I picked up the phone.

continued from here

 I picked up the phone.                                                 

I picked up the phone.

     “Where are you?” Uncle Albert’s voice said.

     “What do you mean? You’re calling me.”

     “I mean, ‘Why aren’t you out front?’ You’re supposed to be picking me up.”

     “For what?”

     “I’m coming over to watch the match.”

     “Well . . . ,” I said for lack of anything better.

     “Manchester United - Tottenham.”

     “That was Monday.”

     “This is Monday.”

     “Well . . . ,” I said, still searching. “Who won?” I said.

     “It starts in less than an hour.”
     “Well . . . ,” I said.

“Have you lost track of the days again?” Uncle Albert’s voice said.

     “Don’t I have an appointment on Mondays?” I asked.

     “You said it had been postponed.”

     “Until when? What did I say?”

     “Tomorrow.”

     “Tuesday?”

     “Yes.”

     “But today’s Tuesday, I thought you said.”

“Maybe where you are,” his voice said. It had an exasperated edge to it.

     “I think it is. Let me check.”

     I looked at Tural, but he wasn’t there. He must have gone in the back. “Tural,” I called out. “Sorry. What’s today?”

     “Two-eight,” he called back. “Or maybe seven,” he said.

That’s the way it ended with a bang as well as a whimper, because my head was still wrapped in a bandage.

     “I’ll be there as soon as I can,” I told the voice of Uncle Albert. “But I don’t know when that will be.”

08.30.18