Unknown Caller

Sometimes the phone call you've waited years for can happen when you least expect it. I was sitting on Claire's couch last night, catching up with her and Sue and watching Basil collect more attention than she'd received in weeks when my cell phone rang. I didn't recognize the number and the voice on the other end of the line didn't ring a bell, either.

"So what are you doing?"

"I'm at Claire's," I said, thinking it was very strange that I would say that to a voice I didn't recognize but I was caught off guard and honesty seemed the best response.

"How have you been?"

Definitely not registering.

"I'm sorry," I finally managed, "but I'm not sure who this is."

Silence, then:

"You're kidding me."

"No, I'm sorry -- I'm not."

Longer silence, then:

"Madeleine, it's Brent. Didn't my number come up on your phone?"

Brent Babcock.

And I'd forgotten his voice already, a mere nineteen years after we'd met and nearly five since I moved out of our home.

"I don't have your number in my phone," I said, still very surprised at the call. I'd moved to the staircase and seated myself about halfway up to the second floor, leaving Claire and Sue in the kitchen trying to convince Basil that a plain Saltine was really just a flat dog bone that didn't taste like chicken.

"You don't have my number in your phone." Now it seemed his turn to be surprised.

"Brent, I haven't talked to you since December. It's almost May."

"So you don't have my number in case you needed to get a hold of me?"

This was too strange of a call and I didn't see the purpose. "I don't know of anything I'd need to get a hold of you FOR." This may not have come out as nicely as I'd wanted it to.

I wasn't upset with him for reneging on his end of a trade we'd made last fall wherein I spent nearly an entire day writing his annual review in exchange for his hanging a shower curtain for me that he'd never quite found the time to hang. I was just, after that, finally and completely convinced there was no reason for us to have any contact at all.

"Well regardless," I said with a much lighter tone, "What can I do for you?"

Because I knew there had to be something. With Brent, it was that way. If the phone rang it was with a request, whether to write a review, recite a recipe, or advise on a spelling issue. Brent was an engineer and while he could assemble an MRI or CatScan in his sleep he couldn't differentiate between 'where' and 'were' and had never been able to. I had assumed his new girlfriend was reasonably articulate and knew her way around a kitchen because I hadn't heard from him in a long time.

"I'm updating some records," he said. "And I need to know when we got married."

My first thought was to remind him that particular information could be found on page one of our divorce decree but I thought better of it and said something probably worse -- again, because it was honest and also because it just came out. "If you hadn't ripped up the marriage certificate you'd know that."

Not that it wouldn't eventually probably have been ripped up anyway, it was just unfortunate that it had been shredded in an angry moment when the marriage was still intact and it was our 12th anniversary.

"OK, I deserve that," he said.

"November ninth, 1991," I replied. "Two o'clock in the afternoon. It was a Saturday. Lake Lowell Presbyterian Church, Pastor Lloyd Byall. Your tux tie was royal blue and you threw down a shot of Jack in the back of the church before you walked in."

Silence again, then: "You remember all that?"

For some reason that made me laugh. "Yes I remember," I said, "but I'm still looking for a green baseball cap I put down somewhere three days ago. Is that all you needed?"


And that's when it struck me. I really had no desire to take the conversation anywhere, not even to extend the basic courtesies of inquiring how he'd been, how everything was going for him. I didn't feel anger, irritation -- or anything -- and it was a wonderful way to feel. It was to be in the place everyone from my girlfriends to my parents had promised I would someday be and I hadn't believed them at the time, so recently away from the marriage. I'd hoped for it but didn't realize, until this odd phone call, that I WAS there, and had been for a much longer time than I thought.

Brent Babcock wasn't a factor in my life.

"There's one more thing," he said. "Like I said, I'm updating some records, and I found some old files."

"I can't imagine anything I'd need, Brent. Unless you came across any of my old family pictures. But, thank you -- "

"Madeleine, I have your birth certificate."

Now the silence was on my end. Because having finally been convinced that I might want a passport, I'd planned this week to write vital statistics and get another copy of my birth certificate so I could get one.

"You're kidding me. I thought you said you threw that file out."

"Well I have it," he said, "and I can get it to you if you'd like."

"That would be great. Thank you. Your timing is uncanny -- but thank you."

"Why is my timing weird?"

"Well, I've finally decided I need a passport..." and we spent maybe ten minutes then catching up on why I would need one. And also on how my dog was, how my job was, the latest escapades of Hal his roomate, my former dog Sophie, and his Ukranian girlfriend. "It is what it is," he said about that, which was funny because the last time I used the phrase it was when presenting some very unorganized client information to staff.

"I really need to go, Brent. But -- nice talking to you."

"You sound very happy."

"I am." Truer words never spoken.

"Well, I'm glad."

"You can take partial credit. If I'd never met you I'd never have wound up here and this place has brought a lot of happiness into my life. So, I guess -- belated thank you."

"I'm still very afraid of train trips," he said, and that got a laugh out of both of us.

Claire and Sue were still figuring out the universe when I returned to the living room.

"That," I announced, "was awesome. That was Brent, and I didn't recognize him. Not his voice and not his phone number. And I think that's fabulous."

"Well girlfriend," Claire observed, chucking a throw pillow at me, "you deserve that."

I couldn't have agreed more.