Electric Com Crosses


Everyday after work we drove by them
She called them “Electric Com Crosses.”
“Electricity and telephone!”

“Years and years ago I called the number that flashed across the screen of one of those tele-evangelists.”

I asked her what happened when she called.

“Nothing,” she replied.
“I hung up before anyone answered. I got shy. I just wanted to hear a southern accent from someone on the line. This was days before the internet when long-distance cost an arm and a leg. Now you can hear every accent in the world and learn the language itself. Or at least communicate with others in different languages. Isn’t that grand? It’s like a miracle or something. We zoom past them every day as they bring miracles. Let there be light, and there was light. The word was spoken, and it spread.”

“Neat,” I said as I tossed my cigarette butt out the window. I glanced at the passing poles and thought about french fries. Perhaps I will get Karl to order some cheeseburger deluxes with sides of gravy for supper.

We sat in silence the rest of the way home. What more could be said?

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