Not The Beep

I phoned the winter place in Florida,

got my father’s voice still vivid

on the message machine. Not

expecting to discover Dad there,

I almost hung up the call; but

hearing him once more, I stopped

to listen to the voice of Pater.

I could see him recording the message,

seated alone at his sun-splashed office

desk, the text written in his clear

engineer’s hand. “If you have a

facsimile please press the number

sign now.” A fax? He’d barely learned

to use the computer the last year.

He could have been describing

the wild tribes in Borneo. Then,...

“We’re not here at the moment...”

Not here. It might have been the

first time it had truly registered

since he’d gone. That he had

taken the time to let me know

that he would always be there,

just a call away if I cared to

simply leave him a message

.... after the beep.