Hello.
Hi.
There was silence. That awkward silence when nobody knows what to say. She cleared her throat. There was music in the background; an old Billy Strayhorn song.
Did you want to say something? He asked. Three beats of quiet. I mean, you called me. Three more beats of nothing passed. It’s late.
Yes. Sorry about that. It is. What time is it there?
Midnight.
Here it’s two.
Yeah. I remember. Two hours ahead of Los Angeles and one hour behind New York.
Right.
I was a kid, I used to watch the late game from the coast after the Bulls played. I stayed up late. Games didn’t come on till ten o’clock at night. But it was always on a Friday. No school the next day. Mom didn’t care. She made me popcorn. And I got to drink Pepsi. I cheered for Seattle.
Yeah. I remember you telling me about that. About when you were a kid. Do you still watch the late game?
No. I’m here now. It’s right on time .
She laughed. That’s good. One of the things about living out there. I guess.
Right.
Back to silence. Now Johnny Hartman sang in the background. My One And Only Love. Coltrane played on that record. Some scratches were heard.
I don’t know why I called, she said. I just did. It’s been a long time. Billy works third shift now. Money’s good.
If you’re into that.
Yeah. Money’s not everything.
Nope.
Where you at again?
I’m in L. A.
Yeah. I meant what part?
Over by Hollywood.
Oh. That’s nice. I’ve never been there.
It’s not great. I live in a motel. Monthly rates.
I see.
Couple next door bangs on the walls. Always fighting. They’re going to kill each other. I’m expecting a body bag to be on a stretcher outside one of these nights. Carted off somewhere. I don’t know.
Oh my.
It’s not that bad.
Good. No talking. She could hear an air-conditioner coming on now. Is it hot there?
Yeah. It is.
Sorry.
Always sunny. Good for my mood. Keeps me stable. No more running around. Plenty of vitamin D.
You sound good.
Yeah. I’m OK.
Good. That’s good. Quiet.
You take care.
You, too.
Silence for three beats. He hung up. She kept the phone to her ear. There was a beep beep beep coming through the receiver.
One response to “My One And Only Love”
Dialogue feels real, haunted, and tender. Like Coltrane’s solo—beautiful, scratched, unfinished. A love never rekindled, only remembered. A quiet heartbreak.
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