I'm ashamed of myself for doing this, since I haven't really done it since the days of waiting for a potential date to call, someone who by calling would show some interest in me, would take me out of my isolation. That was the pleasant moment—the moment spent waiting for the phone to ring—before I began to feel rejected, before I became terrified of the prospect of loneliness.
Now, I most often pray for the phone not to ring, so I can do my crazy thing without interruption. But here I am waiting for the phone to ring, waiting to find out an important detail, such as whether someone got my end-of-the world message and wants to call me back about it. But what was my message, really? Was I really asking about the end of the world? Was I trying to hook up with the all-powerful being to find out about the fate of all things? Or was I just waiting to find out what happened to my order of fish and chips? That must have been it. I must have just been waiting to learn the fate of my takeout order.
© 2004 Thaddeus Rutkowski
's first novel, Roughhouse, was a finalist for the Members' Choice of the Asian American Literary Awards. His new novel, Tetched, is forthcoming from Behler Publications.
He lives in Manhattan with his wife and daughter.
