Dial One for Heaven

A red phone box stands alone in the middle of a field. Long grass and wildflowers surround it and little else. I make my way over; glad I’m wearing my wellies. I avoid the cow pats along the way and bat a couple of flies from my face.

An old-fashioned way of communicating is fitting, I feel.

Opening the door takes both hands and a fair amount of tugging. Once inside, I brace myself for the inevitable smell of urine. I'm glad when my nose isn’t assaulted as I try to avoid eye contact with the big black spider hiding in the corner.

Looking at the number pad, I pick up the receiver. I don’t know what number to dial. Then I notice the sign. It reads:

Dial 1 for Heaven

Dial 5 for Purgatory

Dial 13 for Hell

Dial 0 for the Operator

It makes me chuckle. I put the receiver to my ear and press 1.

“Now, before you say anything, just listen. There are a few things I forgot to tell you. I’ve fixed the dripping tap in the bathroom at last and I’ve got a gardener who comes twice a month, so you don’t need to worry about that.”

I close my eyes and bite my lip, holding back the welling emotions that threaten to break over the barrier.

“Everyone is fine. You made sure we were all well looked after. The grand kids are good. Jake is off to university soon and Emmy is graduating next week.”

A smile hovers on my lips.

“You’d be so proud of them.”

A tear splatters on my wellie. I hadn’t realised I’d started crying. I throw my eyes up to heaven like I can force the salty water back inside. Instead, I notice the spider has a friend.

“Your wife has probably gone off her head.” I have to laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

“I’m standing in the middle of a field in a disused phone box, talking to an unconnected phone.”

My nose has decided to join in with my eyes. With my free hand, I hunt around my pocket for a tissue. Instead, I find a small stone with a hole in the middle.

“I keep finding these things everywhere! I know it’s you. Thank you.”

I turn the smooth stone over a few times in my fingers. I imagine it radiates warmth from the sun after you’d picked it up on the beach and presented it to me with a smile.

“We are fine you know. You can move on or whatever it is you do. If there’s a light, you can go towards it. I’d be happier knowing you’d passed over.”

A breeze catches my hair through a broken pane of glass like you gently brushed past my cheek.

“God, I miss you.”

I hang up the phone but let my hand rest on the warm receiver like I’m holding my hand on your chest.

Then I push open the heavy door, walk back across the field and don’t look back.