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.