From me to you

A Story by Mikahli

True story

I never consider myself a kind person. There are people in this world who you can take your tears to, put your weary head on their shoulders and drown your endless sorrow in their soft gaze, yet I am not that kind of person. Try crying to me about how a teacher has been mean to you, or how a bold attempt of secret love was flatly rejected�"and you will see a sneer. And you will know what kind of person I am.

But one night someone challenged my perception of myself. Someone I have never met, nor will I ever meet. Someone far, far away from my world, suddenly connected to me through a phone call.

This was a month ago. My school district was having a fund-raiser event termed a Phone-a-thon, in which volunteers from different high schools sit together and call hundreds of perspective donors to ask for checks. A invitation was sent to Westview Speech and Debate team, and I signed up to be one of those callers�"unwillingly, of course, for I’d much rather spend the night reading at home, yet my life was somewhat draining back then, and a new experience was what I thought I needed.

So one chilly night I was gathered up with some other fifty high school students from all over the school district, led into a large office building, and given a cubicle and a head-set to call with. A pile of prospective donators’ contact information was already beckoning on the desk. Picking a slip up, I dialed the number and started the calling session.

It was fairly easy. All you need to do is to call, and if they pick up, read off a script that goes something like “Hello, my name is Shuxi and I am a high school volunteer…I’m calling tonight to ask for a donation for our Beaverton educational foundation…” and yes, most people didn’t bother to pick up their phones that night, and for the few who did, all I managed to squeeze out of them were 20 dollar checks. Sitting in a cubicle and calling with a professional head-set was a lot of fun though.

After thirty or forty calls, I picked up another sheet of contact information and dialed the number mechanically. The monotonous ring echoed in my head, and someone picked up rather quickly.

“Hello?” It was a soft female voice.

“Hello. My name is Shuxi and I’m a high school volunteer from Westview High School. I’m calling tonight to ask for a gift to the Beaverton Education Foundation. Would you like to help out our local schools by making a donation tonight?” I read off the card with a fake enthusiasm, looking over my shoulder to see how the other students were doing with their calls. One of them just landed another deal, waving the payment commitment slip in the air. Another volunteer quickly went over to fetch it, smiling at the cunning salesman.

“Oh, umm…well cash is not my strong suit right now, but do you need school supplies maybe?” the women on the other end asked sheepishly.

It was not a young voice�"possibly in her mid-50s or 60s, and a picture of an old, grey-haired lady unraveled in my head. She sounded tired; not depressed, just fatigue, like she has had her fun with life but was not ready to rest permanently yet, and struggled to keep walking ahead.

I was surprised for some seconds. “School supplies?”

“Yes. You see, I’ve just moved into the neighborhood…and if you need supplies like, say, twenty red markers or notebooks or something…because cash is somewhat difficult for me…”

I panicked, and flustered. No one in orientation taught me how to deal with people who offer red markers instead of checks. I rumbled through the cards trying to find what to say. Through the head-set, the tired old lady kept speaking softly.

“I have just moved in a week ago from California, you see…and I’m also retired now. This cell-phone isn’t even mine. I got it to keep in touch with my friends back in Pasadena; I’ve been receiving calls that are meant for the original owners these days…”

I looked down at the contact information slip. “So you’re not Susan Oderman?”

“No, I’m not.”

“And your address is not xxx NW xx Dr ?”

“No, it’s not.” she said quietly.

I finally figured out what I should say. “Well, I’m not sure if the foundation needs school supplies right now, but would you like us to send you more information through mail? Maybe in that way you can find out…”

“Yes! That would be great. I’d love to help out the school district…I remember back in Pasadena sometimes we had school fund-raising events on the lawn, and whenever I went it was just a party…”

She spoke so softly, so quietly, even dreamily. I stared at the desk of the cubicle, and saw the old lady holding an old-fashioned Nokia to her ear, while looking wistfully out the dark window, remembering her days back in that world she knew. A strand of silver hair fell pass her ear onto the cell-phone, and she would smooth it gently to the back again.

