Untitled

March 30 2006
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.

meredith taylor

April 02 2006
Wow! that was a good story. it made me want to cry and then i was glad that she didn't let her drive home and i guess she saved another mom's daughter's life.

Pix

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