Texting

The phone sat on his nightstand, darkly.

He grabbed it and started typing.

-You're still awake?

-Starting Bel Canto today, she replied.

-No spoilers.

-I wouldn't dream of it.

Time passed. He read slowly, stealing moments between work and sleep. He read at a pace as if he moved his lips when he read.

He sent another message finally.

-I got through the first chapter.

-And?

-The accompanist. Died so quickly. Back to back messages.

-It changed the nature of the situation. Marked the end of the insulated world.

Hostages in an opera house, people trapped in a situation, waiting for a first move.

Then his signal dropped. He got up from bed and walked over to the window, then the kitchen. Sometimes it worked there. Nothing.

He got back to bed and closed his eyes. Sometime later the brick buzzed on his nightstand.

-Where’d you go?

-I’m here. I lost my signal.

-I thought I scared you off.

-Never.

Then a double text.

-I feel something fierce for you.

She didn’t reply at first.

-Me too, the text finally came back.

He fell asleep.

The next morning he pushed through, getting as close to the end as he could.

-I’m done, he texted. He would be by the time they met again.

-Finish line crossed!

-The ending was sad.

-Poignant, she corrected.

-When can I see you?, he texted, taking the risk. We can talk about the book.

-I would love that.

-I’ll come pick you up.

-3 pm?

-Today, Stanley started to type, then, instead: OK.

He put the phone down and picked the book back up.