blondie
02-04-2005, 11:41 AM
We all know what it's like to get that phone call in the middle of the
night. This night's call was no different. Jerking up to the ringing
summons, I focused on the red illuminated numbers of my clock. Midnight.
Panicky thoughts filled my sleep-dazed mind as I grabbed the receiver.
"Hello?"
My heart pounded; I gripped the phone tighter and eyed my husband, who
was now turning to face my side of the bed.
"Mama?" I could hardly hear the whisper over the static. But my thoughts
immediately went to my daughter. When the desperate sound of a young
crying voice became clearer on the line, I grabbed for my husband and
squeezed his wrist.
"Mama, I know it's late, but don't...don't say anything, until I finish.
And before you ask, yes, I've been drinking. I nearly ran off the road a
few miles back, and..."
I drew in a sharp shallow breath, released my husband and pressed my
hand against my forehead. Sleep still fogged my mind, and I attempted to
fight back the panic. Something wasn't right.
"And I got so scared. All I could think about was how it would hurt you
if a policeman came to your door and said I'd been killed. I want...to
come home. I know running away was wrong. I know you've been worried
sick. I should have called you days ago, but I was afraid...afraid..."
Sobs of deep-felt emotion flowed from the receiver and poured into my
heart. Immediately I pictured my daughter's face in my mind and my
fogged senses seemed to clear. "I think--"
"No! Please let me finish! Please!" She pleaded, not so much in anger
but in desperation.
I paused and tried to think of what to say. Before I could go on, she
continued, "I'm pregnant, Mama. I know I shouldn't be drinking
now...especially now, but I'm scared, Mama. So scared!"
The voice broke again and I bit into my lip, feeling my own eyes fill
with moisture. I looked at my husband who sat silently mouthing, "Who is
it?"
I shook my head and when I didn't answer, he jumped up and left the
room, returning seconds later with the portable phone held to his ear.
She must have heard the click in the line because she continued, "Are
you still there? Please don't hang up on me! I need you. I feel so
alone."
I clutched the phone and stared at my husband, seeking guidance. "I'm
here, I wouldn't hang up," I said.
"I know I should have told you, Mama. But when we talk, you just keep
telling me what I should do. You read all those pamphlets on how to talk
about sex and all, but all you do is talk. You don't listen to me. You
never let me tell you how I feel. It is as if my feelings aren't
important. Because you're my mother, you think you have all the answers.
But sometimes I don't need answers. I just want someone to listen."
I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared at the how-to-talk-
to-your-kids pamphlets scattered on my nightstand. "I'm listening," I
whispered.
"You know, back there on the road, after I got the car under control, I
started thinking about the baby and taking care of it. Then I saw this
phone booth and it was as if I could hear you preaching about people
shouldn't drink and drive. So I called a taxi. I want to come home."
"That's good, Honey," I said as relief filled my chest. My husband came
closer, sat down beside me and laced his fingers through mine. I knew
from his touch that he thought I was doing and saying the right thing.
"But you know, I think I can drive now."
"No!" I snapped. My muscles stiffened, and I tightened the clasp on my
husband's hand. "Please, wait for the taxi. Don't hang up on me until
the taxi gets there."
"I just want to come home, Mama."
"I know. But do this for your mama. Wait for the taxi, please."
I listened to the silence in fear. When I didn't hear her answer, I bit
into my lip and closed my eyes. Somehow I had to stop her from driving.
There's the taxi, now."
Only when I heard someone in the background asking about a Yellow Cab
did I feel my tension easing.
"I'm coming home, Mama." There was a click and the phone went silent.
Moving from the bed with tears forming in my eyes, I walked out into the
hall and went to stand in my sixteen-year-old daughter's room. The dark
silence hung thick. My husband came from behind, wrapped his arms around
me and rested his chin on the top of my head.
I wiped the tears from my cheeks. "We have to learn to listen,"
I said.
He pulled me around to face him. "We'll learn. You'll see." Then he took
me into his arms, and I buried my head in his shoulder.
I let him hold me for several moments, then I pulled back and stared
back at the bed. He studied me for a second, then asked, "Do you think
she'll ever know she dialed the wrong number?"
I looked at our sleeping daughter, then back at him. "Maybe it
wasn't such a wrong number."
"Mom, Dad, what are you doing?" The muffled young voice came from under
the covers. I walked over to my daughter, who now sat up staring into
the darkness. "We're practicing," I answered.
"Practicing what?" she mumbled and laid back on the mattress, her eyes
already closed in slumber.
