Mom, where are you?
One of the messages on my voicemail today was the inarticulate voice of a little girl, saying, "Mom, it's Heidi, where are you?" I called Heidi back (her area code's in Rochester) and told her she should try again because I am not her mom. She seemed composed as she said, "Ok, bye." This impressed me because I remember being absolutely traumatized by these types of situations when I was little. One time a man called our house, and I was convinced it was my dad, but he kept denying it. Assuming he was messing with my head (which he did a lot) I said, "C'mon Daddy, I know it's you, stop it," etc., but the man kept saying, "I am not your father." Finally it got through to me, and I handed the phone to my mom and bawled into my pillow. I had completely forgotten about that until little Heidi rang me up. Huh. Thanks, little Heidi!
posted by elle elle @ 11:32 AM
1 Comments:
Once I lived in a place where I would get calls every night looking for somebody. In another language. Correction, in many other languages. I had many friends over at different times to try to find out what language/s these people spoke. None of them spoke Mandarin, Cantonese, Japanese, Korean, or Hindu. I feel bad that they were always trying to get a hold of someone that has left and gone, and they'll never be able to talk to again. That's what a real house of ghosts is.
Post a Comment
<< Home