same address as sixty years ago.
“He must be ninety,” I said. “Maybe he’s even dead… What do you think?”
Dumb question, Ruby.
“I certainly hope he’s alive enough to pick up the phone,” Joshua laughed. “Okay, here’s the phone. I expect you to sail through this.”
“Well, I don’t want to dampen your excitement,” I said, “but I’m kind of nervous. I’m not sure I w ill exactly shine.”
All the way to Joshua’s home, I was hoping that he would offer to call Sarah himself and set me free from that atrocious agitation I was going through. But he suggested nothing like that, and I didn’t want to make a fool out of myself by asking him. Who in the world has a fear of telephones, you might ask. Well, I do. It’s called telephonophobia, and it’s not that rare, in fact. Of course, it’s still weird, no matter how many people have it. Joshua and I… well, we are the proud owners of an amazing arsenal of weird conditions. Together, we’re invincible. So… I don’t like anything about phones, but what I hate the most is talking to unknown people. I always imagine them sitting in their homes carefree, without a hint that the phone is about to ring, and then I speak into their sleepy ear, just like that, out of the blue – a stranger abducting their peace. And this time my anxiety was doubled; I was about to make the most important call of my life. My numb fingers picked up the phone.
“Hey, isn’t it late in Oklahoma now?” my cowardice spoke through my dry mouth as I dialed the number.
“No, they’re actually only two hours ahead,” Joshua said, smiling at me .
For a second, I almost hoped that no one would answer. But that wasn’t the case.
The voice on the other side was bone dry and wheezy. I felt like the old man’s lips were scratching my eardrums through the telephone receiver. He told me that Sarah didn’t live there anymore. I asked him if he happened to know her new phone number.
“Of course,” he said, coughing, “She lives just down the street and her phone…”
I nodded my head, smiling silently.
“Moron!” Joshua groaned at the top of his horrible Tourette’s voice.
“Did someone just say ‘moron’?” the old man asked.
I looked at Joshua, terrified. He was standing in the corner of the room, his palm pressed against his mouth.
“No, sir,” I tried to sound convincing, “I mean, yes, but it was my parrot; my brother gave him a really bad education.”
I looked at Joshua ; his eyes grew wide. I could see he was chewing the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh.
“Is this some kind of a joke? ” asked Mr. Chase.
I knew by the vibrations in his voice that he was ready to hang up. The whole thing was slipping through my fingers like sand. I made an effort to pull myself together and said in a most endearing voice, “I’m very serious, sir. I’m Julia Wrigley's daughter. You might not remember her, Mr. Chase, but my mother and Sarah went to middle school together. Actually, they were quite close friends. The skinny one with pigtails… sounds familiar? Anyway, I wanted to inform Sarah that my mother passed away recently. She left her some old photographs.”
He swallowed it. How could he not swallow such a heartbreaking story? I watched my hand, my proud, steady hand, as it scribbled down Sarah’s phone number on the corner of the notebook that Joshua handed me.
I hung up and sighed with relief.
“Who’s Julia Wrigley?” Joshua asked.
“How would I know? But she surely got her last name from a chewing gum,” I laughed, nodding toward the pack of Wrigley’s.
“You were magnificent,” he said and shook my hand theatrically.
The door slowly opened. Joshua’s mother entered, holding a big tray of brownies. She smiled at me, caressed my hair, and left without saying anything.
“This is the first time she’s baked since we moved into this house,” said Joshua quietly, looking through the window.
One more number needed to be
“He must be ninety,” I said. “Maybe he’s even dead… What do you think?”
Dumb question, Ruby.
“I certainly hope he’s alive enough to pick up the phone,” Joshua laughed. “Okay, here’s the phone. I expect you to sail through this.”
“Well, I don’t want to dampen your excitement,” I said, “but I’m kind of nervous. I’m not sure I w ill exactly shine.”
All the way to Joshua’s home, I was hoping that he would offer to call Sarah himself and set me free from that atrocious agitation I was going through. But he suggested nothing like that, and I didn’t want to make a fool out of myself by asking him. Who in the world has a fear of telephones, you might ask. Well, I do. It’s called telephonophobia, and it’s not that rare, in fact. Of course, it’s still weird, no matter how many people have it. Joshua and I… well, we are the proud owners of an amazing arsenal of weird conditions. Together, we’re invincible. So… I don’t like anything about phones, but what I hate the most is talking to unknown people. I always imagine them sitting in their homes carefree, without a hint that the phone is about to ring, and then I speak into their sleepy ear, just like that, out of the blue – a stranger abducting their peace. And this time my anxiety was doubled; I was about to make the most important call of my life. My numb fingers picked up the phone.
“Hey, isn’t it late in Oklahoma now?” my cowardice spoke through my dry mouth as I dialed the number.
“No, they’re actually only two hours ahead,” Joshua said, smiling at me .
For a second, I almost hoped that no one would answer. But that wasn’t the case.
The voice on the other side was bone dry and wheezy. I felt like the old man’s lips were scratching my eardrums through the telephone receiver. He told me that Sarah didn’t live there anymore. I asked him if he happened to know her new phone number.
“Of course,” he said, coughing, “She lives just down the street and her phone…”
I nodded my head, smiling silently.
“Moron!” Joshua groaned at the top of his horrible Tourette’s voice.
“Did someone just say ‘moron’?” the old man asked.
I looked at Joshua, terrified. He was standing in the corner of the room, his palm pressed against his mouth.
“No, sir,” I tried to sound convincing, “I mean, yes, but it was my parrot; my brother gave him a really bad education.”
I looked at Joshua ; his eyes grew wide. I could see he was chewing the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh.
“Is this some kind of a joke? ” asked Mr. Chase.
I knew by the vibrations in his voice that he was ready to hang up. The whole thing was slipping through my fingers like sand. I made an effort to pull myself together and said in a most endearing voice, “I’m very serious, sir. I’m Julia Wrigley's daughter. You might not remember her, Mr. Chase, but my mother and Sarah went to middle school together. Actually, they were quite close friends. The skinny one with pigtails… sounds familiar? Anyway, I wanted to inform Sarah that my mother passed away recently. She left her some old photographs.”
He swallowed it. How could he not swallow such a heartbreaking story? I watched my hand, my proud, steady hand, as it scribbled down Sarah’s phone number on the corner of the notebook that Joshua handed me.
I hung up and sighed with relief.
“Who’s Julia Wrigley?” Joshua asked.
“How would I know? But she surely got her last name from a chewing gum,” I laughed, nodding toward the pack of Wrigley’s.
“You were magnificent,” he said and shook my hand theatrically.
The door slowly opened. Joshua’s mother entered, holding a big tray of brownies. She smiled at me, caressed my hair, and left without saying anything.
“This is the first time she’s baked since we moved into this house,” said Joshua quietly, looking through the window.
One more number needed to be
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