At 6, I had a phone pal. You know back when people still use the telephone to ask how your day was and not read through their smileys? His number wasn’t exactly in a paper anymore because it was already in my subconscious. I pick up a phone and from the weeks of practice, I dial his number without a glitch. At 6, I made a techie friendship of someone whose age is in his digits, 15.
Silly though, I called every time I see a phone. Ours or not. Theirs or mine. You can call me clingy at 6, I guess not to the person himself but rather to the home phone machinery itself. I mean, how awesome it could be to have one day, with the touch of your fingers and a combination of digits, be able to hear a person’s voice and not get a notification of a mental make-up of his voice instead.
I was too young to remember how long it lasted and how it went away. But I remember his grandma picking up the phone one day and furious to hear a girl’s voice on the other side. Then I said it was just me. She probably rolled her eyes by then and asked him to come down after.
Every time I pick up the phone, I can almost hear his excitement through the phone lines and if it would have been possible, breathe in his sadness. I ask him what he was doing and then he proceed to tell me what happened that day. Then he asks me what I was doing and I tell him the same. Well, it was that kind of phone ‘relationship’.
It was great to have someone I could talk to whenever I wanted to. The tone rings and somehow, he is always in the other line, waiting. I don’t know what for, maybe for a really cool story of a pebble I found at the beach that day or how my classmate ‘bullied’ me in school day. It was nice. To just have someone to talk to.
You see, it was exactly the friendship I needed most at this time of my life. I don’t really need someone to buy me chocolates or bring me flowers. Not even someone to hold hands with and share a glorious kiss in the rain. Maybe I just want it simple, I just want someone to ask how my day went and actually listen to me stumble my words. But it’s hard to have someone in that sense at this age though, they always want something more. Something they all think I could just give away easily.
Honestly, I don’t know what I’m trying to say here. Probably, this post will wind up in my drafts with the all the other ‘not good enough’ posts that will soon be pushed into the trash box. But you know what, for a change, like what I’m trying to have in my life right now, I’m publishing this.