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When the story finished, we turned the
radio back on and found
someone speaking French. That was
especially nice, because it reminded
me of the vacation we just came back
from, which I wish never ended. After a
while, Dad asked me if I was awake. I
told him no, because I knew that he
didn't like to leave until I had fallen
asleep, and I didn't want him to be
tired for
work in the morning. He kissed my
forehead and said good night, and then
he was at the door.
"Dad?" "Yeah, buddy?" "Nothing."
The next time I heard his voice was
when I came home from
school the next day. We were let out
early, because of what happened. I
wasn't even a little bit panicky,
because both Mom and Dad worked in
midtown, and Grandma didn't work,
obviously, so everyone I loved was safe.
I know that it was 10:18 when I got
home, because I look at my
watch a lot. The apartment was so empty
and so quiet. As I walked to the
kitchen, I invented a lever that could
be on the front door, which would trigger
a huge spoked wheel in the living room
to turn against metal teeth that would
hang down from the ceiling, so that it
would play beautiful music, like
maybe "Fixing a Hole" or "I Want to Tell
You," and the apartment would be
one huge music box.
After I petted Buckminster for a few
seconds, to show him I loved
him, I checked the phone messages. I
didn't have a cell phone yet, and when
we were leaving school, Toothpaste told
me he'd call to let me know whether
I was going to watch him attempt
skateboarding tricks in the park, or if we
were going to go look at Playboy
magazines in the drugstore with the aisles
where no one can see what you're looking
at, which I didn't feel like doing,
but still.
Message one. Tuesday, 8:52 a.m. Is anybody there? Hello? It's Dad. If you're there, pick up. I just tried the office, but no one was picking up. Listen, something's happened. I'm OK. They're telling us to stay where we are and wait for the firemen. I'm sure it's fine. I'll give you another call when I have a better idea of what's going on. Just wanted to let you know that I'm OK, and not to worry. I'll call again soon.
There were four more messages from him:
one at 9:12, one at
9:31, one at 9:46, and one at 10:04. I
listened to them, and listened to them
again, and then before I had time to
figure out what to do, or even what to
think or feel, the phone started ringing.
It was 10:22:27.
I looked at the caller ID and saw that
it was him.
From Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, pages 1-15. Copyright © 2005 by Jonathan Safran Foer. Reprinted by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company.
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