Catch the Murmur

By: Hannah Bertalot, Creative Writing Editor

Everyday, I catch the murmurs of every secret, every discussion, every event, and every tragedy. I listen to every confession, and every breakup, and I’ve helped people when they decided they needed to run away from home. Within the walls of the payphone kiosk, people are simultaneously the most united and the most separated they have ever been from one another.

I can’t count how many times people have run to me when they were in distress, and I don’t think I want to. It’s easy to shelter everyone and anyone, wind or rain, day or night, summer or winter, since I’m always, inevitably, perpetually there.

  While I can say that I’m always there for others, and I know that people are grateful for my services every time I’m needed, I still feel lonely and discarded. When no one’s around, it’s not like there’s anything I can turn to to pass the time other than recite all the gossip I overhear to myself.  

Outside of when I’m needed, which seems to be less lately, as people have turned to handheld devices to rely on, I receive little acknowledgement. It’s like everything I’ve done for everyone has been forgotten. 

With the advent of mobile phones, it feels like I’ve become obsolete, and I haven’t been able to help anyone for days. Without work, I’m left without much to do, and I can only watch the everyday activities of passersby as they go about their days. Businessmen discussing their work on the phone as they power walk to their destinations, or children on their way to and from school, or ladies pushing strollers and talking with their friends, but none ever looked my way for help. 

Spring came, then passed. Daylight encroached on the early morning hours and the late nights, and people still passed me by without a second glance. 

Summer had begun, and the months had gotten incredibly hot and dry. In their downtimes, children spent their time on the streets on their bikes, or on foot, or on scooters. I’ve always enjoyed watching them at play, with all of the mischief and games and pranks that they’d get up to. 

It was a day just like any other late July afternoon. Children raced by on bikes, though this time they stopped at the ice cream parlor rather than at the park across the street. I enjoyed watching them play, as that was one of the few things that I could do now. Every moment that I had to watch as I fell into further neglect was agonizing, as I had heard in passing a few days earlier that the city was considering decommissioning all the payphone booths due to becoming obsolete. I’ve never wished disaster on anyone before, but I was desperate for someone to need me so I wouldn’t be decommissioned. I couldn’t imagine how painful it would be to sit on the sidewalk forever and fall into further neglect- or worse, be vandalized, as I have seen several vending machines that were never refilled or checked on fall victim to. 

A group of young adults loitered nearby at the park. They leaned against the trees with cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, thin streams of smoke swirling into the air and dissipating far above their heads. They had spent the majority of the afternoon there, though I couldn’t quite pick up on what it was that they were talking about. 

As the day crept on, and the sun descended toward the distant horizon, the young adults broke up, some dropped their cigarettes on the ground and stomped them out, others tossed them into trash bins, but all of them made a quick departure. 

I watched as they all left, then hours passed as kids rode home and it finally began to get truly dark. 

I had only just started to settle into the loneliness of nighttime when a smell intruded on the air, acrid and sharp and unpleasant. 

Smoke once again rose from the park, but this time it wasn’t contained and only capable of damaging the lungs- it slowly spread over the grass. A low, red flame licked at the blades, and gradually climbed up the trees and spread from the canopy of one tree to the others. Before long, the small trail of smoke had grown to a pungent river, but no one was nearby to call for help. 

Thankfully, a couple strolled out of a nearby restaurant, and they called out in surprise at the growing flames. 

The woman rushed back into the restaurant, while the man ran up to me and opened my door. He dialed up the police, and quickly started to murmur into the receiver. His tone was frantic and rushed, but he stood within my glass walls and helplessly stared at the growing inferno. 

Once he had confirmation that the fire department was on its way, he hung up the phone, and paced the sidewalk. The woman he was with returned not long after, this time she was armed with a fire extinguisher. The man simply shook his head at her, and stopped her from running in to attempt to extinguish it. It had quickly outgrown the capabilities of a fire extinguisher. 

Several others had come out, and watched with me as the fire department arrived, armed with powerful hoses. With the assistance of the fire hydrant on the corner, it only took a few minutes for the fire to be controlled and choked out. 

While the park catching fire and burning down would have been a shame, I think I could care less. I was reassured that I was not yet obsolete, and I got to work another day.