Drumbeats into My Heart

19. Seth Hates Phone Calls

I stare at my phone. At the phone number I'd so bravely asked for and received. All I need to do is hit the little green Call icon. Just tap it.

My finger hovers over it, but some unseen force holds it at bay, preventing it from descending. It's like the same poles of two magnets repelling each other.

"It's not that hard," Tai had said before he went home. "Don't worry about what you're going to say. Just call."

Don't worry about what I'm going to say? Don't worry? What am I supposed to do, call and then breathe heavily on the phone like an actual creepy stalker? I hate talking on the phone. I'm chatting with a disembodied voice devoid of facial expressions to judge how the conversation is going, so all I can do is frantically think of what I'm supposed to say next. And then I realize I'm not really listening because I'm too busy thinking. Of all the twenty-first century technology I'm thankful for, the gift of text messaging has got to be on top. Goodbye awkward phone calls.

I'm going to text instead. Forget this stupid phone call nonsense. This way I won't be interrupting whatever she's doing.

What is she doing right now anyway?

I start imagining her cooking dinner or maybe counting her earnings. What is home life like for her?

I start typing the message on my phone. Hi, what are you doing?

I stare at the message. Does that sound demanding? Like, "What in the world are you doing?" As much as I love texting as an alternative to talking, there is something to be said about the challenges of conveying tone.

I delete that and try again. Hi, what are you up to?

Yes, that's much better. I'm about to hit Send when another thought halts me. Does that make me sound nosy? Presumptuous? Annoying? Maybe I should try something simpler.

Hi.

Yes. That'll work. No harm in simplicity. No reading into what I actually mean. It's just hi.

I tap Send before I chicken out.

And I wait.

And wait some more.

I look at my watch to confirm it has only been two minutes, so I wait a little more.

Maybe she doesn't recognize my number. Maybe she forgot to label it.

I'll clarify with another text, just in case. Hi, it's Seth.

Right after sending the message, I wince. I'd said hi twice. I really hope I don't sound stupid.

More waiting.

I pick up a tennis ball and begin bouncing it off the wall.

Bonk-catch. Bonk-catch. Bonk-catch.

"Seth! What is all that racket?"

Sometimes I wish my mom was hard of hearing. Or just nicer.

I set the ball down and check the time again. Seven minutes.

I sigh and check the signal on my phone. Three bars.

Maybe she's in the shower. My mind immediately wanders to a picture of water running in rivulets down her freckled face, down her smooth shoulders, down her—

I blink and shake my head vigorously, taking a long, deep breath to calm the stirring in my pants.

Eight minutes.

Maybe she gave me a fake number.

Now I'm just being irrational. I'd sent a quick text when she'd given me her number, so she'd have mine too. I'd heard her phone ding.

Maybe I annoy her. Maybe she hates text messages. I should just call.

My finger hovers over the screen again. That innocent little icon mocks me. You're too much of a wuss to actually call.

Who knew icons could be so mean-spirited?

It isn't the calling that's hard, it's the talking. It's the blurting and the stuttering. It's why I will never join the debate team and avoid the public speaking class like it's covered in lice.

I carefully pull my hand away in case I accidentally bump the Call button. I'll stick with text messages. I can come across as normal there. Funny even. Maybe.

I do my homework until bedtime, then send one last message before going to sleep.

Good night.

Relatable? Tell me about your reluctant phone call experiences! Sometimes we psyche ourselves out way too much. We need to give ourselves votes of confidence.