the buzzing of the door bell ring

earlier today the phone rang. the device that allows someone standing a floor down to request entry into the building. the man’s voice, unidentifiable, looking for sanchez. wrong number, my only offer before clicking the line closed. but in the afterward, i became convinced of some kind of significance to the thing that was most surely the mistake of bad directions – or transposition. sanchez, sanchez, my mind repeated in some kind of cacophonastic mockery. until i’d created some satisfyingly ridiculous scenario – of me involved in a kind of highly secretive surveillance – it’s a code word for something – something that if i had known in time might have unlocked the realm of the unknowable – might have delivered me from evil or saved me from some kind of nightmarish despair. the relevance of sanchez keeping me from my studies. from traveling to paris. letting my tea go all forgotten and cold in the mug on the bed side table.

in the first page notes section of my next year planner, I penciled in at 3:00 pm -- meet sanchez; an overnight bag; the key; 14159