I've had a cell phone for 13 months now. Before that, I had a land-line, but I was rarely home, and when I was, I was out on my fire escape, or sleeping, or ignoring the phone ringing.
I would let the answering machine get it.
I wouldn't check my messages for days, weeks sometimes, so almost every message was moot, past-tense.
"Hey, buddy, we're at East End. Get your ass down here!"
"Yo, I'm in front of your building. Buzz me up!"
"Hi, sweetie, I'm going to be working late tonight. You should meet me here when we close. We'll have some drinks and go home and watch Big Love."
"Hi, honey, it's just your mom. Your uncle Jim died last week. The funeral was yesterday. Happy birthday! Love you!"
I felt pretty powerless, not having a cell phone. Face was always harping on me about it, but I kept putting off getting one. I hate cell phones.
The way people are constantly clutching them, checking messages, texting, talking to you, then to some other person, texting, reading text, picking up the conversation again...always in two places at once, or in another place altogether. But never where they are, or really with whomever they're with. I'm here, but I'm also there—in this other place, with these other people.
I saw people when I saw them.
I was always out, and I'd run into them, and that's when we'd talk, do things, drink. I'd do many things. But even so, even though I was always out, it was hit or miss. I'd miss things. Lots of things. I kept missing people, connections, events, gatherings...even when we had made plans, because plans change quickly when everybody has a phone in their pocket.
"Dude, you missed it! We went over to the Odditorium, Zia got naked and everyone sang."
"Yo, I bet you feel like shit today. Do you remember losing that girl's contact in your eye socket last night?"
"Hey, don't bother coming in to work tonight. I know I said I couldn't cover your shift, but now I can and I really need the money, so go see that show."
"Hello, this is Providence Medical. If we don't hear back from you today, we'll go ahead and cancel your..."
"Hey moron, where are you? Actor Tom fucking Pell is here! We're in the green room at Dante's. JD hooked him up with an 8 ball and he's not sharing. It's freaky! I've never seen anything like it!"
"Hi, honey, it's just your mom again. Your brother's in Portland; he just got off the plane. He's lost and he's looking for you."
And I'd be at a bar a block away, by myself, smoking, hiding in public, so good at it now that I was almost invisible, sipping whiskey and reading the newspaper while all this stuff was happening. So many things happening, happening, happening...
And if I wasn't in a bar, I was on the fire escape.
Rain or shine, wind, snow, I was one with the elements.
I was a compound.
Smoke, that's what I was.
And it went on like that, years and years...just like that.
Then they banned smoking in bars and I spent even more time on the fire escape.
One day I went to the bar where my girlfriend worked.
I stopped in on a whim, unannounced, had a coffee and a sandwich, and I said, "Hey, Face, can I use your phone for a sec? I need to call my brother."
I didn't have my own at the time.
Face said, "Sure," and handed me her iPhone. I had bought it for her for Christmas or her birthday or something. She'd really wanted one, and I didn't want one, so what the hell. I stepped outside and as I was touching the screen—tap tap tap—dialing my brother, a text popped up: Hi babe. I missed the 14 bus and I'm running late. Can't wait to see you. Love, _____.
And my heart fell from the sky.
I went back inside, gave her the phone and said, "Thank you, Face."
And I couldn't help myself. I couldn't NOT say it, couldn't NOT ask...
"So, what are you doing when you get off tonight?"
"Oh, I'm just gonna have a drink here with Rose and then go home, I think."
I could feel the anger tearing through me, right behind the hurt, like my heart had become a hand grenade, but I knew I'd had it coming. It was exactly what I'd been asking for, even if I hadn't known it until the moment I saw that text.
I left and caught a bus to work.
When I got home, she wasn't there.
I broke some things I couldn't fix, and some I could.
All at once, I wanted to be closer to her. So close that when I looked into the mirror, I saw three faces.
The next day, I was looking at people's cell phones almost frantically, wondering which one to buy. I didn't know where to begin. I went to a phone store and the sales guy said, "This is what you need."
So I have one now, and I sort of hate it and sort of don't.
I called Face at work...
"Oh, good, you got a phone," she said.
Then she asked what kind of bread I wanted.
I heard someone say, "What are my choices?"
"Sourdough, whole wheat, or rye," she said. "What color are my eyes?"
She was talking to me.
