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The Screaming Phone

Alexander G. Tozzi

    Stanley hit a rock and fell of his bike. Rolling into a curb, he groaned and pushed himself to stand. His pain was forgotten when he saw that he landed in front of Perry’s, and sauntered in to buy a soda, maybe some snacks.
    Inside the little shopping mart, he checked his watch. There was plenty of time to make it to Becky’s.
    If you’re late to see me off to beauty school, she had warned, don’t bother waiting for me to get back!
    The wall of refrigerators hummed like a mechanical monster and the doors opened and shut with a hiss. Grabbing a soda he frowned, remembering his own warning, And if you don’t stop making demands-
    She had slapped him then. Hard.
    Just thinking of the mark on his face made it burn, and as he entered the snack aisle he let the soda cool it.
    Why do I even bother? he wondered.
    Tons of colorful bags of chips, pretzels, cheese curls and the like filled the aisle. He couldn’t afford those, but the bags of peanuts looked appealing. He checked them all out, unable to avoid the question that plagued him: Why do I let her boss me around?
    For one thing there was the sex. But that took a back seat compared to Becky’s impressive collection of CDs and movies. A girl that appreciates a good kung-fu flick is a keeper, or so Stanley had been told. He’d watched a bunch of those movies with Becky, but, of course, she always handled the remote and wouldn’t let him pause to use the bathroom.
    His soda was losing its cool. He took it and the bag of peanuts to the checkout. Standing behind a blob with a basket full of snack cakes, he licked his lips. One of those pink-frosted cakes would hit the spot right now.
    Becky usually has good desserts, he remembered. Her parents were fat themselves. Incredible they had a slim and curvaceous daughter. Still, free desserts were another perk, and as Stanley waited for the blob to part with the cakes to be scanned, he was beginning to convince himself that maybe Becky’s demands just evened it all out. Like, maybe her dominance was just an equalizer.
    “Dominance?”
    He hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
    The blob asked, “Domino’s? You’d better be talking pizza, not games!”
    “I saw a van go by.” He pointed out the window at a road where no van had driven by.
    The blob ignored him, and he breathed a sigh.
    Dominance was exactly the word, and he hated to admit it. Becky wore the pants in their relationship, and truth tell, it had been quite awhile since he’d gotten into those pants. He wondered if those few times he’d been with her were just a way to keep him in line. It wouldn’t surprise him.
    The blob left to go search for the phantom pizza van. Stanley paused to check his watch. He had mere minutes to be at Becky’s before she left.
    He paid for his snacks.
    In the small parking lot he was too submerged in thought to realize his bike was on the other side.
    I do everything Becky wants, but she doesn’t do anything I ask. Like the time he’d invited her to listen to an up and coming band. She had screeched at him, told him he was being selfish. Instead they went to a restaurant of her choosing-he paid.
    Not seeing the curb, he tripped, and if not for a quick reflex he would have fallen all over again. He shook off his confusion and cracked open the soda. The sweet drink cleared him further.
    Before him was a phone booth, the thick, swaying book threatening to break from the chain. Stanley figured he should call Becky, tell her he might be a little late. She would yell at him, but in the back of his mind he wondered, Could it be she really does care about me? Or at least cares about my support?
    It made sense. Many insecure people are often cruel to their loved ones, unable or too embarrassed to admit how vulnerable they are. Or so Stanley had heard.
    Checking his watch he decided, I should call her anyway.
    Striding to the booth he checked for loose change. He had gotten a few pennies from the clerk, but a few more nickels were needed. He found them, and was about to insert them into the machine when in the chrome reflection he noticed the red mark on his face. The still-warm print of Becky’s hand.
    Becky attacked me, he realized. She really attacked me.
    Once again it started to burn, and he put the cool soda bottle to his face. His eyes clenched tight and he could hear his watch ticking away the precious seconds he had to ask Becky to wait.
    How many of those seconds went by, he didn’t know, and really didn’t care. The money clinked in the machine and it beeped with each pressed number. It buzzed, and a scratchy but sultry voice answered, “Hello, McDonough residence, Becky speaking.”
    Stanley cleared his throat, and in his most confident voice, he said, “See yourself off to school.” He let the phone hang as he walked away, his back to her frantic screaming.
    As he neared his bike he felt a mixture of regret, selfishness, and also a little pride. Not many guys had the guts to do what he just did, and he knew it. Still, the kung-fu movies and the little sex he got would be tough to get over.
    Getting back on his bike, he took a swig of soda, tore open and gobbled up the peanuts, and pedaled off. For all he knew, that phone was still screaming.



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