Sleeping Through It - Kent Wright

I didn’t hear it ring. What time was that first call? Maybe around 2 in the afternoon someone said who had talked to the woman who had gotten that from a sister in New York who was stunned and worrying about calling the airlines to find a flight that was going to be long, longer than perhaps any flight she’d taken between there and here. There was another call not long after that from my son who had a question about the baby they were expecting. The baby was my first grandchild, a girl. The sex had been known for some time, but just recently they had found out that the baby had decided not to dive into the world head first. Not coming out that way caused concerns, maybe problems, so there had been a flurry of questions and calls about possibly urging the baby into the right position a few days after all the call. After the second call from my son there were more calls because I didn’t answer and not answering made them call more frequently. The phone rang and rang, and each time after seven rings the recording came on. It was my voice assuring my son that I would return the call as soon as I could. But when I didn’t, he kept calling back and then came over to my house and called so more except now he was standing in the drive way by the back door, and when he called, he could hear my phone ringing. He didn’t have a key. The window was open just above the back door. It was my bedroom window, and the cell phone was on the table next to the lamp where it was ringing not much more than a foot from the bed where I was lying on my stomach with my head on the pillow turned to the right like I always slept. Except I wasn’t sleeping through it