The Last Phone Booth in Manhattan(76)
I used Benny’s as a compass and turned down one more street, everything growing more and more familiar as I went. Excited at the sense of finally being on the right track, I picked up my pace and made it to the end of the block in record time, and um . . . there . . . was still . . . no phone booth.
I paused, completely mystified, and scanned the vicinity, certain it couldn’t be far, when across the street, I saw it—not the phone booth, but the absence of the phone booth, marked by the sad string of Christmas lights that once adorned its top that now lay in a pile on the sidewalk, a crusty tangle of cords, abandoned on the cracked concrete. I raced over to get a closer look. In the glow of the streetlamp above, a few exposed bolts and thick metal cords glittered next to the colorful plastic bulbs, the only indication that there had ever been a structure there at all.
“No, no, no,” I started to stammer, my mouth clearly understanding more quickly than my brain. The saliva evaporated from my tongue, and I could barely squeak out another utterance of denial.
I turned around, wildly searching for someone, anyone, to ask about the missing phone booth. Seconds later, I spotted an older man in a tweed newsboy cap watering bouquets of fresh flowers outside the bodega on the corner.
“Sir? ’Scuse me, sir?” I frantically waved my hands in his direction.
He set down his watering can and turned to me. “You okay, miss?”
“The phone booth that was here? Right here,” I said, pointing to the large divot in the sidewalk, the still-exposed metal wires looking particularly unsafe. “The one with the sad string of Christmas lights. What happened to it?”
He shook his head as he approached. “The city came and carted that thing away a few days ago. Damn shame too. It was the last phone booth in Manhattan. You know, I’ve owned this bodega since 1972, and I can’t tell you the number of people who came in needing change for that phone and ended up buying a pack of smokes or a candy bar. That phone booth’s brought me a heck of a lot of business over the years.”
“What do you mean they carted it away? Who did?! Where’d it go?”
He shrugged his shoulders. “The worker mentioned something about it going to a museum. Funny to think a phone booth would be considered a significant archaeological relic, but I guess, eventually all technology outlives its usefulness, right?”
“No. Not right. That phone booth was extremely useful. Necessary even,” I said, gesturing my hands in the direction of the empty space where the booth once stood.
“Oh, did you need to make a call?” He reached deep into his pocket. “You can borrow my phone. Here,” he said, offering it to me, until he noticed I had been clutching my own phone tightly in my grip. He eyed me, clearly confused by our entire exchange.
Just as he went to retract his jutted hand, I noticed the faint glimmer of something peeking out from inside his jacket. Was it a silver-bell pin? Was he another ghost or harbinger leading me to my fate? That had to be the explanation I was looking for. I motioned to his lapel. “What’s that?”
He looked down. “What’s what?”
“There, under your coat?”
He pulled his jacket to one side, revealing a shiny badge, the name LOU engraved on the silver plate. “My name tag?” he asked.
“Sorry, I thought it was . . . something else.”
Growing impatient with my short attention span and seemingly disconnected line of questioning, he asked, “Hey, lady, do you need a phone or not?”
Lou had no idea how loaded a question that actually was. “You know, I’m not sure,” I answered.
He grunted, shrugged, and turned his attention to laying a plastic tarp over the bouquets to protect the delicate flowers from the cooler overnight temperatures. Once finished, he said, “If you change your mind, I’ll just be inside the store,” and swung open the door, a jingle ringing brightly in the space between us.
I did a full turn in my spot, surveying the entirety of the street one more time, desperate for it to all be some kind of mistake. But no, the phone booth was gone. Really gone. The only evidence of it ever being here at all was the string of Christmas lights in a coiled mess on the ground. I picked them up and draped them over my shoulders like a scarf. I must’ve looked crazy, but I didn’t care. I closed my eyes and rubbed the colorful bulbs like Aladdin with his genie lamp, hoping for something, anything to happen. Still nothing.
My chest tightened as hot tears flooded my eyes. How the hell was I supposed to make my decision now? I needed the phone booth’s magic to reveal the final piece of its master plan for me. Dizzy at the culmination of my impending audition, Gabe’s proposal, and the general uncertainty of my future, my vision warbled like strobe lights and I backed myself up until my legs hit a set of concrete stairs. Plopping myself down on the stoop, I drew in long, deep breaths to slow my heart and wiped away the tears that were now falling freely down my cheeks.
I glanced back to the exposed wires where the booth once stood and could have sworn I saw the small flicker of a spark. Maybe that was a sign? My mind shot to Gabe, and the electricity I felt between us every time his lips were on mine. Finding a love like ours was as rare as getting struck by lightning . . . and we were lucky enough to get struck twice.
Gabe was my proverbial fork in the road, and we’d been given a chance to make different choices this time around. To live the life we were always supposed to. This was always about finding my way back to him. Wasn’t it? Or was the answer so painfully obvious that maybe I didn’t need the phone booth to tell me what to do?