Black Tie
It was the pinging of the phone that awoke him.
He noticed it was half four in the morning.
Nothing good happened at half four in the morning.
He ignored it and tried to go back to sleep.
The phone was insistent and made its anger known by pinging again.
The message read.
HE DIDN'T MAKE IT.
There were many ways you could read into that, he thought.
He didn’t make it to the airport.
He didn’t make it to the shops.
He didn’t make the appointment.
He didn’t, he didn’t, he didn’t.
The black tie had made its way to the top of the drawer.
Soon to be joined by its closest friends, white shirt and black suit.
He walked down to the church and was joined by six others.
Solitary greetings made the day blacker than it already was.
A lifetime condensed into twenty minutes.
Barely a hymn to console, black tie remarked to white shirt.
It took longer to get ready.
He walked the journey home, stopping by the river.
Black suit began to panic when the hand entered the pocket.
Never again, never again, would he take that message.
The phone pinged for the final time, entering the river, barely making a splash.
He made his way home.
The whisky filled the glass, and he toasted another farewell.
Black Tie entered the drawer and said goodbye to his friends.
Copyright © Paul Bell | Year Posted 2025
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