My phone gave out a loud buzz. Instinctively, I knew it was a missed call. I'm always missing my calls. When I was in high school, I would get excited picking ringtones on my Razr. When I found out I could edit songs and make them ringtones, I'd have people call me just so I can hear the snippet of that song. Now, when anyone calls me, I don't hear a thing. It doesn't vibrate, it doesn't ring.
I had 3 missed calls from Dad. 7:17, 7:20, and 7:35 in the morning. I know I can't speedily subtract, but I knew it was early in Los Angeles. 4 o'clock early. I was wide awake when I realized the time. Why is he calling me? Is everything okay? Is mom okay? Did someone die? What else would I assume if my dad calls me at 4 in the morning?
Instead of calling back, I checked my voicemail.
"Hi, it's Dad. You got a letter," he said loudly in Vietnamese. I hear my mother yelling something in the background. At least I know they're both alive.
I called back.
"You got a mail for jury duty!" he said.
I was speechless.
"I'll have your brother mail it to you! Remember to fill it out, tell them you don't live here anymore."
I didn't bother to ask why they both were up so early and why they had to call me at that moment.
"Are you going to work now?" he asked.
I said yes, hung up the phone, and went back to sleep.