goes
over to her answering machine sitting on the desk to see if
there were any messages left while she was at the concert
last night. There are four messages. Celeste reaches into
the desk drawer to retrieve her notepad and a pencil while
pressing play on the digital answering machine.
The first message is from her secretary, Joanna, who is
calling to inform Celeste that her 9:30 am appointment has
been canceled and rescheduled for Thursday of next week.
Nothing noteworthy there, thinks Celeste as she presses the
erase message button.
The second message is in Spanish with someone asking
Emily to pick up if she’s home. “Now do I sound like
Emily?” says Celeste to the answering machine as she again
presses the erase message button.
The third message is most surprising. It is from Stephen.
“I just wanted to tell you that I enjoyed meeting you this
evening. I hope you made it home safely. I’m looking
forward to seeing you again.”
“What in the world?” Celeste asks looking up at the
ceiling. “How did he get my phone number?” Before the
question is entirely off her tongue, Celeste already knows
the answer, “Jenny.”
“Me and that girl are going to have a serious talk,” says
Celeste while pressing the erase message button.
The fourth message is also from Stephen, “I just wanted
to leave you my phone number in case you want to get in
touch with me.” Listening to him recite the phone number,
Celeste doesn’t write it down. An overwhelming feeling
that Celeste can’t quite describe, but strangely feels like
fear, engulfs Celeste. She reaches out to press the erase
message button but pauses with index finger poised just
millimeters from its smooth surface.
Feeling her pulse begin to quicken, Celeste’s mind goes
round in circles,
press the button, no, save as
a new
message. Being the analytical type that Celeste is, she
begins to reason in her own mind. If I erase the number, I
definitely won’t be able to call him back, should I decide I
want to. But why would I want to call him back, he might
be psycho or something. Yeah, but you never know. Yeah,
that’s right , you never know! But I could always write
down the number and decide later if I ever want to use it. That’s what I’ll do .
Replaying the message, Celeste jots down the number
and then erases the message. As she slips the notepad back
into the desk drawer, she sees Thomas entering the room
carrying his leash in his mouth. This is Thomas’ subtle way
of saying that he has finished eating and is ready for his
morning walk.
“You are such a good boy, Thomas,” Celeste says as
she crouches down and takes the strap from him with her
left hand and begins to rub and pat his head with her right
hand. From the day she brought Thomas home when he
was only five months old, he has amazed Celeste with his
ability
to
comprehend
and
even
carry
out
specific
commands.
Over the past four years, the two of them have come to
be true companions. There are very few places that Celeste
doesn’t take Thomas. He is such a well-behaved dog that
Celeste even takes him to the beauty shop where she goes.
To Celeste, Thomas is her baby.
Celeste had always wanted a dog when growing up, but
her mother always said no, emphatically. Celeste never did
come to understand why her mother was so against letting
Celeste have a pet of any kind.
When Celeste was fresh out
of university, Master’s
Degree in hand, with a major in Advertisement and a minor
in Drafting and Computer Imagery, she had adopted herself
a pet.
Being as picky as Celeste is, it had taken Celeste a
whole week with a visit to fifteen animal shelters before she
found Thomas. Sitting in his kennel as she walked down
the aisles surveying all the puppies that were awaiting
adoption,
he
immediately caught
her
attention.
He sat
patiently inside the crate about a foot from the opening,
eagerly wagging his tail. It wasn’t until Celeste knelt down
in front of the kennel and held out her hand and
over to her answering machine sitting on the desk to see if
there were any messages left while she was at the concert
last night. There are four messages. Celeste reaches into
the desk drawer to retrieve her notepad and a pencil while
pressing play on the digital answering machine.
The first message is from her secretary, Joanna, who is
calling to inform Celeste that her 9:30 am appointment has
been canceled and rescheduled for Thursday of next week.
Nothing noteworthy there, thinks Celeste as she presses the
erase message button.
The second message is in Spanish with someone asking
Emily to pick up if she’s home. “Now do I sound like
Emily?” says Celeste to the answering machine as she again
presses the erase message button.
The third message is most surprising. It is from Stephen.
“I just wanted to tell you that I enjoyed meeting you this
evening. I hope you made it home safely. I’m looking
forward to seeing you again.”
“What in the world?” Celeste asks looking up at the
ceiling. “How did he get my phone number?” Before the
question is entirely off her tongue, Celeste already knows
the answer, “Jenny.”
“Me and that girl are going to have a serious talk,” says
Celeste while pressing the erase message button.
The fourth message is also from Stephen, “I just wanted
to leave you my phone number in case you want to get in
touch with me.” Listening to him recite the phone number,
Celeste doesn’t write it down. An overwhelming feeling
that Celeste can’t quite describe, but strangely feels like
fear, engulfs Celeste. She reaches out to press the erase
message button but pauses with index finger poised just
millimeters from its smooth surface.
Feeling her pulse begin to quicken, Celeste’s mind goes
round in circles,
press the button, no, save as
a new
message. Being the analytical type that Celeste is, she
begins to reason in her own mind. If I erase the number, I
definitely won’t be able to call him back, should I decide I
want to. But why would I want to call him back, he might
be psycho or something. Yeah, but you never know. Yeah,
that’s right , you never know! But I could always write
down the number and decide later if I ever want to use it. That’s what I’ll do .
Replaying the message, Celeste jots down the number
and then erases the message. As she slips the notepad back
into the desk drawer, she sees Thomas entering the room
carrying his leash in his mouth. This is Thomas’ subtle way
of saying that he has finished eating and is ready for his
morning walk.
“You are such a good boy, Thomas,” Celeste says as
she crouches down and takes the strap from him with her
left hand and begins to rub and pat his head with her right
hand. From the day she brought Thomas home when he
was only five months old, he has amazed Celeste with his
ability
to
comprehend
and
even
carry
out
specific
commands.
Over the past four years, the two of them have come to
be true companions. There are very few places that Celeste
doesn’t take Thomas. He is such a well-behaved dog that
Celeste even takes him to the beauty shop where she goes.
To Celeste, Thomas is her baby.
Celeste had always wanted a dog when growing up, but
her mother always said no, emphatically. Celeste never did
come to understand why her mother was so against letting
Celeste have a pet of any kind.
When Celeste was fresh out
of university, Master’s
Degree in hand, with a major in Advertisement and a minor
in Drafting and Computer Imagery, she had adopted herself
a pet.
Being as picky as Celeste is, it had taken Celeste a
whole week with a visit to fifteen animal shelters before she
found Thomas. Sitting in his kennel as she walked down
the aisles surveying all the puppies that were awaiting
adoption,
he
immediately caught
her
attention.
He sat
patiently inside the crate about a foot from the opening,
eagerly wagging his tail. It wasn’t until Celeste knelt down
in front of the kennel and held out her hand and
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