Inbox

One summer evening, the sunset burnishing the sky in golden hues, I receive an email that asks: “How Are Things?” Included is an important life changing 800 number where people are waiting to hear from me.

And how might my life change if I call? The email is enticingly specific: “For example, an oil filter about the anomaly indicates that the hole puncher over a squid often has a change of heart about the short order cook inside a fire hydrant. When you see the flavored hell, it means that a fruit cake leaves. An industrial complex related to another formless void starts reminiscing about lost glory, and a nearest food stamp trembles; however, the chestnut sells a slow pig pen to the abstraction inside a Jersey cow. Now and then, the hydrogen atom from a chess board lazily tries to seduce the cocker spaniel.”

Ah, the wonder of it. I can relate to this email with all its sentient images of life’s complexities. I, too, have known the “flavored hell” as I have had many a “fruit cake” leave me. And I share the angst as the “nearest food stamp trembles” at the mention of “lost glory.” And who would not wish to be as savvy as the “chestnut” to know how to sell a “slow pig pen” to an “abstraction inside a Jersey cow”?

I must admit, too, that I am awed by the power of “the hydrogen atom” in its efforts to “seduce the cocker spaniel,” and I feel a sense of envy about their intimate moments. Truly, shouldn’t everyone, not just “the cocker spaniel,” have a chance to be seduced by an intensely flammable gas that makes up nearly all of the heavens and the stars?

Regretfully, I know I won’t be calling the 800 number that could change my life. Perhaps I am more like the “short order cook” or the “fire hydrant” than I realize. Or perhaps, like the “oil filter,” I am too aware of anomalies and the weight of wistful illusions.

I hope that those who do call will experience a purposeful “change of heart” and not the disappointment of the “formless void.” It is only fitting. After all, there is “lost glory” in all our lives and a desire for grander visions. And in our deepest hearts, don’t we all long to find out who, on the other end, might be waiting to hear from us?

Christina Murphy's writing has been published in New England Review, Greensboro Review, Crescent Review, Modern Short Stories, Descant, and Storyscape, among others, and has received an Editor’s Choice Award and Special Mention for a Pushcart Prize. She always appreciates hearing from readers and can be reached at 446river3@gmail.com.