“Hello?”
7 months, 20 days, and 2 hours had passed since she last called him
7 months, 20 days, and 2 hours since she allowed herself to turn on her phone and listen to the comforting crackle of his voicemail. Elia knew it wasn’t a good sign that Malory was the first person on her recently called list; shouldn’t it have been a friend? A family member? Someone alive? She stopped phoning him 7 months ago and he’d been dead a bit longer than that.
She felt bitter that no one had contacted her since she’d been holed up in her hotel room. After the loss of her husband, Elia knew it was time for a change – specifically an unplanned trip to Japan. Poor choice of country, because the mornings were so silent there that the thoughts in her head held mutiny over her. Sometimes, she would stand on the hotel’s balcony on the 14th floor and lean as far as she could before that heady feeling of losing balance took over.
But her conscience wouldn’t let her burrow herself in grief. So she promised never to hear the cheery ‘Hey, this is Malory. Sorry, I can’t be with you right now, leave a message please!’ of his voicemail again. Until another uncomfortably quiet morning, where it seemed the devil on her left shoulder had won. Elia sat on her unmade bed, brown hair sopping after a shower, with her phone glowing bright in her hand. The phone replied with a “Hello?” in his voice instead of a “Hey,”
Until now.
“He– hello? Sorry, did I dial the wrong number?”
“No, Elia. It’s me.” His sentence lilted in the Australian manner.
“Malory?”
His tinkering chuckle crept through the speaker and seeped into her bones. “You sound like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“This isn’t funny.” She felt disgust seep into her throat.
“Really? It’s quite funny to me.”
“What kind of sicko plays with someone’s feelings like this? You’re a horrible person.” Elia’s finger hovered over the ‘end call’ button. As if sensing this, a worried tone shoved itself into his voice.
“No, no, hey, wait! I’m real, it’s me.”
She looked in the mirror– someone told her she should do that in a dream– and still, she saw her face, one full of freckles, and her dilated green eyes with an expression full of disbelief.
“Tell me something only we would know.”
He paused, and then spoke up, a smile within his voice. “You asked me to visit your mother’s grave on our wedding day. I stood behind you as you crouched down and spoke to her, bawling as you did. You turned when you were done and asked if your eyes were puffy. I told you that you’d never looked more beautiful.”
Elia choked back a noise; either a laugh or a sob, she didn’t know. He knew he was lying back then because she was a horrifically ugly crier.
“Malory?”
“I’m here.”
Although half of her was still suspended in disbelief, she couldn’t help but feel that he was here, on this call, and somehow talking to her. After the realisation, her tears fell fast, cold and salty.
“But– are you alive?”
“Nah, still very dead. You saw me get shot, didn’t you?”
She did. Malory, as a police officer, hadn’t even died on duty. Instead, some crazy guy opened fire on a crowd of people in a coffee shop. He was 1 out of the 4 who died— just another number. In the lighthearted tone he always embraced, it seemed natural for him to talk about his death this way. “I guess you could say I went out with a bang?”
“I don’t understand how this is happening.”
“Mate, I can’t help you there. Just talk to me.”
And so she did.
Elia told him what she’d been doing for the past month (not much). Mundane things, as if she wasn’t talking to someone dead. He asked her lots of questions, she spoke some more, laughed, cried, and everything in between.
It was close to 5 pm now. Her stomach was growling, and apparently, it was so loud that he had heard it.
“What, you hungry? You didn’t eat?”
She’d forgotten to eat lunch, And maybe breakfast too. “Yeah, I haven’t been taking care of myself since… you died. I can’t live without you.”
Malory’s tone, usually so sure and steady, wavered. “Elia. Please, don’t hang up.”
She adjusted her position on the bed, sitting up. “I’m not, I’m here.”
“I know… but I can feel it. You’re thinking about it. You’ve been alone there for too long, and you’re wondering what’s the point right?”
Elia’s breath caught in her throat surprised at his perception. “Malory…”
“You just said you couldn’t live without me. But you’re stronger than that.”
After hours of lounging, she suddenly stood up, and the pins and needles seeped into her legs. Her eyes dragged through the city skyline that met with the cotton candy skies. “No, you don’t understand. I’m nothing without you.”
“You are everything.” He said, almost pleading. “Can’t you think of all the things you should go back to? Your father? Our friends?”
“My father’s dead!” She spat bitterly, stepping towards the door. “He passed away from cancer 2 months ago, and you would know that if you were alive wouldn’t you? None of our friends have contacted me since your death. They’re all gone!”
“Don’t go outside, Elia.”
“I can’t breathe in there. I’m just… going for some air,” Elia whispered. She opened the sliding glass door and stepped out.
A beat passed, no words from him.
“I’m just so tired.”
The silence grew longer.
“Tell me, Malory.” Propping her elbows on the railing, she held her breath. “Tell me how I’m supposed to function when the best part of me is gone?”
The next pause was too heavy, too empty. “I can only tell you that I love you. And that you shouldn’t hang up. Talk to me a little longer. Don’t be sad.”
“I’m not sad.” And it was the truth. Strangely, she felt nothing but free. She leaned forward again over the railing, craving that addicting headache again.
“Don’t hang up.” He repeated, seemingly resigned now.
“I won’t, Malory.”
Elia’s tears spilled over as she leaned further. Whether he said anything else, she wouldn’t know. She surrendered to gravity, her grief, and the swirling wind in her ears as she found out just what would happen if she let that heady feeling win.
And she never hung up.
Writer – Alvia Farooqui
Editor – Sophia Oblefias
Artist – Natalie Choi
–September 2024–
