The phone keeps going to email. I stay on the line waiting to hear your voice, your message saying you’ll get back to me as soon as you can. I hope you will. But I don’t hear a hello, just ten long rings and a beep as though there’s a car on my tail wanting me to go faster. A beep telling me that for the third time today you aren’t home. I promise myself not to call again. But I do. This time I leave a message. “Give me a ring,” as though I am putting in a request for jewelry. “I have to tell you something important. Very important,” wiggling my line, my bait in your ear. Even if you’re driving, I want you to turn off at a rest stop. Timing is important. Dial, dial, dial, I chant my spell. After five years, why wouldn’t you want to know how our kid is doing?
The phone keeps going to email. I wonder if I have the right phone number, or if I messed up. It’s someone else ‘s message machine. It’s Nick and he says he’ll get right back. I don’t know anyone named Nick. He sounds cheery, like a branch manager or maybe he works at REI selling ski gear. I wonder if I should leave him a message. After all, his phone number is only off by one digit. I make myself another cup of coffee. The phone rings. “Hi, it’s Nick,” he says. “I’m following up on your call. How can I help you?” I count the ways. First, he could pay off my credit card bill because who the fuck knows when I can, convince my kid that high school grades really do matter, and maybe, just maybe, he can come over to cook dinner this evening. It’s been a long time since anyone cared. But even in my weirdest moods, I know Nick can’t help me with any of these things. I tell the sweet boy that I dialed the wrong number and we hang up.
The phone keeps going to email. I’m glad it does. It was a mistake to call. I didn’t want to call. After everything he did, I shouldn’t gratify his behavior by giving him the opportunity to apologize. All my friends say so. He’s the one who should reach out to me. Say he was sorry for standing me up, a no show after an entire month of text messaging all the things we wanted in a partner. We both had been married and divorced twice and liked to play pickle ball. We planned to meet on the San Leandro court. I had my ball and racket that I’d purchased for the occasion from Target. I’d even made a thermos of coffee in case he wanted some. I waited at the back of the net for a half hour. Kept looking at every car pulling into the lot. Or was it an hour before I went to the bathroom and opened my trunk? But I’m sorry, there are certain rules of conduct. Especially online rules. You hear about bullying and kids committing suicide. Terrible! He said he couldn’t wait to meet me, look into my eyes. I wanted to scream. “I’m not some virtual person.” As far as I’m concerned, your stupid phone can go straight to hell. But then my phone rings. And it’s you.