Member-only story
A Voice From the Past
A fiction
When I got up from bed at nine Saturday morning, I noticed a text sitting in my cellular that read, “J — I called earlier, but your phone went into voice mail. Call me back…urgent! H.”
That was the message from Hanna, one of the few women boxing judges I have ever come across. Tough babe. Curled up nose, jet black hair and brown eyes. Back a bunch of years ago we used meet at Andy’s Tavern on 9th Ave. and East 19th St. Not too bad a looker then, specially when she wore high heels with a pair of tight blue jeans and a low-cut blouse.
One thing for sure; a body that was solid as a rock. I am sure she still holds her own, even though I haven’t seen her in about 12 years. We’ve kept in touch by emails, a quick call or an occasional text. Usually nothing more than a holiday greeting or to catch up on things.
The word ‘urgent’ sounded rather ominous, so I thought I’d give her a call right away. As usual, she answered her cellular within the first couple of rings. As soon as I heard her say hello, I said, “Hey Hanna, this is Jay. What’s going on?”
“Hey, back at you Jay. Thanks for calling back right away. Get ready for this. Vicks VaporRub died three days ago in the joint,” she said all that in one breath. This was the same matter-of-fact tone she always uses. You’d think she would be a little…
