Ficlet - Twitterpated
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Will was busy at his desk with the new designs for the Barrymore account, a new and very important client, whose satisfaction could lead to more lucrative jobs in the future. This particular piece was an elaborate reproduction of an 18th century iron gate, complete with half-pin barrel hinges. The intricate design for the scroll work had Will working later than usual, as he was determined to have a final drawing for his early morning meeting the next day.
“Tweet da la tweet de tweet!”
Will scowled at his cell phone as it jingled for the fifth time in as many minutes. He knew he should just ignore it, or put it on silent mode, but he was expecting a call back from the museum regarding an exhibit scheduled for the following month.
“Tweet da la tweet de tweet!”
Throwing down his pencil, Will picked up the phone and read, “I’m starving.”
Sighing, Will typed a quick message back. “Eat something.”
“Tweet da la tweet de tweet!”
“And the cupboard is bare.”
“Go to the store if you’re hungry.”
“I am lost without my Boswell.”
Will bit his lip. The idea had seemed so simple at first. Unlimited text messaging, the ability to contact one another when necessary without having to call. Except Jack seemed to think of texting as a way to alleviate boredom.
“I’ll be home in an hour. You won’t starve.”
“I’m withering away…”
Will decided the best thing to do was ignore him. After all, Jack was a grown man, there was really no danger of him actually starving to death. Besides, he really needed to get these drawings done.
“Tweet da la tweet de tweet!”
“AUGH!!!!” Will picked up the phone and called Jack. Drumming his fingers, he waited, one ring…two rings…three rings… “Oi! You’ve reached the voicemail of the Immortal Captain Jack Sparrow. I’m obviously not available. So leave a message. Savvy?”
Now where did he go? Will frowned at the phone and practically shouted at the beep. “Jack! I can’t work with constant interruption. Don’t text again unless it is a life threatening situation. And, seeing as you can’t die, that means, stop. Period.”
Ah, silence. Will worked uninterrupted for 15 minutes before he began to feel the first twinge of guilt. After 25 minutes of silence, he began to wonder whether he had been too impatient with Jack. After 45 minutes of no contact Will threw his pencil down in disgust. How could he concentrate?
Will picked up the phone and texted a message. “How about I pick up Chinese take-out on my way home?”
Silence.
He sent another message. “Jack, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so sharp. I’ll make it up to you. Anything you want. Promise.”
Silence.
“Jack! Say something!”
“Tweet da la tweet de tweet!”
“Anything?”
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Will whistled as he drove through the early evening traffic. He had managed to finish the drawings, as well as set up an appointment for the following week with the museum. He had a paper bag full of cartons of take-out, along with a chilled bottle of wine to wash it down with. And best of all, he had a hungry, horny immortal pirate waiting for him at home.
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