“Always You” – The Sundowners
Kevin sat in the house mother’s room, his head hung down as he shook it and thought over and over, 29! The game was over for him. He was nowhere close to 195 which was the lowest number that would probably be safe. “My mom said I was born July 21st at 11:55 p.m.”
“Well, look at the bright side. Being number 29, you don’t have to wonder if they’ll call you or not,” Mom said with as much empathy as she could muster considering it was Kevin who was notorious for making bad choices. She had felt bad that Donna had broken up with him. He had really relied on her . . . maybe too much. “At least you’re not in limbo.” It really was hard to sugar-coat the number 29.
“If she could have just squeezed her legs together for another five minutes I’d be number 291. I’d be safe, and I could do what I want.”
“It could have gone the other way, too. We have no way of knowing what’s in store for us on this earth, Kevin. I . . . I don’t think people really want to know.”
He hadn’t heard a word she said and got to his feet slowly. “Thanks for the TV. Sorry, I wasn’t better company.”
“You take care, son . . . come anytime. My door is always open, you know.”
He left her room and closed the door gently behind him. He walked up the thirteen steps to the second floor, a number stuck in his mind from his pledge days. At the top of the stairs was the house pay phone. It was mounted on the wall, centrally located between all the bedrooms, where everyone could hear it ring. The downside of that was that everyone could also overhear your conversation. All around it was a collection of numbers and names and doodles that had been scribbled or drawn in every pen color imaginable over the years. He picked up the receiver, dropped in a dime and slowly dialed the number he knew by heart. After the first ring, he took a deep breath and sighed.
“It’s me,” he said nervously. “I didn’t know what to do or who to call.”
Kevin shuffled his feet as he tried to find a comfortable position, but nothing worked. He ended up leaning sideways against the wall.
“If I had been born five minutes later, I would be safe.”
He laugh was brittle. He nodded his head and combed his left hand through his thick blond hair. He turned so he was facing the wall with his forehead propped against it.
“I always had a plan before . . . okay, I changed it a lot, but I’ve always kept going. And now .”
He switched the phone to his left ear and started to trace the numbers and names written on the wall with the index finger of his right hand. He pursed his lips as if to stop something stupid from coming out and stared up at the ceiling.
“29 . . . yeah, that’s right. Lucky me.”
He shifted his weight from foot to foot.
“I have no idea. I know my neck’s in the noose.”
He changed the phone back to his other ear.
“No, no . . . don’t worry about that. I’m not suicidal. That was just a simile or a metaphor or some grammar thing.”
He cleared his throat and stood up straight as he gathered his strength. “Sure . . . I’ll . . . I’ll keep you posted . . . that’ll give me something to look forward to. Yeah, it was good to hear your voice. Bye.” The conversation was over in about the same time it took the Selective Service to ruin his life. Tears clouded his vision as he hung up the receiver carefully, even thoughtfully, and turned to walk away. Without letting go of the receiver as it lay in the cradle of the phone, he jerked it back up and screamed into the receiver “You bitch!” He slammed it on the hook as hard as he could and fled to his room, feeling slightly better.