MIDNIGHT PHONE CALL
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 night stand. "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.