The Phone Booth

It’s all a facade - the tinsel and plastic bells, mistletoe, turkey roasts, which never smell appealing. People wear the same red-and-white fuzzy hats, as if it’s a fashion statement, fabricated on their own accord. Songs of cheer blare over the speaker phones and everyone chants along to it from their cars. Their heads bobbing with glee and all their teeth are visible from the enlarged smiles. Astro rolls his eyes and tucks his hands into the pockets of the commando jacket. The badge reads A. Ridgey, supposedly it was his fathers, whom he carries the same name for. “Fancy naming a child after yourself”, he scoffs.

Astro faces the street, watching his step between the pillars of snow. Defrosting ice seeps into his boots and the slosh infuriates him. He kicks aside a red ribbon that has fallen from the street lamps. It lands on the road and becomes entrapped beneath a car’s wheel. Like a red tongue, it flaps from underneath. Astro smirks at himself.

From the corner of his eye, a lady walks over with her hand held out.

“I don’t have any change,” Astro says, waiving her aside.

“I’m not asking for money. Here sir, please accept this free voucher…” her voice trails off.

“Not interested!”

“It’s free, doesn’t cost you a dime. Not unless you request a wish,” she says, now walking in stride. 

“You have no idea what I would wish for.”

“It’s Christmas. Please accept this,” she says, enthusiastically. Her eyes beam from their sockets and her smile fades into the wrinkles along her cheeks. 

Astro rolls his eyes and scrunches the pamphlet into his pocket. He is farewelled with some recited speech. She’s a sales agent, just like the rest of them that line the streets of New York. Everybody wants to sell you something because they have the “best there is,” or because “you’ll get a money back guarantee if not 100% satisfied.” He’s heard it all before, none of it is true. 

Astro rounds the street and stands before a bin. He extracts the pamphlet from his pocket and notices the golden writing. He unfolds the paper and chuckles at the bold headline - Wish upon a Christmas star, your wish may take you very far! Colluded with holiday motifs and a ‘turn page for instructions’ sign in the corner. He flips it over to reveal a cartoonish drawing of a red-and-gold phone booth. A bubble reads, Christmas wishes are free, dial 3-0-1-3. Astro puckers his lips and shoves the pamphlet in his pocket.

“That’s not even a phone number. C minus for the lack of effort,” he sighs. “3013…” Astro mutters to himself. Although the thought crosses his mind, what was that lady selling? If nothing other than a fake phone number, then what? He decides to dial the number on his cell phone for arguments sake and as expected, the line does not ring. It’s a scam.

“Merry Christmas,” he sighs. He laughs at himself for falling for the childish scam.

Snowflakes sprinkle down and he shudders from the cold. Street lights break through the darkness and in the middle of the footpath is a phone booth. Red architecture and glistening gold trimmings to match the tinsel that wraps around the roof. Astro peers around but the street is virtually bare, apart from a young couple. After all, nobody wants to be in public on Christmas night. They’re devouring a turkey feast in ugly red hats and pretending the family problems don’t exist. Not Astro, he surrenders to the truth. He is alone on Christmas and has been for the past three years, since he turned sixteen.

The breeze brings with it the exceedingly sweet scent of mistletoe and the cold wrath of another holiday alone. He glares at the phone booth and opens the pamphlet. A red-and-gold booth. Astro looks back for the woman but she has disappeared. With nothing to lose, he heads towards the suspicious booth. Inside the glass walls, it’s warm and smells of gingerbread. Freshly baked ginger and cinnamon. The combination makes him gag. Astro reaches inside his pocket and finds a gold coin, he inserts it into the phone and lifts it from the receiver. He dials a number he has memorised and listens to it ring. He leans against the tight compartment, as the walls seem to close in. He tugs at the collar of the commando shirt, a few sizes too small. The line picks up and a harsh voice answers. 

“Merry Christmas, Montgomery Orphanage, how can I help you?”

“Hi Marla, it’s Astro Ridgey. I was just wondering if…” he is cut off.

“Nothing, Astro.”

“Has anyone called about me?” He asks, toying with the pamphlet.

“Sorry, kid. I gotta go,”

“Thanks,” he replies.

“Merry Christmas, kid. I’ll talk to you next year,” Marla answers. 

The phone line goes dead.

A tear dribbles down his cheek. Astro slams the phone on the receiver and the pamphlet falls. He reaches down and opens the page. The holiday message stings his eyes and he clears his throat. He looks over the text that reads, Christmas wishes are free, dial 3-0-1-3. On a whim of boredom, Astro decides to call the number. He inserts a gold coin and the line rings. 

