THE FIRST CALL

The green phone

on the wall in the hall

hardly ever rang.

Anyone who wanted to speak to Mom called her cell.

Same with Angela.

I listened to the jangle for a few seconds

before picking it up.

‘Hello?’

‘Joe?’ It was Ed.

He hadn’t been in touch for weeks.

I’d started to worry,

wondered if he was ever coming home.

‘Is Angela there?’ he asked,

as though someone was chasing him.

In the background

            hard voices,

            a door slamming.

‘Angela’s at soccer practice.’ I said.

‘And Mom?’

‘No idea.

Hey, Ed,

I found a baseball glove at the park.

Will you be back soon to play?’

Ed sighed heavily. ‘I dunno, Joe.’

‘Oh.’ I picked at some peeling paint on the wall.

Another sigh from my big brother.

‘I got arrested, Joe.

They think I done something real bad.’

I pressed the receiver tight

                  against my ear.

‘What do they think you done?’

‘They think I hurt someone.

But I Didn’t. You hear?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I mean it. You hear me?

Cos people are gonna be telling you

all kinds of lies.

I need you to know the truth.’

The front door opened and Mon stormed in

carrying a bag of groceries

for my sister to conjure into dinner.

‘The police got Ed!’ I shouted.

               I held out the phone.

                           She snatched it from me,

                           dropping the bag.

A tangerine rolled across the rug.

I picked it up,

the skin cold and rough.

‘Ed? What’s going on? …

But how can they make that sort of mistake? …

Don’t shout at me, I’m just …

No, I know, but …

I don’t have the money for …

Ed, stay calm …

I’ll call Karen. I said I’ll call Karen …

Stop shouting at me …

Ed, for Christ’s sake …

I’m just not able to … Ed? Ed?’

She held the phone away

                 from her ear and scowled

                 like it had bitten her.

‘The cops are charging him with murder,’ she said.

I was seven.

I didn’t know what that meant.

Did he owe someone money?

We hadn’t any cash to pay the electricity bill.

My sneakers were so small

they made the tips of my toes white.

‘Can I call him back?’ I asked.

The tangerine was till in my hand.

I wanted to throw it at Mom’s face and hurt her.

‘No,’ she said.

‘And don’t expect to speak to him for a long time.’

I didn’t believe her.

I thought Ed would call.

I thought he’d come home.

But he never did.

© Sarah Crossan from Moonrise, Bloomsbury