For a long time I
thought the most daunting sight I would ever face was a blank sheet of paper,
and an inked pen hovering an inch above it, but no words to connect the two.
That was until the
time I found myself staring at the screen of my cell phone, her contact number
displayed, and my thumb hovering an inch above the little green button that
would place the call.
My head was a storm
of thoughts, my gut the hapless occupant of a rollercoaster, and my heart an
oil drill. Should I call her? Should I not? What would I say? Would I be able
to say anything at all? No, it’s safer not to call. I decided to put the phone
back in my pocket, but realized after an eternal moment that I was still
clasping it in my hand, my thumb hovering as before.
I’m not sure what it
was really – a sudden rush of energy, or a sudden setting in of fatigue – but
my thumb fell on the button, and the sounds of a phone ringing could be heard
through the ear piece. Gingerly, I brought the phone to my ear, too afraid of
what was to follow to breathe easily.
It rang. It rang
some more. It rang until the answering machine kicked in, and there was that
pleasant voice of hers that I had never quite forgotten.
“Hi, you've reached
Christie’s phone. I’m not in right now, so you know what to do after the beep.”
Beep. Was it my turn to talk already?
“Christie? Um, hi,
Dave here – from college, if you remember that is. Um, call me back? My
number’s 88767801, looking forward to hearing-” There was a click on the other
end, as I realized that someone had picked up the phone.
“Dave?”
“Uh yeah, hi. I
didn’t know you were around, how-”
“David Johnson?”
“Yes, the same.” I
said after a hesitant pause. “Christie Roberts?” There was a chuckle at the
other end.
“Yes, Christie
Roberts. How are you Dave? Where were you?”
Catching up was
slightly awkward at first, giving each other explanations about where we had
been, and then justifying why neither of us had called. Then it got better,
when we started filling each other in on what had happened with us, and how she
hated her boss, and how I had quit my job, and how her father had passed away a
year ago, and how I was doing the rounds looking for someone to publish my
manuscript. It got comfortable from that point, when she insisted on choosing a
pseudonym for me and I offered to have a little ‘chat’ with her boss, when she
said she’d better go to the kitchen and make herself some coffee, when I said
catching a slight across the country to come see her seemed to be a pretty good
idea.
“You can’t be
serious Dave! It’s almost sun rise – can’t you see the sky turning blue?”
“All the better,
the pilots will have better visibility!”
“Shut up, I’ve got
to get to work in a couple of hours.”
“Call in sick, do
whatever, don’t go today. I’m packing a bag – how many sets should I carry?”
“Dave! Get back
into bed!”
“Three shirts
should be fine don’t you think? Oh and my toothbrush!”
“While you’re at
it, pack you shaving kit – I hate you with stubble.”
“Alright then –
keep the phone down, I’ll catch the first flight out, and see you at the
airport okay?”
“I cannot believe
it Dave. This is not good, not good at all.”
“Keep the phone
down Christie, I need my other hand to tie my shoelaces!”
“You cut the call
Dave.”
“No, you first.”
And that went on. And on. And on. Until I found myself a headset, and plugged
it to my phone.
I finally cut the
call when my flight was about to take off. I sat on that flight thinking about
her, what it would be like to see her again. And I caught myself thinking that
a call waiting to be connected would never quite be as daunting as a blank
sheet of paper again.
