A Measured Turn

The heavy black rotary telephone on the hallway credenza sat dormant, its circular chrome dial catching the morning light. Stepping onto the curved Bakelite housing, I hooked my gloved fingers into the finger hole of the lowest digit. Bracing my platform boots against the sloped casing, I exerted steady, calculated leverage to coax the wheel clockwise against the coiled spring. The internal gears yielded with a low, ratcheting chatter until the brass finger-stop halted my advance. Releasing my hold, I paused to observe. The wheel whipped back in a swift, whirring blur, concluding its return with a sharp, miniature chime that resonated pleasantly through the quiet corridor.