Last Call - Karen Crawford

‘Friday I’m in Love’ is playing on the digital jukebox at the local dive. “Last call,” you say and slide a shot across the bar before you saunter over. “Cure fan?” you ask. I nod, my voice stuck somewhere between your bad boy hair and all-American jaw.

I’m struck by the way your eyes sparkle and flame. They draw me in. Closer. Your five o’clock shadow sandpapers my face. Closer. Your lips steam up the lenses of my glasses. Closer.

I want to be your last call. I’m suddenly jealous of all the last calls that came before.

*

‘Saturday Sun’ is the song you’re humming as you wipe down the bar. You remove your skinny tie and wrap it like a headband around my long wavy hair.

“You’re hot,” you say. Softer. “I’m not,” I whisper. Closer.

With my contacts in, it’s clear – I’m your new last call. We knock back tequila and sway to Crowded House. “Let’s drive to the beach and watch the sunrise,” you say. Softer. I shake my head and point towards the bottle. Closer. You press your smooth skin against my face. Softer.

Your lips cloud my vision.

*

‘Sunday Morning’ serenades us on Sirius radio. Your phone on the dash starts blowing up, Kelly. Amber. Tiffany. You reach for it. I grab your arm.

Tires swerve, the car rolls, glass shatters. Louder. Blood blossoms like an inkblot through the tie still wrapped around my forehead. Closer. The sun bleeds upside down on the horizon. Farther.

My seatbelt imprisons my chest. Closer. I can’t feel my fingers to release it. Farther. I see three of you lying on the side of the road. I blink you into focus. Closer. Your phone falls from your outstretched hand. Farther.

A siren hurtles along a desolate highway. Louder. The blur of approaching red lights is blinding. Closer. Maroon 5 on repeat in my head. Louder. Where’s my phone? I swear I hear it ringing. Louder. I feel a dizzying rush at the sing-song alert of a voicemail. It keeps pinging. Louder. My heart pounds. Louder. Afraid I’m your last call. Louder. Louder. Louder.

Originally published by Reflex Fiction 2021

Karen Crawford lives and writes in the City of Angels. She is a Pushcart Prize nominee and was included in Wigleaf's Top 50 Longlist 2022. Her work has appeared in Bending Genres, Emerge Literary Journal, Cheap Pop, 100 Word Story, and elsewhere. You can find her on twitter @KarenCrawford_ and BlueSky @karenc.bsky.social