April 12, 2012
Prompt: Right a memory inspired by a sound
"Do -- do -- do... if you'd like to make a call, please hang up and dial again... do -- do -- do"
Tittering laughter elbows me on my right and I fight not to join in. My mom is saying one of her prayers and our knees have all adjusted to the indents in the carpet. Fidgeting has started. And the beige phone, taken off the hook by my dad just before my mom started, has already gone through the cycle of busy beeps, tri-tones and the female robotic sounding voice three times.
My dad forgot to place the phone inside the second drawer and cover the speaker with the stack of well-used phone books. Well-used as muting devices during prayers, especially my mom's prayers. I know she can hear the distracting tones, the interrupting voice as well as the rest of us, but she is trying to make a point. Prayer is sacred. We should all be showing proper respect for the real communication happening.
But I smell the hot rolls sitting on the table, the smell of melting butter emanating off the lazy susan and tickling my taste buds. I try to focus on my mother's words. I am impatient now. All of us kids are hungry. Fighting back the giggles. And I think, "Come on mom, you've lost us. Enough already. If you'd like to make a call, please hang up and dial again."
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