…do us part

Posted: June 30, 2011 in Rambles

Dead…

Completely dead and I didn’t care.

I stared down as the life slowly flickered out, helpless to do anything to stop the inevitable. I tried all I could, with half an effort; yet, as it made its last blink and completely expired, I breathed a sigh of relief. I hesitated to tell anyone because I knew they would think me insane, cruel even, but I just couldn’t help it.

What once brought me a plethora of joy, now, only reminded me of torture. The pure debilitating torment that scratched through my emotions every time I saw its face brighten up. I entertained thoughts of ending its life on my own, but I knew my reasoning was illogical, not to mention the explanation process.

So when it finally died, on its own, and was completely cut off from the world, life re-entered my body. I was cut off from the razor-grating afflictions that it brought forth. I walked away and smiled, allowing my cell phone to enjoy the burial ceremony in the middle of my bed.

Knowing I couldn’t allow the phone to sit and decay, I eventually drove it to the morgue. I quietly waited as I knew I would have to explain the cause of its death. Further, I would have to disguise my excuse of why I didn’t seek help at the onset of trouble.

On the outside I told tales of how it slowly shut down; yet, I did all I could to hold onto it. I spoke of how I loved it. I, unsuccessfully, tried to force a tear into the crevice of my eye to depict my thorough regret for its passing; however, my inner honesty dried it up.

I hated the phone.

I cursed the day Alexander Graham Bell implanted such a burden on my life.  Had he known the evils of call waiting, three-way, text messages and internet connections, I doubt he would have gone a step further. The idea dying with the friction it was yet to inflict.

I longed for the days of snail mail, messenger pigeons and king signet deliveries – the handwritten emotions that were backed by thought and true consideration.  The closing salutations sparking your heart and causing your fingers to ache as you mercilessly marked up the paper, hoping your true feelings could take color within the black ink blots on the page.

I stood and waited for my phone’s final dissension into the pit and lingered on the possibility of permanent cancelled access due to unjustifiable payment demands they would try to place upon me. The cell phone coroner spoke:

“We will have to order you another one. For Free. But it may be refurbished.”

I turned away and smiled once more, my thoughts wrapping me into comfort:

Another day cut off from its world.

I sat on my bed, the cell phone’s previous ceremonial wake spot, and thumbed thoughts of what could be:

Maybe something totally new, an upgrade. Or maybe something that doesn’t have the ability to accept phone calls. Or maybe something black so that I will always be in mourning looking at it, knowing the distress it brings me. Maybe, just maybe, they won’t have anything at all.

I slowly returned to the coroners to see what the verdict would be. I patiently waited as my heart sank into my stomach plagued with the emotions of all the things that would flood back into my existence. I cringed at the thought of being connected to its evils once again. I detested the familiar sounds, clicks and chimes that only brought me agony.

And then they placed it before me.

My eyes scanned over it, surveying every part of its covering. The shiny cover showed no wounds of the past and the texture felt disturbingly smooth. As I ran my fingers over the buttons, they were firm and bounced back at me as if reassuring me things would be okay. And although it was the same color, make and model of the deceased, I could encompass the difference. When I saw my reflection in the screen, I could see our similarities.

On the outside things seemed the same. They even looked the same. But, the differences had set in.

I could see the pain behind my eyes fading away as I embraced the forgiveness of God and ultimately of myself. I could hear the songs of a future and better tomorrows as the keys whispered back at me, licking my every wound.  And finally, I could see the emotional masochist within me being shooed away as laughter broke through my parted lips.

My phone rang.

I inherently felt myself cringe as the foreign number displayed itself on the screen before the sound was emitted. I waited for that torment, that chime that let me know its [the phone’s] world was pressing through again.

I braced myself.

The sound came through.

It was nothing I had ever heard before. A sound I had not programmed and soon threw myself to change.

I brought the phone closer to my eyes, diving into concentration. I paused:

No…

I smirked as I slipped the phone into my pocket and whispered under my breath:

”Not this time…”

As the unfamiliar chime continued on, now resembling a sweet melody, it transmitted a hearty pep in my step.

I walked away as I smiled throughout my body:

Yes! We are so very different!

I like us!

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