Worst Phone Call Ever

by Juno Henry

The worst phone call I ever received came to me after work one evening, as I rubbed my sore feet. Standing in front of children and attempting to teach in between periodic exclamations of "George, don't do that," is more tiring than one might think. I'd spent an ordinary day, discussing ordinary things, and nothing had been special at all. The weather had been unremarkable, the agenda of the staff meeting -- not to mention the hidden agenda -- had shown nothing surprising, nothing out of the ordinary; no warnings, nothing to send up a mental flare. Until the phone rang, and I mindlessly picked it up -- wondering if the red area which I'd just rubbed redder was in fact a corn, and if I would have to now buy those strange things in the drug store called "corn plasters" that I had hitherto happily avoided -- and I heard my friend Lena crying. My ex-boyfriend had killed himself the previous night, and my life was suddenly, irrevocably and completely altered.


Juno Henry usually writes here.