Summer, 1985.
In Crescent Shores, California.
A beach town with people who are just as small as itself.
A place with waves to surf, fires to warm, and bubblegum tinted sunsets to gaze upon.
Sun-kissed teens light up their cigarettes as they waste th...
4:00 p.m. Victor's 5th time picking up the phone from the wall
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Come on, Victor.
Don't be such a fucking pussy.
I repeated these words in my mind over and over again........
Every time, my hand reaching up to grab the dark blue phone attached to the wall, and the coiled wire dangling against my chest as I dared to touch the dial.
But something always stopped me.
Something always made my hands fall down to my side and my forehead lean against the tiled kitchen wall as a deep sigh escaped my lips.
God, I'm so hopeless.
I held the almost navy phone delicately in my hands as I scanned over the cassette tape in the other.
Call me, lover boy. 702-287-3943.
This should be so easy for me.
I remember having to pick up the phone day by day from all of Alice's calls.
Calls that invited me to party after party, invited me to her house just so she could kiss me and touch me like it was the last thing she'd do.
Even though all I would do in return was waste time and affection.
And those invitations were to places and events that I never wanted to accept an invitation to.
I just wanted to stay home and watch Back to the Future on repeat with popcorn in my mouth and Makkachin on my lap.
Swooning over how effortlessly adorable Marty Mcfly was.
But of course, that was rarely ever an option.
And so why was it so nerve racking for me to finally pick up a phone and call someone in return? To call someone that wouldn't waste my time or affection?
And yes, to call someone who was effortlessly adorable.
It was only 10 digits and a conversation......
How bad could it possibly be?
But as I hopelessly tried to convince myself otherwise, I couldn't stop thinking about the scary part of picking up that phone.
