Drip

"You call me your agent," the man says as he makes a stump out of his cigarette and exhales.

I notice he has two rings on his left middle finger.

"Sounds good, sir," I say.

He nods, approving of my reply.

"I need to call my cousin," I say when he's finished nodding.

He looks at me questioningly.

"You said you'd let me use your phone," I explain.

"Right," the man says and gets up out of his tall leather chair. He comes over to my side of the desk and walks over to the wall behind me. I realize that that's where the phone is and promptly stand up. I find the blue wall-phone oddly pretty, and wish, for a fleeting second, that I had the exact one to call my own.

"You've got a dial tone," he shoves the phone to me and sits back behind his desk where he immediately lights another cigarette.

I dial Glen's number quickly, as if it's programmed into my fingers. He doesn't answer and I don't leave a message. I'm not too down about it, at least I don't show it.

I am glad that the man doesn't inquire about why I had such a quick time on the telephone. I sit back down.

"You've got to go to your father's." it almost sounds like a question.

I look down at my Velcro watch, "I've got to get to church," I answer.

The man frowns, "Huh," he says; it comes from deep inside his chest, "I stopped believing in God before I stopped believing in Santa."