A phone rings through an empty apartment. It rings into the empty night, the stars in the dark sky casting light shadows. Riiiiiiing riiiiiiing. Even though it is just a studio apartment, it feels rather large and spread out. A small futon on the corner, just enough for one person to sleep. Riiiiiiing riiiiiiing. A tv set up across from the futon, dead. Clothes strewn across the floor. Riiiiiiing riiiiiiing. Kitchen counters with a rice maker and random bits of takeout. Cabinets filled with random pots, pans, cups, plates, and standard pantry food. Riiiiiiing Riiiiiiing. A small table in the corner holds the ringing phone and a voicemail machine. It’s dusty, as if it hasn’t been used in weeks. Click. The caller is sent to voicemail and the machine begins to play.
“Hey Hisao, it’s uh, me. Emi. Didn’t know if you could tell who I was from the voice alone hahaha” The caller's voice is quiet, and the laugh is awkward and hesitant. “Your parent’s haven’t heard from you in a long time. They asked me to call, they are both very worried about you. Your mom especially, she hasn’t heard from you in weeks. She even went so far as to call me! And you know how she is with that stuff.” This time Emi lets out a more casual laugh, familiar with this topic. “She never did like me.” Silence. “But at least your dad does! Or, did. He finally had someone to talk about sports with. No offense to you of course!” A quick pause before she picks back up. “Oh man, why am I saying this stuff?” She takes a deep breath before speaking again.
“I hope you’re doing okay. I miss you. It’s been a while since we last talked, can’t say I’m surprised. We said some pretty nasty things to each other, didn’t we?” She sighs. “That’s unfair to say to you. It was mostly me saying nasty things. That’s actually why I’m calling. To apologize. Everything I said, everything I did, it was wrong and I’m sorry. Part of me wants to return to the way things were, how you would wake up early in the morning and take the train just to run with me. Or how we used to be so strict about eating on the week, and then on the weekends we’d always go to that ramen shop you love. Somehow I even miss how we’d fight over turning the air on at night when you’d stay over.” A sound of Emi beginning to choke up is barely audible in the background.
“But I know that I ruined that. That if you never call me again, it’s nothing you did. It’s all me. And I–I-I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.” Loud, audible sobs are coming through the speakers. “I just, I-I need to hear your voice. To hear you tell me it will all be okay like you have before. Please, Hisao. P-please. I’ll work on it. Whatever is wrong with me I’ll fix it. Just, please. Let me hear your voice.”
A loud beep comes from the machine, signaling the end of the message.
