The Opiate, Summer Vol. 10
Can I Help You? Max DeVoe Talley
T
ed Buckner drove up to his Sleepy Hollow home just outside Tarrytown after work. Pale blue television light flashed in a downstairs window as he mounted the front steps. Which meant a quick microwaved meal. He felt an argument rising in his throat but swallowed it down like stomach acid. “Hey, hon, just watching the news,” Carol said from the living room. She was always watching something. “I thought you planned a big dinner tonight.” Ted spoke the words calmly, without inflection. Their marriage counselor insisted they shouldn’t whine or make demands. From the alcove, Ted observed his wife sprawled across the couch in her terrycloth bathrobe. “I was going to, but I got distracted,” Carol said. “That explosion in Europe. Waiting to find out
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if it was terrorism.” She rattled the ice cubes in her cocktail glass. “I will tomorrow night. Promise.” The phone rang on the hallway table. Ted stared at it, but didn’t budge. “Can you get it, Ted?” “I told you we need to ditch our landline,” he said. “We both have iPhones. Only telemarketers and robocalls use that number.” Carol sat up. “It’s our communal phone, the family number we’ve had for years.” Her makeup looked weird, as if she’d been crying earlier. “New technology doesn’t help people stay in touch or be happier. We’re more isolated.” “I know, but the landline should go.” “Please answer it.” Ted grabbed the handset. “Doctor Bud, is that you?” a woman demanded. “I’m sorry, ma’am—”
