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You’re Not Hearing Me

Harold W Eppley

     “I need to cancel my reservation.”
    Charles heard a clicking noise and then some music from the 70’s. Something by Tony Orlando.
    “Shit Marie, they’ve put me on hold.”
    She probably didn’t hear him. She was in the kitchen, rearranging items in the cupboards, as she had been doing since Andy called.
    The television was on and the sound was muted. It was tuned to CNN which was what they had been watching when Andy called. Across the screen it flashed, “BREAKING NEWS.” Someone somewhere must be suffering. That’s what he always thought when he saw those words. Breaking news is almost always bad.
    “Yes sir, can I help you?” The man spoke with a foreign accent. He sounded like he was from India or the Middle East or somewhere over there. He sure as hell wasn’t from Des Moines.
    “I have a reservation for three nights, starting Thursday. The name’s Cramer, with a C. I need to cancel that.”
    There was no reply on the other end of the line.
    “I should be in the computer. We stay there every year when we come to Des Moines. My s— um, my wife she needs the posturepedic. So we always stay in the suite with the king-sized bed.
On the first floor. My wife’s got this thing about that. In case there’s a fire.” Shit old man, are you going to tell the foreigner your whole life story? “Anyway, I made the reservation last January. AARP rate.”
    “Thursday night,” said the man with the accent, finally. “That is a holiday. That is Thanksgiving.”
    Probably not where this man was from.
    “We cannot cancel your reservation. The time has expired for you to do that.”
    “I have until 6:00 pm on the night the reservation begins—”
    “Sir, not on a holiday.”
    “What are you saying?”
    “Holiday stays must be canceled one week in advance.”
    “My credit card will be charged whether we stay there or not?”
    “That is correct, sir.”
    “You’re not charging my credit card! I’m canceling my reservation. Do you understand?”
    “Sir, you must have a valid reason to qualify for a cancellation refund.”
    “We’re not coming because— it’s too cold there.”
    That’s what Andy told them. He called when they were in the middle of dessert. Blueberry cobbler and coffee in the living room. They talked about the weather in Des Moines and the cold front coming in from Nebraska. They talked about that for a good five minutes and Marie said, “We better bring our winter jackets.”
    Then Andy said, “Listen, Mom, Dad. About the reason I called—”
    “Have you got your storm windows on yet?”
    “Didn’t I tell you, Dad? Jeff installed new thermal panes. We’re getting a tax credit.”
    Charles was about to say, you can thank George Bush for that. Obama’s going to cut those credits next year.
    Then Marie said, “Will Jeff’s girlfriend be there this year? She’s so sweet.”
    Andy said, “Listen, this is hard. I don’t know how to break this to you.”
    “Weather is not a valid reason,” said the man with the accent.
    “You’re not hearing me. I’m not staying and I’m not paying.”
    “Sir, may I help you with something else?”
    “I’m never staying in your goddamn hotel again. Do you understand? I want to talk to your supervisor.”
    “What I . . . we wanted to tell you is that, well . . . Listen, I’m gay, and Jeff and I, we got married last week.”
    Charles tasted the blueberry cobbler turning sour in his mouth. Don’t you do this. 18 years we raised you, paid for that college education, didn’t say a word when you moved off to the city.
    He thought Andy was going to say something else, but then Marie said, “My feet bother me so when it’s cold.”
    “Dad, are you still there?”
    I won’t let you do this to your mother.
    “Ever since that time they got frostbit,” said Marie.
    “Listen, Mom, Dad. I just wanted to clear that up.”
    “Have a happy holiday, sir. One minute while I transfer your call.” Tony Orlando again.
    Marie was saying something to him from the kitchen. They had been married 31 years and still she expected him to drop what he was doing and come into the room so he could hear her.
    “How’s this for a reason,” Charles said to Tony Orlando. “My son is dead.” He placed the phone receiver into the base.
    It was dusk now and the only light in the room was the flashing glow of the television. More breaking news. Someone somewhere must be suffering.

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