You Remember Me, Right?

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 

Death is inevitable, it happens to everyone at some point at sometime. It can be gradually from old age or abruptly from a tragic accident or disease, or something bizarre like being crushed to death by a vending machine. Beca thought it only right to speed up the process for whoever set her phone off, it’s incessant buzzing forcing her to peel of her headphones and drop them around her neck. No one interrupted her when she was in the middle of mixing. It should become a law, an amendment to the Constitution; No one shall talk to, text, or even be in a one hundred meter perimeter of Beca Mitchell while she is working on music (or may a sudden and justified end be delivered to whatever idiot who would do such a thing).

 

It wasn’t too bad at first, a few dings here and there. She silenced her phone, put her headphones back on and ignored it, working diligently on her newest mix. The light from the phone bounced off the screen of her computer, lighting up once more after a few seconds when the next text would arrive. It was normal for Beca to ignore her phone, though. She knew Luke, her dad, and pretty much everyone else on her contact list hated how she would never respond, but if they wanted to talk to her they could just find her. It wasn’t even that hard. She was either at school (ugh), home working on a mix, or with Luke at some club either listening to the DJ or playing her own mixes. If they really wanted her attention that badly, they could work for it.

 

That was one of the reasons Beca didn’t answer her phone, anyways. The other reason was that it was more than her arm’s length away and she was too lazy to retrieve it. It was a basis of principle; if the sender had the audacity to constantly pester her, they shouldn’t be rewarded with a response to their childish behavior. After formulating a whole theory as to why she shouldn’t answer the phone, she swore she was going to have a nervous breakdown at any second. What person has the time and the energy to text her a hundred times per minute? Why her? Couldn’t they go find someone else to annoy? There must have been someone else willing to talk to them...maybe a therapist to talk them through their obsessive compulsive texting disorder. Maybe it was time for them to go cold turkey, and turn off the damn phone.

 

Grumbling, she finally rolled her chair to her bed, picking up the phone. She gave in. She couldn’t do it. She wasn’t strong enough. Well, the number was unknown but she was right, they had texted her well over 50 times in the course of 45 minutes. Beca rolled her eyes, tapping out a quick message.

 

What the hell do you want?

 

The three little dot symbols popped up on her iPhone screen, alerting her that the sender had decided to respond. She hoped the person was happy, disrupting her peace and quiet.

 

You sent me almost a million texts. Don’t you think you could type a little bit faster?, Beca continued, the pads of her fingers tapping the message out on the screen. She scrolled up the list of messages, seeing that all of them looked like titles. From Harry Potter to Pulp Fiction to Rocky, they were all movie titles (at least she she was pretty sure that they were movies since Luke had talked about a few of them).

 

At last, her phone dinged as a blue text message bubble appeared on her screen,  Ten years Beca! Ten years we haven’t spent any time together. We are going to watch all of these. You have no choice. 50 movies, 5 for every year I didn’t get a chance to see you.