Dropped Call
by M. V.
Montgomery
My fiancée’s voice kept
breaking up during her phone message, but I
thought I caught the words “somber” and
“mood” just before the line went dead.
Thus I composed myself as I entered
the security code at the gate and drove up to her
apartment pod. I steeled myself for what, no
doubt, promised to be a slow evening of earnest
conversation.
But as I approached the door, to my
surprise, I heard loud music and the sounds of
revelry inside. The whole atmosphere, in fact,
seemed positively carnivalesque. Before I
could even knock, my fiancée stepped out onto
the porch, threw her arms around my neck, and
started shimmying in place.
S’up, ese? she asked me.
Din’chu get my message, I was in a samba
mood?
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