Young Love

Amy was trying to call her dad, to let him know she had made it safely home from school, just as she did every day, but she must have dialed the wrong number because an unfamiliar voice answered. “Oh sorry, wrong number” she blurted out before hanging up the phone. She dialed again, relieved to hear her Dad on the other end this time.

It happened again a few weeks later, that same unfamiliar voice, “sorry” she exclaimed and quickly hung up. She must be more careful dialing, she thought, feeling embarrassed. 

When it happened the third time, she was mortified, again hastily uttering an apology, but before she could end the call she heard that strange voice, “wait”.

Slowly she brought the phone back up to her ear “yeah?”

“Who are you?” his voice sounded young, she guessed he was probably about her age. They talked for a while, about school and hobbies, likes and dislikes. His name was August and he was only a year older than her, which meant he had already started at the high school she would attend next year. She felt like she could talk to him forever, but her Dad would worry if he didn’t hear from her soon. Before she hung up she gave August her phone number, he promised he would call her back in five minutes. She waited all afternoon, but the phone never rang.

It was a week before Amy heard his voice again, when she managed once more to dial the wrong number. She wanted to be mad, but August apologized profusely, he said he had tried to call her every day, but the call never connected, perhaps he'd gotten the number wrong? “Well, how about I call you back this time then?” she asked.

“Yeah, only, can we talk for a bit first, I know you have to call your Dad, but I missed the sound of your voice” 

Of course she agreed, she'd also missed talking to him. It felt like they had only been on the phone ten minutes when she heard the front door open.

“Oh no, my Dad just got home, I have to go.” She was panicked; she was going to be in so much trouble.

“Wait, can we meet, tomorrow after school, the bench by the pond in Linda Vista Park?”

“Okay, sure” she agreed as she hurriedly hung up the phone.

She was nervous as she walked to the park the next day, a million “what ifs” in her head. When she rounded the corner she was disappointed to see the bench was empty. She must have beaten him there. She waited for nearly an hour before she gave up, deciding that he had probably seen her from afar and wasn’t interested after all. As she stood to leave she noticed a weathered plaque, “In memory of August Miller, who came here every day after school. 01/10/1956 – 06/10/1974”. Slowly she sat back down, confused, 1974 was 20 years ago.