ]
“A land line, a cord and all that.”
[ . . . ]
“No, I have you on the phone now, we should talk.” He smiled into the empty kitchen. “I want to talk.”
[ . . . ]
“I know you’re busy, it’s an important job. That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about.”
[ . . . ]
“No, not your job, the job of being a parent. It’s the most important job there is.”
[ . . . ]
“That’s fair,” Hayden bowed his head. “That’s fair, I deserve that. I suppose I don’t do I. But that’s just it, you know. Just I want to make sure that my mistakes don’t become your—”
[ . . . ]
“I know, I know.” He put a hand up in defense, as if she could see him. “You have always been your own person. Always a mind of your own. Strong mind too. I always used to say—used to tell the guys, she’s one of a kind. She could be anything she wants to be.”
[ . . . ]
“No, no, you’re right. I’m not trying to ignore it, I just—I don’t know how to start that conversation so I started this one instead. That’s something, right?”
[ . . . ]
“Give me a break, please.” He could hear the pleading in his voice tinged with the old anger. “At least I’m trying. You never called either. The phone line works two ways. Can’t we let it be water under the bridge? The last time you were here, the discussion—”
[ . . . ]
“It could have been. No. It could have. You didn’t want— [ . . . ] —Don’t. You didn’t either. I was trying to understand. I want to reconnect. I want us to get back to the way it was. I want to see them.”
[ . . . ]
“You should. After everything, all our history. You should.”
[ . . . ]
“It’s not fair. Not to them, me, any of us. And I’m trying to make it right. Trying to find a way to— [ . . . ] —It’s not that simple. What I said before, I meant it.”
[ . . . ]
“No, I did. At the time, I did.”
[ . . . ]
“That’s what I’m trying to say, I changed my mind. [ . . . ] My opinion, whatever. What matters is that I see things differently now.”
[ . . . ]
“It doesn’t have to be.” Hayden paced back and forth, tethered to the wall by the antique cord. “I was hoping you could—”
[ . . . ]
“Wait, no. I didn’t mean to.” He ran his hands through his thinning hair and before tapping it on the counter. “I meant, I was hoping we could meet up.”
[ . . . ]
“It doesn’t have to be here, someplace neutral.” The words spilled out of him, cutting her off and he winced. “I’m sorry. I was just—It could be a park close to you.”
[ . . . ]
“You could pick the place,” he looked at the picture on his wall, the one she’d sent for Christmas when she still did that. Four happy smiling faces. “I suggested a park because they could play while we talked.”
[ . . . ]
“Of course, time does change things. They don’t go to the park to play any more?”
[ . . . ]
“Let’s go get coffee then. I remember when you were younger you loved coffee. You used to go out for the stuff at least one a day. Dunkin's, Starbucks, that other froofy place you used to—”
[ . . . ]
“Oh, you don’t. That was—Either way. They have other stuff at those places, right? We can talk about it. In person.”
[ . . . ]
“Like we used to back in the day. We were so close back then, you’d tell me everything. That time when that boy kissed you on the bus to Boston.”
[ . . . ]
“I suppose I could have reacted better. Yeah, but you’ll see—I mean you know, when it’s your kid— [ . . . ] —No, I’m not. I’m sorry. I’m not good at talking on the phone, you can’t see the person. I want to see you. I miss you. And I need to tell—”
[ . . . ]
“Fine. Then how are you?” Hayden shook his head and exhaled.
[ . . . ]
“No I wasn’t. I need to breath. I do care how you are. I have a lot on my mind right now.”
[ . . . ]
“I’m not trying to get off. I called you. I wanted to talk about something important.”
[ . . . ]
“That’s not fair, it’s never been all about me. My whole adult life has been about you.”
[ . . . ]
“Yeah, and your brother.”
[ . . . ]
“No not mostly him. I was fair. I tried my best. I’m sorry it wasn’t good enough.”
[ . . . ]
“I’m not getting defensive, you’re attacking me. Taking my words out of context.” He took the phone away from his ear for a moment and squeezed his eyes shut. He placed his hand on the paper on the counter. The reason for the call he reminded himself. He put the receiver back to his ear, “What was that? I missed what you said.”
[ . . . ]
“I am listening. I was—distracted.”
[ . . . ]
“No, I need to tell you something, but I want to tell you in person, not over the phone. It’s important.”
[ . . . ]
“Yes, it’s important to me. Isn’t that enough?”
[ . . . ]
“What do you mean I didn’t earn that? I gave you so much while you were growing up. I’m asking for one thing— [ . . . ] Don’t give me that, watch your tone.”
[ . . . ]
“I’m sorry,” he breathed deep, once again fucking everything up. “I know you’re not a child. I—I need to talk to you about something that’s important to me,” he could hear the pleading in his voice despite the effort to keep it level.
[ . . . ]
“So, you’ll meet up with me?”
[ . . . ]
“Where is that?”
[ . . . ]
“Oh, a bar. The thing is, I don’t— [ . . . ] It’s fine, it’s fine. Tomorrow at 5:00? After work?”
[ . . . ]
“Thank you. I know it’s not how you want to spend your Thursday night, but—”
[ . . . ]
“Okay. I’ll see you there.” Hayden stood, receiver in hand, playing with the cord as it wound repeatedly toward the phone on the counter, the wire connecting it to the wall and to the wires hanging on the telephone poles beyond. Hayden stood there, transfixed in place, listening to the dial tone.
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