Life is short..

"The Phone Call Revisited"--Part II

the time:  Present day, morning

the place: cluttered family room and/or "unknown"

FADE IN:

Act One

Scene One

WE SEE KAREN(aka "ME") SIXTIES, DISHEVELED, STRETCHED OUT ON A BARCO-LOUNGER, FEELING SMUG AFTER SOLVING TODAY'S "WORDLE" WITH TWO GUESSES. HER DAMP BANGS ARE CLIPPED TIGHTLY: IT IS THE ONLY GUARANTEE THEY'LL AIR DRY STRAIGHT; A FEAT THAT CAN BE ACCOMPLISHED BY SCHEDULING A TRIP TO THE SALON TO HAVE THE HAIR TREATED CHEMICALLY, WHICH  MEANS PUTTING ON A BRA AND DRIVING TO THE SALON, WHICH MEANS SHE'LL BE USING SAID  HAIR CLIPS  UNTIL THE SPRING THAW.

 KAREN (AKA "ME") PICKS UP THE RINGING LANDLINE, WITH MUCH RELUCTANCE, ON THE THIRD RING.

ME:  Listen, (SCANNING CALLED ID BOX)  "Shirley Schwartzman," I don't recognize this number and I don't want to discuss extending the warranty on my car with you, and...

MOM:  It's...me...

ME:  MOM??  What the hell??

MOM:  I borrowed Shirley's cell phone.  She's a yenta and I don't think she bathes, but her cloud is right next door to mine. What can I say, she's convenient.

ME:  You actually learned how to use a cell phone?

MOM:  I had to.  I figured you wouldn't answer if the caller ID just said "unknown."...That's a perk about being deceased.  I can read your mind.

ME:  You ALWAYS could..(KAREN ADJUSTS AN ERRANT HAIR CLIP AND STRETCHES) You know how much I hate the phone.  Can't you text?  Or send me a Facebook Instant Message?

MOM:  After eight years, are you actually asking if I know anything about technology?  The schools in the Afterlife have no patience with students like me. Do you honestly think I can text? I can barely turn on the TV

ME:  No..(SCOFFS)  But I HATE the phone!

MOM:  You didn't as a teenager.  We'd be in the kitchen, and you'd bolt up those stairs like you were Rocky Balboa, and our house was the Philadelphia Museum of Art,  just to talk to that creep with the toupee who stunk up our living room with his cheap cologne every time he took you out on a so-called date.

ME:  You'd think after eight years you'd stop bringing up my embarrassing past....

MOM:  Just because I'm no longer alive doesn't mean I'm no longer living.  I'm in your bones, your brain, hopefully, your heart.  That's why I had to borrow Shirley's phone today.  Can you believe it's been eight years since we last spoke in person?

ME:  Can you believe that I  think you STILL don't listen to me?  Or get me?  You KNOW how much  I detest that cliche.  Where every birthday or death anniversary is acknowledged with "I can't believe"..as 'though people really CAN'T BELIEVE that time does, indeed, pass by?

MOM:  Why are you yelling?

ME:  I'm NOT yelling..I'm..frustrated. I get robocalls all day long. I get calls from people who have nothing substantial to talk about.  I don't CARE that you bought new tires today, I don't care that your sister, that I might have met once when we were in  camp, is moving to Rio, I don't care that you spent the last two hours organizing your junk drawer..(okay, maybe that one I DO care about) or that you lost four pounds doing Keto. (ditto)

MOM:  Well darling, not to be difficult on Shirley's phone, but while I was still on the planet, you'd call ME  every single day.  At 5:00 PM sharp. With..absolutely nothing to say.

ME:  And yet..I miss those calls.  Those boring, empty, ridiculous calls...

MOM:  You'd call because you knew I was the person who'd always have your back, even when it hurt. (BEAT)  I'm not ready to be reunited with you anytime soon.  Enjoy life.  Exercise.  Eat better.

ME:  Don't start...

MOM:  I just want you to be happy.  The pandemic is leaving, you're venturing out a little more these days.  I followed every detail last fall when you were celebrating your anniversary in the Dominican Republic. I just want you to keep enjoying life, that's all.  Life is short. I had eighty-five years, and that wasn't enough, believe me, I know.

ME:  You're right.  You're always right.

MOM: I just don't want to think about the day you make or receive  a call like this with your own kid.

ME:  Evan doesn't have a land line, and he mostly likes to talk about sports.

MOM:  I would talk about sports..or ANYTHING..if it meant I could spend one more day with my loved ones in person.  I'd watch tonight's Super Bowl with you and eat those chicken wings that don't agree with me..I'd pretend to follow the action I didn't care about just for one last chance to be called Mom.. or Grandmom.. or even if you got all smart-assed and called me Laurel, like I was a buddy..I need to have that title and that Mom  job for just one more night..

ME:  Well mission accomplished.  You're still doing a good job of making me feel guilty..and making me tear up a little. Like a Mom.

MOM: That's good, isn't it?

ME: (SIGHS HEAVILY)  Say hi to Dad..don't smoke. and .return the phone to Shirley..you're not going to need it for awhile

MOM:  So we'll talk again?

ME:  Same time, next year.

FADE TO BLACK