Ptolemy
Call Waiting: New Queen of England
Farley sat back in the large and threadbare arm chair located near the front entry way in the living room of his house. He had been dropped off by his mother fifteen minutes prior, and he didn't have any urge to move. A week at his father's house awaited ahead and it was the Sunday before he went back to school. His three week summer break slipped through his fingers every year. The birds chirped their songs loudly outside, but weren't heard inside through all of the closed and draped windows. The only the sounds of life inside the house were a cawing crow and occasional shuffles from the office where Farley's father was writing his next lecture.
He steadily tapped his foot slower and slower as his eyelids drooped and when his the muscles in his shin ached he traced the stitching on the arm of the chair. The heat took him over, his jaw drooped to his chest, and a small wheezing snore indicated sleep. His dreams were black shadows with voices of loved one and other noises. The phone rang loudly in the kitchen and Farley was awakened after two rings, he reached the phone by the third ring.
" 'Ello?" He answered drowsily and wiped some sweat from his brow.
"Hello…is Arden there?" The feminine voice was unfamiliar.
Farley began twisting the cord around his finger trying to figure out the voice. He knew it wasn't his mother or his grandmother, so the only logical explanation he could think of was someone from the university.
"Yes, one moment please."
The fair boy made his way silently with the stretching coiled cord to the door of his father's office. He held the receiver to his shoulder and pounded with the side of his fist.
"Yes Farley?" His father opened the door a crack.
"Someone's on the phone for you."
"Well who is it?"
"Someone from the university, I think."
His father reached for the phone, pausing upon hearing the last part. He blinked rapidly and spoke with his mouth in a straight and none moving line. "You have to start asking who it is."
Farley backed away as he sensed his father stepping forward and then turned back to the living room. He sat on the edge of his chair since the back was still radiating his nap's heat. Upon answering his father's voice was it usual mumbles and grumbles, then a name was cried out.
"Avery!"
Another caw came from his father's office, the bird must have sense the man's excitement.
"Yes… Yes! Come as soon as you can! That'd be wonderful… Oh, don't worry! Stay as long as you want… uh-huh…" His tone was hushed, but it still was rushed and abnormally enthusiastic.
The conversation went on and Farley grew more and more curious. He leaned further and further forward like he'd be able to hear the person on the other end. His eyebrows welded themselves together while he attempted to piece anything together. With a loud clank the receiver was hung up, followed by squeaking footsteps on the wood floors.
"We have a guest coming."
"And whom may this be?" Farley questioned his father's unlikely behavior of inviting people over.
"Avery."
"Yes, but who is that? The new Queen of England or something?"
"No of course not! She's my daughter."
Daughter had grown to be a foreign word on his father's lips, but he was thrilled to relearn it, whereas Farley thought it was unbelievable that he had other children. The news was hitting him wave after wave. He was standing alone on a beach and they just kept coming and knocking him down, covering him and washing away.
"Come again?"
"Uh, it doesn't matter! I have to start cleaning. This place isn't what she remembers!" His father waved a hand in the air and turned away, and then looked back, "You're about to fall out of your seat."
"Thank you." Farley quietly mumbled and resituated himself. It was a common problem, gravity may have been there, but he still couldn't tell up from down. It was especially disorientating now.
School started and every night upon arriving home he was greeted by the sound of an ancient roaring vacuum, the pungent smell of cleaning products, or a nostalgic story about Avery. All of which Farley pursed his lips and promptly locked himself in his room. An anxious anticipation of the arrival of their guest was growing deep at the base of his spine. Days passed and it splintered into his limbs branches of curiosity, fear, and small vines of envy. Still, Farley humored the upbringings from his mother and remained open minded hoping for the best.
He steadily tapped his foot slower and slower as his eyelids drooped and when his the muscles in his shin ached he traced the stitching on the arm of the chair. The heat took him over, his jaw drooped to his chest, and a small wheezing snore indicated sleep. His dreams were black shadows with voices of loved one and other noises. The phone rang loudly in the kitchen and Farley was awakened after two rings, he reached the phone by the third ring.
" 'Ello?" He answered drowsily and wiped some sweat from his brow.
"Hello…is Arden there?" The feminine voice was unfamiliar.
Farley began twisting the cord around his finger trying to figure out the voice. He knew it wasn't his mother or his grandmother, so the only logical explanation he could think of was someone from the university.
"Yes, one moment please."
The fair boy made his way silently with the stretching coiled cord to the door of his father's office. He held the receiver to his shoulder and pounded with the side of his fist.
"Yes Farley?" His father opened the door a crack.
"Someone's on the phone for you."
"Well who is it?"
"Someone from the university, I think."
His father reached for the phone, pausing upon hearing the last part. He blinked rapidly and spoke with his mouth in a straight and none moving line. "You have to start asking who it is."
Farley backed away as he sensed his father stepping forward and then turned back to the living room. He sat on the edge of his chair since the back was still radiating his nap's heat. Upon answering his father's voice was it usual mumbles and grumbles, then a name was cried out.
"Avery!"
Another caw came from his father's office, the bird must have sense the man's excitement.
"Yes… Yes! Come as soon as you can! That'd be wonderful… Oh, don't worry! Stay as long as you want… uh-huh…" His tone was hushed, but it still was rushed and abnormally enthusiastic.
The conversation went on and Farley grew more and more curious. He leaned further and further forward like he'd be able to hear the person on the other end. His eyebrows welded themselves together while he attempted to piece anything together. With a loud clank the receiver was hung up, followed by squeaking footsteps on the wood floors.
"We have a guest coming."
"And whom may this be?" Farley questioned his father's unlikely behavior of inviting people over.
"Avery."
"Yes, but who is that? The new Queen of England or something?"
"No of course not! She's my daughter."
Daughter had grown to be a foreign word on his father's lips, but he was thrilled to relearn it, whereas Farley thought it was unbelievable that he had other children. The news was hitting him wave after wave. He was standing alone on a beach and they just kept coming and knocking him down, covering him and washing away.
"Come again?"
"Uh, it doesn't matter! I have to start cleaning. This place isn't what she remembers!" His father waved a hand in the air and turned away, and then looked back, "You're about to fall out of your seat."
"Thank you." Farley quietly mumbled and resituated himself. It was a common problem, gravity may have been there, but he still couldn't tell up from down. It was especially disorientating now.
School started and every night upon arriving home he was greeted by the sound of an ancient roaring vacuum, the pungent smell of cleaning products, or a nostalgic story about Avery. All of which Farley pursed his lips and promptly locked himself in his room. An anxious anticipation of the arrival of their guest was growing deep at the base of his spine. Days passed and it splintered into his limbs branches of curiosity, fear, and small vines of envy. Still, Farley humored the upbringings from his mother and remained open minded hoping for the best.