Another Tomorrow

     It’s late, and I’m looking at a map of radio stations on my computer screen. I can scan the entire world for music, discussion, anything. There is something special about talking to another human being, live. I click on random stations, mentally filtering until I find something live, taking calls, open to any topic. Some radio station in British Columbia. It’s affiliated with a college I’ve never heard of.
      I listen while some callers ramble on, sputtering through a few fitfully interesting minutes. I scan my mental library of things to talk about, the one with dusty bookshelves and dried-out stamps. There’s one interesting item on a high shelf.
      I have a pad in front of me. At the top, it says “Groceries are for losers.” I write down a series of notes to keep my talking points straight. This is important, and you only get one shot. I’ve screwed up enough times talking face to face. A shy girl in a small town has to fight to be heard saying anything at all. You make your own luck.
      I wait. I write down the radio station phone number a few times, just to get a feel for the sequence. People don’t treat phone numbers like magic talismans anymore. I’d never once “gotten a woman’s phone number.” Either it didn’t work that way anymore, or it didn’t work that way for me, or people like me. You’d think, if there were so many people like me, it wouldn’t be so hard to meet one. Hah, hah.
      I dial the number and I listen to the ring, ring, ring on the other side, then an automated voice reading the call letters, explaining that the lines are busy. This late at night, I imagine they’re just saying that. That’s what all of this is: Imagination.
      “Hi, this is Producer Don, who am I speaking to and what do you wanna talk about?” the voice on the other end said. My heart springs into action like a clockwork trap.
      “Uhh, uh. Athena? I wanted to talk about some movies, specific ones, from Hong Kong…” I said, stumbling. I sound like an idiot.
      “Sounds great, Athena. I bet Ritchie will be interested in that. You’ll be on in a second. If they cut you off, don’t take it personally, okay?” Producer Don said. Call screening. I was familiar with this. Usually, I didn’t get past this stage. A few clicks and beeps over the phone line later, and there was Ritchie.
      “We’ve got Athena on the line to tell us about Hong Kong movies, Athena, what’s happening?” Ritchie said.
      “Hi Ritchie. Well… I just wanted to talk about John Woo and A Better Tomorrow,” I said.
      “John Woo, he did… Face/Off, right?” Ritchie said.
      “That’s right! But before Hollywood, he was a successful director in Hong Kong. He directed a movie called A Better Tomorrow. It’s about two bothers, a cop and a criminal. They made a great sequel, too. It kinda defined what’s called the ‘heroic bloodshed’ genre… um, that’s like—“
      “Cops, criminals, epic violence, honor codes, all that?” Ritchie’s co-host Marcus said.
      I smile, and I wonder if they can tell over the phone. “Yeah! Then something interesting happened… they were going to make a third one, a prequel set in Vietnam. A big political war-and-crime epic. But the producer, Tsui Hark, he and John Woo didn’t see eye to eye. Tsui Hark made A Better Tomorrow III: Love and Death in Saigon, John Woo made his own movie called Bullet in the Head. It’s pretty great. It doesn’t have Chow Yun-Fat, like the Better Tomorrows, but it’s good—“
      “That is great, Athena, thanks for sharing. I’ve got producer Don pulling up the trailer on Youtube. This is so violent! I didn’t know women watched this stuff!” Marcus said.
      “You don’t know anything about women, man. Am I right, Athena?” Ritchie said. Laughter from the booth.
      “Well, yeah,” I said. They laugh at that, and I smile again. Somebody heard me. I feel my socked feet tingling against the carpet fibers. I’ve gone through all my notes.
      “Anything else, Athena?” Ritchie said.
      “Um, that’s all. I wonder if any other listeners are into these movies?” I said.
      “If they are, they should call! Thanks a lot, Athena,” Ritchie said.
      “Yeah, thank you,” Marcus said.
      “Thanks, guys,” I said. Click. I’m back in an empty apartment, with a closed laptop and open curtains, looking down on silent streets. Thanks, guys.

© Jess Umbra, 2026
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