Missed Calls

In my first book I published, I wrote a story entitled Three Missed Calls. I reread it recently and refreshed my own memory on what it was like to date in high school. I "wasn't supposed" to date and the guy I was dating definitely wasn't supposed to have a girlfriend, so we created a system of how we could call each other in the evenings. We both had cell phones, but we still took advantage of the free minutes after 9 pm. His cell phone was also on prepaid minutes to be used for emergencies only, not for talking to girls on the phone for multiple hours a day. This was 2006; we were a little behind. 

Our plan was pretty genius. He would call me in the evenings when he could get a hold of his home phone and not be noticed by his parents. If I didn't catch the call on my cell phone, I'd call him back on his cell phone to let him know I was ready. Instead of picking up on his cell phone though, he would reject the call to save his minutes and then call me back on my cell phone using his home phone. Brilliant, right? I mean, how many other 14 year olds are able to think like this? 

My first cell phone. 

In the story I wrote, the title was derived from one specific detail where I had been practicing piano downstairs and left my phone on my bedroom floor upstairs. He had called me three times that afternoon to try and talk to me and I missed all of them because I was studiously practicing piano downstairs. Well, in retrospect, I'm glad the piano practicing paid off even if the guy didn't end up sticking around. 😏

***

That was 16 years ago. I never thought I'd feel that same excitement I used to feel to get a phone call from someone as I do now. But I do. 

He's not a boyfriend. He's not my husband. He's not related to me. But he is dearly special. He has walked with me through dark times in my life. He has helped me deal with grief I didn't know I had. He has mentored me. He taught me how to value myself and how to see myself as worthy. He has taught me how to love music. He has taught me most of what I know about music. In some ways, he has been a better father-figure to me than my own biological father. He has the biggest heart and is the most selfless person I know, probably to a fault. We used to be able to talk on the phone for an unlimited amount of time. I used to be able to send him a text message about whatever I wanted whenever I wanted. He used to be able to send me a text message about whatever he wanted whenever he wanted. 

But not anymore.

The other day I missed two of his calls. I never thought in my life I would feel that same frustration at having missed so many phone calls in the year 2022. But I have. I can't call him back to signal that I was ready to chat on the phone. I can't call him back at all. There are no free minutes. Our calls, when I pick up, are limited to 15 minutes. And after the call ends sharply after 15 minutes on the nose, sometimes without even enough time to say a proper goodbye, that sad, empty feeling, the dropping inside my stomach comes and settles itself for a bit. Unsettled. 

And I wait for the next one in a few days. Or a few weeks.

I don't know.