A response to the heart of the matter: Nola Farman and Anna Gibbs
The telephone rings. She watches it ring; playing with the idea of not answering it. Pretending she is out, when she is in. But her heart's not in it. She wants to know who is on the other end. Who is calling to speak to her.
From outside the room, people watch her inside the room. On a little, tiny television screen. Blurred in black and white. Watching the telephone.
Inside the room she would like to let the telephone ring. Ring on and on. Unanswered. But the telephone insists. Insists on an answer. As if it knows she's in. She wishes from the bottom of her heart that she could defy the telephone beside the comfy chair. But she can't. She knows she will have to answer the red telephone.
She knows that outside the room people are watching her. Watching her inside the exhibition. From not quite outside the exhibition. The people who watch her on the television screen are not quite outside the exhibition, although they probably think they are. Outside. Looking inside. On the other side of the closed door; unable to see inside the room. Unable to see her, except on the television screen.
She wonders why she has a telephone. People had told her she had to have one. A lifeline to the outside world. The telephone rings on. She is faint-hearted when it comes to resisting the telephone. But while she waits to pick up the receiver and cradle it in her neck, she enjoys that peculiar mixture of fear and delight that the ringing telephone always provokes.
Across from her, the big, red heart beats on the armchair. The armchair is all