In Case of Emergency
He convinces himself he’s not being silly as he readjusts his pillow. It’s hard to get truly comfortable in the bathtub, especially with that blasted siren wailing without end. He pulls the covers up to his chin and wiggles his toes, careful not to knock over the lilac-scented candle at his feet.
There’s a buzz under the covers, and it takes him a while to realize it’s his cell-phone. He rummages through the folds, nearly knocking over a luffa and the lavender body wash he adamantly denies he owns.
“Do you hear the siren?” his cell blinks at him, questioningly.
At first he thinks it has lost its mind- didn’t it see those dark clouds? Can’t it hear that annoying siren gnawing on his nerves like a mouse after cheese?
Then he remembers it’s just a cell phone, the question is really from Ben on the opposite side of town.
He clicks back his response, a safe and unrevealing: ‘Yeah.’
He can hear his breath as it bounces off the walls. Everything sounds hollow like his ears are plugged, and the hard tub taunts his sit-bones. He readjusts his pillow for the fourth time in the past hour as he convinces himself he’s not being silly.