Sid stood in line with a dozen people waiting for his turn to speak with the dead. Now that he was here, bundled up against the winter chill in the shadow of the tall exchange building, he was starting to have regrets. He talked to his mother often, but only in his head, which had always been much safer than talking with her in person. However, the Living-Dead Exchange had been running a Christmas Eve special, and so here he was, kind of wishing he were kicking back in his apartment watching some old movie on TV. He thought it might be better if the old lady kept on resting in peace, or pieces, as the case may be.
He noticed people who went in did not come out. He mentioned it to the gray-haired woman in line behind him. In her arms she carried a small white dog in a red vest. “They go out a different door,” she said, motioning with her head around the corner of the building. “The Exchange doesn’t want anyone to see them. I’ve seen pictures. It’s not pretty.”
“Who are you here to see?” Sid asked.
“My sister,” she said. “This is her dog. I thought he might like to hear her voice. A Christmas gift for the little bugger. I think he’s depressed.”
“Hope you get a good connection,” Sid said politely.
“Your turn, kid,” she said, nodding. He turned to find the guard at the door beckoning impatiently.
“Register at the front desk,” the guard pointed. “Someone will escort you to the phones.”
Sid filled out the forms, paid the money, which still seemed exorbitant, even with the discount. After signing a stack of disclosures and waivers, he followed a uniformed woman with a long blonde ponytail along a dark wood-paneled corridor. He paused to run his hand along the smooth surface, marveling at the workmanship evident in the cornices and railings.
“Is this the original phone exchange?”
“It sure is, didn’t you read the brochure? Built in 1878, Cincinnati’s first, and the tenth in the nation.”
“They don’t build like this anymore,” Sid said. They walked the length of a long wall taken up by the switchboard. Short wooden walls divided the wall into cubicles, which were all full of visitors wearing headphones, sitting on wooden stools facing the wall.
“Fire trap, you ask me. Here’s your seat, Sir.” She stopped next to the only empty stool. On the narrow ledge in front of the stool was a large pair of somewhat modern-looking headphones. The girl pointed. “Put on the headphones when you are ready. Think of the person you would like to speak with, and then plug the jack into the hole that appears.”
“That’s it?” Sid said, but she was gone. He sat on the stool. The seat swiveled underneath him. He clutched at the desk and straightened himself out. He put on the headphones. Too big. A faraway roaring came through, but nothing distinct. As he fiddled with the headphone size, he noticed a digital timer counting down his time. He had fourteen minutes left to make the call.
Sid picked up the long cord with the jack on the end and waited for a hole to appear. The roaring in the headphones reminded him of a childhood trip to the seaside with his family. The rushing and receding of the waves, the piercing cries of seagulls wheeling overhead as he and his three brothers threw bits of stale bread into the wind. Mom had been upset with Dad for some reason, he recalled. Still, it had been a great trip.
The visitor in the cubicle next to him suddenly burst into tears and ran for the exit, still wearing her headset. Sid turned back to the switchboard. Time to talk to Mom, he thought. To his surprise, three holes had appeared when he wasn’t looking. He scanned for some help, but no one in a uniform was visible. The visitor on the other side of him was hunched over, making moaning noises.
Sid noticed the cord in his hand now had three jacks on the end, one for each hole. He only had one mother, as far as he knew. With some trepidation he plugged in the three jacks, closed his eyes, and listened.
The sounds of the ocean came in clearer, then voices moving closer.
“Sidney!”
“Vince?” Sid said. “Wait, you aren’t . . . what the hell? Are you . . . dead?”
“Yeah, didn’t anyone tell you? Those cowards.”
“Hey, who you calling a coward?” came another familiar voice.
“Tony?” Sid and Vince said at the same time. Sid felt his stomach drop. It’s not like they had been close after they grew up and left home, but he’d just assumed, he’d never imagined . . . two of his brothers were apparently dead! “What happened to you guys?”
“And me, too, don’t forget me,” said a third voice.
“Bill?” Sid groaned. “Oh, no. All you guys are dead?”
“Guess so, if you are talking to us on that thing. Wow, I didn’t know I was dead until just now. I’m kinda pissed off, tell you the truth. I guess I took that turn too fast one too many times.”
“Sorry, Bill. I know you really liked that truck,” Tony said. “Me, I had cancer. I didn’t want to say anything, you guys were all so busy. It was quick. Vince, what happened to you?”
“I’m embarrassed to say, I choked on a fish sandwich on my way home from the Sea Shanty,” Vince said. “They found me in a ditch. Of course, the five beers probably didn’t help.”
“Wow. I don’t know what to say. I had no idea you were all dead. I haven’t seen you all since Mom’s funeral. Nobody said a thing. No cards, nothing. Now I’m the only one left?”
“Enjoy what’s left, Bro. Your turn will come soon enough,” said Vince.
“I hope Mom left you some money,” Tony chuckled. “She didn’t leave me nothing. Stupid old bat. I wonder how she’s doing. We don’t hear nothing from anyone else over here. It’s pretty quiet. Peaceful, you could say.”
“Well, to be honest, I was kind of hoping to talk to Mom tonight,” Sid said. “But I got you guys instead. I’m glad. I wasn’t really looking forward to talking to her on Christmas Eve. She would ask me if I had a tree.”
“Right! And a girlfriend!” They all laughed.
“I was hoping we could get together sometime next year, maybe go to the beach like we did when we were kids.”
“I remember that trip,” Tony said. “We had a great time, didn’t we?”
“Sorry we didn’t get around to making it happen, Sid,” Vince said. “It would have been fun.”
“Go take that trip, Bro,” Bill said. “Feed some seagulls and think of us.”