Every Other Wednesday

Every other Wednesday, you call.

I’m always working and can never answer.

You always leave a message.

Sometimes I listen to your message, which is always the same.

Sometimes I don’t. I get too busy. I forget.

But I know it’s there. The little red number on my phone tells me it’s there. You’re there. For me.

Every other Wednesday. At the same exact time.

You’re so precise and reliable. It is this dependable precision that keeps me alive.

Gives me what I need. Day after day.

Some Wednesdays I wake up and think, today is the day that you will call me.

It’s reassuring, to know that some one out there is thinking of me, is planning on calling me, is setting aside time to check in on me, to see how I’m doing.

Then I realize it’s the Wednesday in between the Wednesdays that you call.

I’m a little disappointed, but I know it’s only seven days until I will hear from you again.

Other times I wake up with the same feeling, or I have it in the middle of the afternoon, or sitting in traffic, or waiting in line. That feeling, that wish, that someone out there would call me, check in, see how I’m doing. These Thursdays, Saturdays, Mondays with no calls, no voicemails.

Or worse: Potential Spam. Which is an interesting term for another human calling me. Or maybe a machine that is an extension of a human. Spam. Affordable, salty meat.

It’s a misnomer. Potential spam is always spam and never anything else.

I get through those lonely moments. They pass, as everything does.

And then Wednesday rolls around again. You call. I’m busy. Later, in a free moment, I listen to your message. Informing me. A delivery.

Three 5 gallon drums of fresh, clean spring water, right to my door.

So until next Wednesday, my water delivery service.

Until 10:04, I wait for you with calm and deliberate patience.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s