The Runner (Part One)

One night in October, he was smoking one of his cigarettes. The radio was playing with the volume that could barely be heard. He had just fixed himself an instant coffee. He sat on the kitchen table, flipping through one of those brochures he picked up from the doorstep. It belongs to one of those community services called The Befrienders. They provide companionship, or rather ‘telecommunicationship’ when one is down. At the bottom of the page printed the numbers that looked a lot like +603 7956 8144. He put out the cigarette and pulled himself towards the phone.

‘Hi, The Befrienders, this is Jesse Bell speaking. How can I help you?’ a voice came through the receiver like it was pre recorded.
‘Hi …’ he said. ‘is this a toll free number?’
‘Yes, how can I help you?’ she said. She sounded like some kind of fresh grad with dark eyes, brown eyes and a thin body. That’s how he’d imagined it, of course.
‘I don’t know’ he said as he reached out to the pack sitting on the table. ‘I just can’t seem to be happy’
‘Uh huh’ she said and seemed to be waiting for him to go into detail.
‘Err…’ he pulled a stick of cigarette out of the pack.
‘Why don’t you tell me about yourself?’ she said.
‘Is that important?’ he said and he lit the cigarette. ‘No, no, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.’ she said. ‘Should I just call you Nick then?’
‘How did you get my name? Do you guys have one of those caller IDs?’ he put out his cigarette, and checked on the receiver.
‘What?’ she said.
‘How did you know my name?’ he reached across the table and flipped through the Befrienders brochure again.
‘I am sorry, is your name Nick?’ she said. ‘I was just guessing, or should I call you something else?’
‘No, its okay’ he was still flipping through the brochure. ‘You can call me Nick, it will be stupid if you call me something else.’
‘Okay’ she said and stopped.
‘Would you rather be calling me something else?’ he said as he pushed the brochure away.
‘No, I’ll call you whatever you want to be called.’ she said. ‘I mean, Mmm…nevermind’ she let her breath out.
‘No, no, go ahead.’ he covered his forehead with his palm. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean, I won’t call you honey, or darling, or you know, anything like that’ she giggled.
‘Would you say anything like you love me?’ he crossed his legs as if he was in some kind of cheeky mood.
‘No, nothing like that either’ she said it seriously. ‘I am not here to say that kind of things’
‘What do you normally say?’ he picked up the cigarette from the ashtray.
‘We don’t normally say things, we listen’ she cleared her throat.
‘What do you usually hear then?’ he opened the drawer and pushed things around.
‘We hear things that normal people don’t want to hear’ she said. ‘Things that you find at the Q & A pullouts, you know’
‘Oh yah?’ he was still pushing things around the drawer. ’Shit’ he mumbled.
‘What?’ she raised her tone.
‘Nothing, I am looking for my lighter’ he lifted the newspapers on the kitchen table.
‘Are you trying to smoke?’ she said.
‘No, I am trying set my house on fire’ he said as he looked under the table.
‘Are you serious?’ she giggled. ‘Should I stop you then?’
‘If you want to’ he was still looking under the table.
‘I just don’t want my name to come out when they track down the last call you made before you set your house on fire’ she giggled and paused. She adjusted her bra into her comfort zone.
‘Have you found it?’ she asked.
‘You mean the lighter?’ he stood up and put his hand into the side pocket of his jeans. ‘Yah’ she said.
‘No’ he said. ‘Oh wait’ he turned and found the lighter sitting on the chair he was sitting on. ‘Yah, it slipped out from my pocket’ he said.
‘If you are going to set your house on fire I’ll hang up on you right now’ she said.
‘Aren’t you suppose to stop me?’ he giggled as he lit the cigarette.
‘That’s my way of stopping you’ she said. ‘Negative reinforcement that’s what they called’
‘Negative reinforcement isn’t good enough’ he exhaled. ‘They actually banned it in Russia’
She chuckled and repositioned her thigh on the chair.
‘So what do you do?’ she said.
‘Me? What do you mean?’ he flicked the cigarette’s ash into the ashtray.
‘What do you do for a living?’ she put her hair behind the ears.
He giggled. ‘I don't know’ he said. ‘A prank caller?’ he giggled again.
‘I thought so’ she chuckled. ‘Most callers don’t work, or can’t get work’
‘Huh’ he inhaled. ‘Poor callers’ he exhaled.
‘So what did you do before you become a prank caller?’ she giggled.
‘I was an athlete’ he said.
‘Oh yah, what kind?’ she said and leaned forward to rest her elbow on the desk.
‘The running type’ he said as he pushed the ashtray closer to him. ‘Runner, that’s what they called in Russia’
‘So who were you running for?’ she said.
‘Production houses, most of the time’ he said. ‘Occasionally I run for banks and insurance companies’
‘You mean you are like a dispatch?’ she said.
‘I mean I am like an athlete’ he giggled as he exhaled.
‘I don’t get it’ she said. ‘They hired you to run for them? Where do you run?’
‘Here and there’ he said. ‘Film sets, most of the time’
‘Dispatch Boy’ she said. ‘That’s what they called it here’
‘Yah, whatever’ he put out the cigarette.
‘You don’t sound very depressed like most people who called in’ she said. ‘I guess you are a prank caller’
‘In the eyes of the untrained…maybe’ he said. ‘But to a professional I am as sick as a dog’
‘Uh huh’ she giggled. ‘Tell me about it’