Morning Has a Habit

Storm | DISPATCH By Scott Evers

[wind against the house]

Princess has a cold.

—

No.

Not a people cold.

Whatever dogs get from standing in the rain pretending they haven’t.

[phone rings]

—hello.

—

—Charles.

—

—yeah.

—I hear it.

—

—roof’s still there.

—

—well, if it leaves, I’ll let you know.

—

—goodnight, Charles.

[thunder crack]

Another dispatch from Scott Evers. Read for you by Geezer III.

Storm came into the valley around bedtime and took charge.

Rain sideways.

Wind pushing at the windows like it misplaced something inside.

Phone’s been ringing ever since.

Funny thing about bad weather.

People want to know whether it’s happening to somebody else.

[phone rings]

—hello.

—

—Janet.

—

—how much of the chimney?

—

—no.

—don’t climb up there.

—

—because it’s dark, Janet.

—

—and raining.

—

—yes.

—that too.

—

—put a bucket under it.

—we’ll become experts in the morning.

[receiver settles]

Princess lifts her head every time the phone rings.

Then remembers she’s sick.

[dog sighs]

Poor creature.

She suffers beautifully.

[phone rings]

—hello.

—

—Barstow.

—

—odds are.

—your prefix.

—

—what train?

—

—no tracks out that way.

—

—well, that would seem to be the trouble.

—

—how close?

—

—mercy.

—

—I’ve heard people talk about it.

—

—no.

—not myself.

—

—doesn’t mean much.

—

—sometimes sound travels peculiar through a valley.

—

—and sometimes a train goes by.

—

—yes.

—even without tracks, apparently.

—

—try to get some sleep.

[receiver settles]

The train from nowhere.

Folks have been hearing it for years.

Always beyond the last houses.

Never long enough to follow.

I read once that cold air near the ground can carry sound farther than you’d expect.

Might’ve been a book about weather.

Or artillery.

Good memory.

Poor filing system.

[phone rings]

—hello.

—

—no.

—you didn't wake me.

—

—take your time.

—

—no.

—it doesn't sound ridiculous.

—

—well...

—

—it sounds important.

[thunder explodes]

—sweet Jesus...

—

—somebody's arguing with Zeus tonight.

—

—Poseidon?

—

—you know your gods better than I do.

—

—felt that one right through the phone.

—

—can't believe the lights are still on.

—

—three dogs here with their tails tucked so far under they could pass for rabbits.

—

—where were we?

—

—right.

—

—i'm listening.

—

—hold on.

—

—don't hurry past that part.

—

—mercy...

—

—that'd make anybody stop breathing for a second.

—

—no.

—I don't think you're crazy.

—

—I think you're frightened.

—

—those aren't the same thing.

—

—what's bothering you most?

—

—not what happened.

—

—you.

—

—I wondered if that was it.

—

—how long you been driving?

—

—twenty-seven years.

—

—then you've trusted your own judgment for twenty-seven years.

—

—one strange night doesn't get to take all that away.

—

—no.

—I wouldn't tell the dispatcher tomorrow either.

—

—not because I'd be hiding something.

—

—because I wouldn't know what I was trying to tell him yet.

[thunder rolls]

—there it goes again.

—

—I swear this storm's trying to get in the house.

—

—your wife.

—

—I see.

—

—you don't want her thinking you're coming apart.

—

—I understand.

—

—hang on...

—

—I'm thinking.

—

—I don't think tonight's the night to figure out tonight.

—

—morning has a habit of ruining perfectly good midnight conclusions.

—

—yes.

—I know.

—

—you're afraid morning won't change anything.

—

—it might not.

—

—but it'll change you.

—

—you'll be less scared.

—

—and that's worth waiting for.

—

—there's a word people sometimes use...

[thunder]

—

—mercy.

—

—what was I saying?

—

—oh.

—

—astral projection.

—

—I don't much care for the name.

—

—I'm not saying that's what happened.

—

—I'm saying somebody...

—

—long before either one of us...

—

—thought what happened to them deserved a name.

—

—that tells me you're probably not the first person who's had trouble explaining a night like this.

—

—a name isn't much of an answer.

—

—but sometimes it keeps a man from thinking he's the only one.

—

—tell your wife you had a bad night.

—

—that part's true.

—

—start there.

—

—drive safely.

—

—and if tomorrow's still peculiar...

—

—you know where I am.

[receiver settles]

I remember reading about astral projection years ago.

Never could decide whether it explained much.

Best I remember...

it's the feeling that somehow your awareness leaves your body for a while.

Some folks think it's spiritual.

Some think it's something the brain occasionally does.

They've been comparing notes about it for centuries.

Funny thing...

That isn't why I brought it up.

I mentioned it because somewhere...

long before tonight...

another fellow found himself lying awake...

trying to explain something he couldn't explain.

Sometimes that's enough.

Not an answer.

Just enough company to get you through until morning.

...

...

...

Okay guys.

[thunder crack]

We better charge this phone before we can't.