“Really? That sounds nice…may I have your name please?” I crossed off the original name on the slip, and waited for her answer.

“It’s Nancy.” Her tired, silky voice came through the head-set.

“And your mailing address, please?”

She gave me the address, and added, “even if I wouldn’t be able to help, I know many people here would be interested. They don’t have much to do here.”

I put down my pen, and somehow forgot all about the fund-raising event. The students calling around me seemed to have disappeared. I was sitting alone in the office building, lying back on my chair in the cubicle, and was mesmerized by a tranquil voice on the other side of the line.

“Really? You’re living with other people?”

“Yes. Mostly retired people here.”

“Oh, so it’s not an apartment complex or anything?”

“No, it’s just a place for elderly. Days can drag on in here, that’s why I got this phone to make sure I can still talk to my friends down in California…”

Even through a head-set, I can sense the tender, powerless loneliness in the velvet voice. I smiled warmly�"the first time in many days�"even though Nancy couldn’t see it, as if wanting to transfer some empathy through the phone call.

“Interesting.” I commented as gently as possible, “I actually never had people offer to donate school supplies before. Maybe we do need it.”

“Yes…I have a lot of supplies on my hand that I probably won’t be using for some time, and because I’m retired cash isn’t my strong suit right now…”

“That’s fine. And you also said other people living there might want to donate too so.”

“Yes. I believe they do want to get involved with the school district. I would want to get involved too. Back in California I’ve always been involved…”

And there I sat, chin propped up on my hands, smiling into the glass window of the cubicle, and completely forgetting my surroundings. I listened as Nancy talked nostalgically of her friends and life in Pasadena, how the sun was always bright there, and people had fun on the lawn when the weather was nice. She never said anything bad about where she was now, but her voice was too exhausted, too fragile…she was lost in this new place, this new life. She was stuck in an elder house of people full of thinning hair. The only opportunity she has to talk about the world that knew her was right now�"on a cold night, with a stranger asking for donation on the other side of the cell-phone. She did not complain at all, yet she didn’t have to.

And I could not hang up. I sat as if under a spell, quiet and stunned, and chatted with this old lady whom I’ve never met or knew. The world flew by, time drained away, but it didn’t matter. We sat together in a realm outside of this reality, and she told me gently about another world, in another time.

Something soft and warm moved in my chest, a place that I presumed was a cold chamber for a long time. I knew what she was talking about; the nostalgia, the old life, the happiness that will never return. I knew that loneliness, and on this cold October night, Nancy touched on my memories with that faint loneliness in her voice.

But somehow reality had to come back. When we both snapped back into our senses, it was obvious this conversation dragged on too long.

I said the courteous thank-you, but before hanging up�"almost against my senses and rationality�"I added:

“And Nancy…I know how hard it is to move to a new place. Believe me; I’ve only moved to this country about two years ago. But I also know it will get better. Good luck.”

She was mildly surprised, and thanked me serenely.

Then I pressed the end-call button, and she was gone�"out of my life.

I looked up from my desk, and took off my head-set. Something seemed different. Teenagers around me were still calling, reading off cards, trying to get a pay-check for local high schools…but what do they know?

What do they know about the life of that person on the other side of the phone? What do they know about the happiness and sadness that lodge deep inside those people who have lived sensibly in this world?

That smooth, slow, soft voice echoed in my head for some more time as I stared blankly into space. Then I put on the head-set, and dialed the next number.

The Phone-a-thon has been a while now. Whether Nancy succeeded in donating school supplies I would never know. Nor would I know if she has fitted into this place, this life, and found happiness or companionship. I hope she did�"even if not now, I’m sure she would in the end.

And I will always be grateful for that old lady whose face I’ve never seen, because she hypnotized me with her voice into saying those kind words�"words that carried warmth and hope. I know it will get better.

And because I actually believed in them those seconds I spoke.