Where’s my phone?

There were muffled sounds of drawers banging across the hallway.

“Have you seen my phone?” yelled dad.

“Of course,” I thought to myself.

Seconds later he barged into my room, he lost his phone again. He always had this annoying habit of misplacing belongings at time of need.

“Can you ring my phone, son?” he asked.

He did this so often that there was once I almost vowed to never respond to his pleads. But then again, he is my dad.

I sighed. I grabbed my phone, scrolled through my contacts to ‘Dad’, and gave it a ring.

“I’m calling your number now.”

He left the room and I could hear him slowly walking down the hallway. I have this habit of putting my phone to my ear whenever I am making calls, even if the person I am calling is nearby. I just disliked the loudspeaker function. I listened. There was a decent amount of ringing until finally, dad picked up the phone.

“Found it. It was in the basement. Come see what I found.”

“Just a second, dad.”

The call ended.

I stood up, and just when I approached my room door, my father entered the room again.

“What did you want me to see in the basement?”

His concerned look was now a confused one.

“The basement? That door’s been locked for years. Where’s my phone?”

 

-End-