"Listening," I whispered, and brushed a hand over her cheek.
night. This night's call was no different. Jerking up to the ringing
summons, I focused on the red illuminated numbers of my clock. Midnight.
Panicky thoughts filled my sleep-dazed mind as I grabbed the receiver.
"Hello?"
My heart pounded; I gripped the phone tighter and eyed my husband, who
was now turning to face my side of the bed.
"Mama?" I could hardly hear the whisper over the static. But my thoughts
immediately went to my daughter. When the desperate sound of a young
crying voice became clearer on the line, I grabbed for my husband and
squeezed his wrist.
"Mama, I know it's late, but don't...don't say anything, until I finish.
And before you ask, yes, I've been drinking. I nearly ran off the road a
few miles back, and..."
I drew in a sharp shallow breath, released my husband and pressed my
hand against my forehead. Sleep still fogged my mind, and I attempted to
fight back the panic. Something wasn't right.
"And I got so scared. All I could think about was how it would hurt you
if a policeman came to your door and said I'd been killed. I want...to
come home. I know running away was wrong. I know you've been worried
sick. I should have called you days ago, but I was afraid...afraid..."
Sobs of deep-felt emotion flowed from the receiver and poured into my
heart. Immediately I pictured my daughter's face in my mind and my
fogged senses seemed to clear. "I think--"
"No! Please let me finish! Please!" She pleaded, not so much in anger
but in desperation.
I paused and tried to think of what to say. Before I could go on, she
continued, "I'm pregnant, Mama. I know I shouldn't be drinking
now...especially now, but I'm scared, Mama. So scared!"
The voice broke again and I bit into my lip, feeling my own eyes fill
with moisture. I looked at my husband who sat silently mouthing, "Who is
it?"
I shook my head and when I didn't answer, he jumped up and left the
room, returning seconds later with the portable phone held to his ear.
She must have heard the click in the line because she continued, "Are
you still there? Please don't hang up on me! I need you. I feel so
alone."
I clutched the phone and stared at my husband, seeking guidance. "I'm
here, I wouldn't hang up," I said.
"I know I should have told you, Mama. But when we talk, you just keep
telling me what I should do. You read all those pamphlets on how to talk
about sex and all, but all you do is talk. You don't listen to me. You
never let me tell you how I feel. It is as if my feelings aren't
important. Because you're my mother, you think you have all the answers.
But sometimes I don't need answers. I just want someone to listen."
I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared at the how-to-talk-
to-your-kids pamphlets scattered on my nightstand. "I'm listening," I
whispered.
"You know, back there on the road, after I got the car under control, I
started thinking about the baby and taking care of it. Then I saw this
phone booth and it was as if I could hear you preaching about people
shouldn't drink and drive. So I called a taxi. I want to come home."
"That's good, Honey," I said as relief filled my chest. My husband came
closer, sat down beside me and laced his fingers through mine. I knew
from his touch that he thought I was doing and saying the right thing.
"But you know, I think I can drive now."
"No!" I snapped. My muscles stiffened, and I tightened the clasp on my
husband's hand. "Please, wait for the taxi. Don't hang up on me until
the taxi gets there."
"I just want to come home, Mama."
"I know. But do this for your mama. Wait for the taxi, please."
I listened to the silence in fear. When I didn't hear her answer, I bit
into my lip and closed my eyes. Somehow I had to stop her from driving.
There's the taxi, now."
Only when I heard someone in the background asking about a Yellow Cab
did I feel my tension easing.
"I'm coming home, Mama." There was a click and the phone went silent.
Moving from the bed with tears forming in my eyes, I walked out into the
hall and went to stand in my sixteen-year-old daughter's room. The dark
silence hung thick. My husband came from behind, wrapped his arms around
me and rested his chin on the top of my head.
I wiped the tears from my cheeks. "We have to learn to listen,"
I said.
He pulled me around to face him. "We'll learn. You'll see." Then he took
me into his arms, and I buried my head in his shoulder.
I let him hold me for several moments, then I pulled back and stared
back at the bed. He studied me for a second, then asked, "Do you think
she'll ever know she dialed the wrong number?"
I looked at our sleeping daughter, then back at him. "Maybe it
wasn't such a wrong number."
"Mom, Dad, what are you doing?" The muffled young voice came from under
the covers. I walked over to my daughter, who now sat up staring into
the darkness. "We're practicing," I answered.
"Practicing what?" she mumbled and laid back on the mattress, her eyes
already closed in slumber.
"Listening," I whispered, and brushed a hand over her cheek.