Impatient

The phone rang abruptly. He paused to look at the screen of his battered cell phone. “No Caller ID.”

He doesn’t usually answer these calls, but after what just happened he thought it could be something important. He slid his thumb slowly across the bottom of the screen to answer, and even slower again, he raised the phone to his ear.

“H-Hello?” he said hesitantly.

He waited. He was worried. There was no response, just the dead, white noise sound of sweet nothingness on the other end. He lowered the phone and gazed at the screen, simply to check if he was still in a call, and he was. He raised the phone again, cleared his throat and spoke…

“Who is this?” he said, “…and what do you want from me?”

He heard something, something that could’ve been nothing. He clung on to the fact, that this something, or be it nothing, could have been what he was anticipating since earlier. He spoke again, but louder this time.

“Is there anyone there? Please?! Is that…”

Just before he could continue he was met with the dreary monotone that is a dead line. His heart sunk. He felt that ever growing heaviness in the pit of his stomach get even heavier. Slowly, he stood up, pressing on his weary knees for assistance to rise. He threw his phone on to the chair he was just sitting in, searched in his pockets and took out a cigarette.

As he placed it in his mouth, he raised his hands again to light it. He was shaking, so much so that he could barely light the stick. Before he could, his phone began to ring. Cigarette still in his mouth, and lighter still lit, he looked down at where the phone lay. The ringing seemed louder than before, louder and much more burdened than the first time. He lowed his hands, and the lighter went out. He picked up the phone and felt the vibrations sending shockwaves up his unsteady arm. He raised his thumb on the screen again, just as he had did before, and slid it to the right. Reluctantly, he put the phone to his ear.

This time he didn’t speak, but listened cautiously. He could hear a breath, a breath that would send a jolt to his weary heart. A droplet of sweat ran down his forehead. He is frozen, as still as a statue. The breath continued at a steady pace, not too fast, but not sluggish either.

“Hi…” said a soft voice. “I’m at the door, I have what you asked for.”

He was taken aback, he paused for a few seconds, and these few seconds seemed like a whole lifetime.

“Okay” he said. “Wait right there. Please don’’t go.”

He hung up the phone, and shoved it into his deep pockets. Suddenly he was in a panic. His heart was racing faster than it ever had before. He ran down the hallway, which was darker than ever, and somehow felt longer than it had before. He got to the door and could see the silhouette of someone standing outside. The silhouette was intensified by the orange streetlight which lit up the lonely street. He reached for the handle, and slowly turned it.

The old door creaked open, and the cold draft swept threw the small opening, catching him by surprise. He continued to open the door, but doing so deliberately slowly, as if he was frightened. He peeked outside and stared anxiously at the silhouette, which had now became a small feminine figure.

“You came.” The figure nodded.

He looked down and could see a box. Is this what he had been waiting on? Is this what had been concerning his troubled mind for hours on end?

“Is that it?” he asked fearfully. “It is.” said the figure.

He reached out and opened the box, as if to check if this box was truthfully for him. A warmth swept out and captured his hand. He knew. He looked up at the figure, who was smiling. His eyes were glistening, a tear rolled gently down his cheek. He could hardly get a word out.

“I didn’t think you’d ever come! I’ve waited so long. The calls? What hap-”

He was interupted by the soft voice.

“Please sir, take it. I must depart.” He stopped.

“Okay, em… okay.”

He took the box and watched the figure disappear into the distance. He gestured a goodbye, but the figure continued to get smaller and smaller. He turned and closed the door behind him, he dropped to the floor, with his back to the door and sat on the floor staring at the box. All the emotions he could possibly feel raced down through out his body. He began to cry. He opened the box, and lifted a part of its contents. It was warm in his hand, a comforting warmth that felt like he was addicted to it. It was beautiful, soft, thin, crispy and moist. Although the room was dim, he could see the vibrant greens and reds. It was the most wonderful thing he had ever seen. He raised it to his mouth and put it in…

It was the best damn pizza he had ever taken a bite from.