Jul 10, 2010
there used to be a telephone connected to my big toe. it was one of those olden day phones, that ones that you have to spin around and around like a carousel to dial someone's phone number, that way you don't call people you don't like when you're lonely or bored in the middle of the night. that way when you call someone it's deliberate.
this phone used to ring incessantly, but i never picked up. i would bury my feet in the sand, but the phone was so loud that when i strained my ears, i would hear it. and for some reason i would always press my head against the sand and listen for the faint rrrrriiiiing.
i hated the ring. i would hear it in my dreams. it would wake me up in the midst of an afternoon nap, or interrupt my thoughts.
i cut of my toe with kitchen scissors, and bled all over the sink. i tried to clean it up, but i missed a spot. every time i fetch an apple from the kitchen i see it on the counter, and it looks almost like gold in the light. the phone doesn't ring anymore. it sits on my vanity table, a token of the past, and rusts when the sun comes out.