Two band laminates, sitting on the vacated bus driver’s seat. Protocol indicating that two other people had gotten off the bus and the driver was not to depart until all passes were collected by their owners.
And something he could touch?
His laminated pass, still in his track pants pocket.
“No refunds, just exchanges.”
“I was here five minutes ago. And I have an emergency.”
The cashier side-eyed the pile of digestive aids Avi dumped onto the counter. “Clearly.”
“No, you don’t understand. I bought these for a friend, but…miscommunication. He…they — my ride — left. I need that fifty dollars back. And a phone. Can I borrow a phone?”
Avi knew exactly three numbers by heart. Sylvie’s, of course – no matter how many times she’d changed it over the year. Eli’s private line, reserved for the eight of them only. And his childhood landline.
Sylvie.She’d drive all night to get to him if he asked her.
Before Vegas. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
Eli? Not likely to pick up an unknown number in whatever time zone he currently was in.
Calling his father was out of the question.
The cashier gestured at a rack of pre-paid phone cards. “Payphone in the arcade.” She began scanning his items.
Arcade? Payphone?Had he entered a portal to an earlier decade?
“$27.50 in credit. Unless you’re returning the foodstuff.”
Avi had already decapitated Santa’s chocolate head in frustration when he went to book an Uber…and realized he had no smartphone. And the beef jerky was non-negotiable – survival mode. He grabbed a $25 phone card, muttering his thanks as she activated it.
“You’ve got $2.50 left,” she called after him.
“What’s your favorite?” He gestured at the candy display.
“Strawberry Twizzlers.”
Same as Aunt Miri.A sign. Or maybe an omen.
“My treat,” he said, plunking them down. “Merry Christmas. Now, where the hell am I?”
She peeled one sticky licorice twist from the pack. “You’re in Kismet, Ohio.”
Kismet?God must’ve been just about as pissed at him as Sylvie was.
He ripped the phone card from its cardboard and found the neglected pay phone in the even more neglected arcade.
Who to call?Did 411 still exist? Telephone operators? He felt like a loser as he contemplated the zero button on the phone. He could call a cab to take him…where? All the way to Buffalo? With what cash? He couldn’t exactly pay the fare in beef jerky.
Who do I know in Ohio?
They had just played to twenty thousand people, and he hadn’t known a goddamned soul there.
How pathetic he could memorize the names and seating capacities of pretty much every venue across the country but not his bandmates’ numbers.
A wave of indignation hit him. Tobin had probably passed out. But how did no one else realize he was missing from thebus? Surely, someone had gotten up to take a leak by now and noticed his empty bunk. It was practically sunrise.Misheyakir.
It was a word he hadn’t thought of in years. And a time he hadn’t been awake since Israel. After dawn, but before the sunrise. The earliest time fortefillinhe no longer wrapped, fortallithe no longer wore. For prayers he no longer said aloud, just in his head. With those who had taught him –
