“Re-Up”

The phone calls were always in the middle of the night. I’d hear my mother’s cry, and carefully in the dark, I’d make my way to her bedroom. “I miss you,” she was saying into the receiver. “Over.”

The tip of her cigarette glowed in the dark. She could even smoke, half-asleep. “Where are you stationed?” she asked. “Over.”

Then she’d push the phone on me, and I heard the voice, clogged with static, warbling all the way from Vietnam. “So damn hot here,” he said. “Over.”

I told him, “It’s barely spring in Chicago. The forsythias haven’t bloomed. Over.”

“Don’t tell Mom yet,” he said. “But I’m signing up for another tour. Over.”

I only half-believed him. “Why?” I asked. “That will make three. Why? Over.”

They must have been in a clearing of a forest, soldiers lined up to talk into a radio that was patched into the phone line. Then I heard a beep and knew we’d been cut off. “When’s he coming home?” my mother asked.

I hung up, watching my mother in the shadows of her room, the cigarette alive between her fingers. The glow-in-the-dark hands of the wind-up clock ticking on her dresser pointed to 3:00 a.m. I wondered how long I could keep the re-up secret, if she would guess it, if she would blame me, and why I had to be the one to tell her. I wondered if my brother would finally let me ride in his VW sedan that sat in our garage like a museum display, or if he’d give me driving lessons, or when or if he’d even come home. Over.

Related Posts
Filter by
Post Page
Featured Fiction New Fiction Finalist for Ernest Hemingway Flash Fiction Prize
Sort by

“Pretty Boy Floyd”

2019-11-27 09:37:38
mjennings26

8

“Dear Subscribers”

Dear Subscribers: It’s been three years since the last “Gaming with Rosa” video went up on the channel. Thoug
2019-11-18 09:42:37
natemedwards

8

“And They Were Sore Afraid”

At the time I was sure I was dying. My heart was erratic, my knees locked regularly,
2019-11-01 23:57:12
cmpoolehall

8

“Catfish”

Catfish swim in a circle.
2019-10-30 09:23:05
katlin-brock

8

“The Only Song is the Song of the Self”

The aurora of fireworks over the Hudson has passed and New York’s Finest are cordially inviting everyone to move the
2019-10-21 23:53:25
mark-crimmins

8

“I’m Blue”

Caracas, Venezuela They fly around the city making their cawing sounds, behaving like nothing is
2019-10-18 20:10:41
lvocem

8

“5 AM”

Jeremy says I’m a waste of weed because I can never pull anything into my lungs. Now
2019-10-14 23:49:29
sraghav

8

“The Colors of Pain”

“Gut pain’s always the worst,” says the medic. I could tell him he’s right, but I want to keep my pain p
2019-09-02 10:58:28
skip

8

“There is Always So Much”

What we did that summer: we hung around torn-down barns and took photos of each other with that old camera and
2019-08-30 23:41:29
mattliebowitz4

8

“Two Chambers”

I. The boys go out for groceries but come home with matching rifles. “Antiques,” Son
2019-08-26 11:06:59
suttonstrother

8

About Karen Loeb

Karen Loeb lives in western Wisconsin where she now teaches very part time, writes, and gardens during the cherished warm months. Her poetry and fiction have appeared in Hanging Loose, Thema, The Main Street Rag, Carve, New Ohio Review and other magazines. In 2014 her story “Cantaloupe” won the Wisconsin People and Ideas fiction contest, and “The Walk to Makino” won an Editor’s Choice award in the Raymond Carver contest from Carve Magazine. Both stories are available online and in print. A poem of hers was given first place in the 2016 Wisconsin People and Ideas contest and has a July publication date.