“Welcome to the North Pole, you are speaking with Elf Donovan!” A high-pitched voice reverberates over the line.

“How much do they pay you for kids to call this hotline?” Astro chuckles. 

“Christmas cheer is free for all to hear,” Elf Donovan says with glee.

“Listen, Donny. Your voice is filled with a bit too much joy and cheer,” he sneers.

“I can help turn that frown upside down. Let’s start with your name.”

Astro smacks his lips, as he thinks to himself. “You know something, I was wrong. That lady wasn’t a fraud because this hotline is real but I’m too old for this. Merry nothing,” he is about to hang up.

“Astro Austin Ridgey, born thirteenth September, Twenty-eleven,” Donovan replies. 

“Excuse me?” Astro asks.

“Is your name correct?”

Astro leans into the phone. “Listen you creepy elf shit, I need to know how you got my name!”

“Manners are most polite, the North Pole does not tolerate anything less than,” Donovan says more sternly. “Only wishes are offered to the Good List.”

“What list am I on?” Astro scoffs.

“Naughty.

“Oh yeah, why is that?”

Donovan’s fingers slap against a keyboard, then cease. “Here we go - theft, vandalising the Montgomery Orphanage, more theft and worst of all… Lack of manners.”

Astro’s mouth is dry. He tries to comprehend how this stranger on the far line knows as much as he does. It must be some kind of a setup. “I called the orphanage and you got my details that way. Is that it?” he demands.

“The number for the North Pole is exclusive. We don’t tap into phone calls. Astro, it looks like you are calling from New York, via phone booth number one-thousand-three-hundred-and-fifty-six. That’s the red and gold one, right?”

“How do you know that?” Astro gasps.

“We have some beautiful booths around, some have really unique colour schemes. My personal favourite is the white and green. It smells like pine trees.”

Astro’s hands tremble as he peers around. Apart from the streetlights, all signs of life are absent. “Are you watching me?”

“Good heavens, no! I have the register right here with your name on it,” Donovan says, gleefully.

“What is this? Some kind of hoax. It’s not funny,” Astro says.

“The North Pole is not a hoax nor a spy. Oh look! The reindeer sleigh is passing right above your head,” Donovan replies.

With a whoosh and bells, a distant shadow flies across the sky. Astro squints through the glass of the phone booth. There he sees it, a dozen reindeers ski across the moonlight, with a sleigh trailing behind. He stumbles backwards and hears nothing other than the sound of his own gasp.

“What the hell was that?” Astro asks.

“That was the present sleigh. Looks like Blitzen is leading tonight.”

“You expect me to believe that Santa Claus and all his reindeers are real?” 

“Santa grants everyone a wish that can be redeemed upon Christmas night. You have called the One Wish Hotline. I assume you know how this works?” Donovan asks.

Astro slows his breathing to a regular rate. In all of his nineteen years he never believed in the magic of Christmas, until tonight. It was the clear image of a sleigh that did it. There was no doubting that. Astro laughs to himself, at the possibility that Christmas is real. For tonight, a small part of him believes in something he never thought true. Warmth beats through his body, the holidays have something in store for him, too. Tomorrow all will return to normal, and Astro will embarrass himself with the tale that he conversed with an elf from the North Pole. But tonight is Christmas and he participates in the holiday cheer. A tear falls down his cheek. If Astro had one wish, he knew what it would be.

“I know what my wish is,” Astro says. “I want to speak to my dad, I’ve never met him before but I know his voice.”

“Thank you for submitting your wish, Astro. Let me call your father, I do hope he answers,” Donovan replies. He places the phone on hold and the Christmas carols of Silent Night sing out by a choir. 

Astro cannot help but feel a whir of excitement. Aside from the impossibility, a part of him hopes the wish may come true. He has nothing other than a historical voicemail from his dad. Saved on his cell, which he preserves the battery to listen to. He presses his fingers into the red phone, as he waits for the line to pick-up again. 

“Hello, this is Astro Dallas Ridger,” a voice says on the line. A familiar voice.

“Dad?” Astro asks.

“Astro, is that you?” His father gasps.

Astro looks up at the sleigh, as it grows further away. It soon disappears in between the stars of the night. A tear rolls down his freckled cheek. For the first time, Christmas has something in store for him.

“Merry Christmas, Dad,” Astro says.