can you hear me now?

yesterday was actually mostly pretty lovely. a sunny spring day off from sushi slinging has been rare, and I was struck by the inspiration to hoof it all the way down to the ferry building, even despite having recently developed something I could only really accurately describe as carpal toe syndrome. once there I strolled down the pier and sat on the edge of a dock that I had to hop a fence to access, and I pulled out my moleskin to get some strife purged from my brain by way of some nimble fingers. I quickly discovered that I was without a pen. my next choice was to chainsmoke like a troubled eurotrash teen, but I had forgotten my lighter, too. my ill equipped fate aside, I was still enjoying the briny breeze and the me-time. later ended up at vesuvio in north beach later where I located a ballpoint, wrote for an hour or so and then started the trek home.
after bingo night at the knockout with zoe and her foreign neighbor friends, I returned home rather buzzed and missing jon something awful. I sent some test-the-waters texts and was informed that he'd just left the treehouse. immediately my brain was set ablaze with ridiculous scenarios of where he might be, perhaps in a hot tub at the hyatt with a bevy of hustler honeys who were stroking his tawny red hair and feeding him decadent blintzes and pink champagne through a curly straw. or, even worse, simply with that wretched ex-girlfriend of his. the higher likelihood is that he was with his work buddies having a pint two blocks away, but once I get started with paranoid delusions, it's difficult to stop.
needless to say, within minutes I was sobbing hysterically, face buried in a mountain of orange pillows that were soaking up the salt water and misery. (I knew I shouldn't have skipped therapy this week.) this went on for a little while when suddenly, I could have SWORN I'd heard my father's voice, albeit very faintly, from somewhere in my room. I sat up, looked around wildly and wondered if I had finally lost my damn mind. but then, clear as day, I heard him again saying, "christina? christina poo?"
I always hated it when he called me that.
I dug around in my purse for my cell phone, and saw that he was and had been on the line for two and a half minutes. horrified, I ended the call and dropped the cell back on the bed. I stared at it like it was a shrunken head. the phone had been closed! I couldn't have even pushed a button to make a call in the first place, and he's certainly not on my recent log, it just so happened that my phone became possessed and called the last person I would ever call in a moment of distress.
"fuck." I said. rufus meowed inquisitively. "shit, shit, shit."
I could only imagine having to explain to the other roommates why the cops had shown up looking for a big blonde in some sort of extremely dire trouble. I flipped open my newly cabalistic phone and called my dad back.
"hey, dad." I murmured, snorgling.
"christina? daughter? what the hell--"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, everything is fine."
"well I just picked up the phone, I mean, it's unlike you to call me in the first place, but it's the middle of the night and--"
"I know, I'm sorry, my phone..." I struggled for an explanation, "it's possessed. or something, I'm not sure, it just sort of called you by itself, I wasn't even touching it."
he absorbed this for a second, and said rather incredulously, "what's going on? it sounds like you're being mugged in the tenderloin. do you have a gun to your head? if you do, cough twice!"
"no, no. no! I'm just having a hard time."
"ah. yeah, the vampire?" this was a reference to my father having told me that most, if not all redheads were blood sucking occult worshippers.
"yes, the vampire."
"well, break ups are difficult, you know."
I sniffed in affirmation.
he continued, "it took me five some-eyed years to get over your mother."
"eight." I corrected him. "and you don't really seem over it."
"you may be right."
"I usually am." I replied, finally calming down a bit.
"... daughter?"
"father."
"maybe we should take this as a sign," he said, "that you should talk to your dear old dad more often."
"sure."
"how about you call me this week, just to talk."
"ha. what, you didn't enjoy me calling just to cry?"
"are you okay?"
"yeah, I'm going to bed. sorry, again."
and with that, the second conversation I've had with him all year ended. now, this is a man who I hear from on the odd holiday through an awkward voicemail that sounds more like a telemarketing ploy rather than a paternal outreach. it's really just bizarre, I have no idea how in the hell my phone did that. is it a sign? is it merely a sign that it's time to perform an exorcism on my gadgetry?
I don't know. but I'd better be careful, pay the bill and try not to piss it off in the meantime.