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phone booth restoration
by Lindsey Godlove
so, I wandered into the student union, eager to share my pain with anyone who cared...and ran into my best friend in a side hallway, with whom I had a recent piercing clash (considering he is my chief source of heartache lately, I was not exactly shaking with joy to see him)... they were collected, together, three of my friends, eyes sad, holding hands or touching shoulders and I realised there was nothing I could say in the face of seperate and accute pains... and Melissa, cornered in the phone booth, clutching Kell's arm, said plaintively: "why don't you guys just all come in here?"
I visualised our four bodies in the tinier-than-closet cavity, and then grappled over arms and legs to perch atop their laps... "shut the door, shut the door!" they cried. so, four english major bodies, jammed in a phone booth. we were laughing so hard.
(that kind of laughter, so genuine at life's ironies and sharpness, just pealing out in the ridiculous)
"we could fit twenty more people in here," mel declared in wonder, from somewhere left of my elbow. before any could ponder this longer, an unsuspecting girl turned the knob, opened the door of the phone booth. I tumbled out into the hall and limbs spilled onto the tile.
more deep laughing. to spare any further heart attacks for those wishing to utilize Ma Bell, we untangled ourselves from the phone booth floor, stretched arms and legs, and exchanged pained but relieved smiles...
somehow, there was a funky sort of healing on the phone booth floor...
