Can you hear me now? (A rant.)

I remember a time when my mother would get a phone call,

and the world would stop.

The telephone had prime spots in our three-story home. 

One in the kitchen, one on my mother’s bedside table, and one on the third floor landing. 

As a preteen I recall the first telephone call I got from a boy.  I was certain that between all the concrete blocks and miles of wires he could see my flushed face, and hear my heartbeat…pounding, pounding. 

As I grew to a teen, I could easily spend hours chatting with friends about everything and nothing. 

Telephone cords were stretched long in an effort to shut a door somewhere. 

You could try for a private conversation, but the reality was, your laughter and words were carried through the house like a hum or a chime.

When I was a little girl, my mother would settle into the side of her bed, remove her cleaning gloves, and start talking, and laughing, and um humming. 

I would lie on the bed, settling my head in her lap, as she would stroke my hair, and talked with her friend on the other end.  I would know within moments, based on the tone of my mother’s voice, or through the faint, tinny sound of the person on the receiver just who was chatting with her.  I’d feign sleep and hear gossip, and stories, and jokes that I didn’t quite understand…but was thrilled to be privy to them anyway. 

It was the ultimate way of reaching out and connecting to another person, intimate, and whole.  It was a way to remain a part of the family unit, your voice and self never out of touch with everyone else in your home world.

Before I go on – let’s just get one thing straight – I love technology.  Adore it, 
in fact.

Today, I tried reaching out to an old friend.  We’ve kept tabs on each other for years.

When telephone calls were too tricky, we switched to AOL…

You’ve got mail…remember? 

From there we went to straight emails.  Then texts. 

Then Facebook messages. Then Snapchat.

Then Viber. 

Then there’s Instagram, Twitter and

go ahead – call some other ones out – you know them. 

Now today.

Somewhere along the way the laughter has left, as did the words. 

Our communication and connections had become so economical, that what was left, in the end of it, was a void.

There are circles, chat rooms, and group boards.  Suddenly the word “friend” has an entirely different meaning.

No one on my family knows with whom I’m talking to when I’ve my phone in my hand. 

And certainly, no one would lie their head down on my lap while I text.

Today – the world never stops.  And I’m left wondering –
who can hear me now?