The Answering Machine, Or, My Fictionally Impressive Debut in Fiction

I noticed the blinking red light when I first walked into the apartment.  It came from the kitchen counter.  Some appliance, I thought.  It was an appliance, but not the typical kitchen appliance that someone leaves in a barren apartment before a new tenant moves in.  A telephone.  Telephone?  Strange luxury.  I'd have preferred a dishwasher or a garbage disposal.  A cordless phone with an answering machine.  People still own these?  I thought they had become redundant.  Well I guess they have, considering that the previous tenant left it for my pleasure.  That and a few complementary fixtures: a paper towel holder and a toilet roll holder, plus a little mold settling in above the shower.

For weeks I let the light blink.  I was busy.  I had just moved to this quiet town from the city.  I didn't have much time to waste.  I had just finished school and needed money.  I had rent to pay and a dog to feed, not including myself.  My degree was in philosophy, so obviously I was qualified for absolutely nothing and everything.  I had no idea what I wanted to do.  But I was driven by the immediacy of money.  I needed to survive.

A few days after I moved here, I went downtown to the local coffee shop.  I had a cup of coffee and sat in front of my laptop searching for jobs.  I wasn't picky.  I fired off resumes to any opening I was remotely qualified.  Server jobs, cook positions, retail, wine jobs, I was in Napa after all.  But to no avail.  Nothing bit.

I kept coming back to the cafe.  I kept searching online.  The perfect job must exist out there.  After a day of hopeless searching, my eyes were continually drawn outside.  I closed my laptop, put it in my bag and stepped outside.  The sun had just broken through the gloom of the morning and it was shaping up to be a perfect June afternoon.  I crossed the street and approached the large patch of grass that nestled up against the river.  I sat down, placing my bag on the grass behind me to be used as a headrest.  I closed my eyes.

I must have drifted off because I twitched aggressively before my eyes opened.  Plus, as further proof of my further, I realized there was some drool dangling on the outside of the left corner of my mouth.  I wiped my mouth and rubbed my eyes.  I looked at my watch.  It was only a few minutes, but it felt like I had been laying there for a day.  I got up and headed back towards the cafe.

I could barely see as I crossed the street.  The sun was blinding and my eyes were sensitive from their recent slumber.  But it was a slow day in a slow town, so I didn't worry about getting hit by a car.  I made it across the street and opened the door to what I thought was the cafe.

It didn't take me long to realize that I had made a mistake.  I could feel eyes on me from all angles.  I slowly regained my vision in the less severe lighting of the room.  I scanned from left to right.  A stuffed deer angrily stared me down.  A man behind the bar gave me a confused, annoyed look.  The woman to my right informed me that they were closed.  I'm sorry, I said, as I noticed several more people frantically cleaning and preparing for what looked like a busy evening ahead.  I was embarrassed.  I turned and started for the door.  When I reached the door, I noticed a sign in the window conveying that they had just opened.

I turned around and asked the man in front of me if they were hiring.  He tapped the shoulder of the woman to his right.  She looked at him and he pointed toward me with raised eyebrows.  I asked her if they were hiring.  She smirked an exhausted smirk and told me to follow her.

We sat down at one of the booths of the bar.  I didn't know what to say, so I was honest.  I told her that I had no experience behind the bar, or in restaurants, but that I could learn quickly.  I had just graduated from a good university.

"What did you study?" the woman asked, giving away her Australian accent.

"Philosophy."

"Philosophy, eh?  Nice.  Practical choice."

"Thank you."

"I'm sorry.  That was rude of me.  My husband actually studied philosophy.  I like to tease him about it.  He actually runs the bar here.  I manage the restaurant upstairs."

"Oh, cool.  Is that him behind the bar?"

She laughed.  "No, thank god.  He will be here tomorrow. Listen, you seem like a smart kid.  We're in need some of help behind the bar.  Why don't you come back tomorrow.  Five o'clock.  White dress shirt, black tie, blue jeans.  We'll see if you fit."

"Really?  That would be great!  Thank you so much!  Tomorrow, five o'clock!"

I started that next day and worked the next day, and the day after that.  Before I knew it, I was working four to five nights a week.  It was stressful at first.  I had to study the cocktails in my spare time.  But I caught on quickly.  And the money was good.  I was able to cover rent, food and other expenses.   But even though I interacted with dozens of customers each night, I still hadn't made any meaningful connections.

Each night I'd come home around three a.m. to my dog, Gus, anxiously awaiting my arrival.  He was always made me feel at home.  Each night, however, it took a solid two hours before I could unwind after work.  Two to three glasses of whiskey, preferably Scotch, typically did the trick, although not always.  Some nights the sun would approach before I could drift off.  The noises of people starting their daily grind would creep up into my studio apartment, keeping me awake.  Despite my dog's companionship, I still felt alone.

As I laid on my back staring at the ceiling, exhausted but unable to sleep, I thought of that blinking red light.  I rolled over and noticed it coming from the kitchen.  It had been a month since I'd even noticed it.  That fucking phone.  I was still puzzled.  It finally occurred to me that there must be a reason why it was blinking.  Is there a message?

I clicked the play message button.

Virginia, if this is your number, this is your old friend Vic.  I'm returning your call.  My telephone number you have, but Ill give it to you again, 944-1037.  I'm uh very happy to hear from you.  I was wondering, er, looking for you.  Of course, I'm visually impaired like you, I can't see - haha - too good if you're errmental er not, but I've asked a few people aboutcha.  

Anyway, uh, if you wanna come up here this afternoon, I'll be here this afternoon, and I'll be here Saturday and Sunday afternooon, and right after lunch, so you're welcome to come up, you and your girlfriend, all ya gotta do is come in the front entrance of the Vet's Home, and right in the front of Section B there's a ramp, come up that ramp, and go into the lobby and take a left, or once you get into the lobby just ask anyone there and they'll tell you where we are.  Thank you so much for calling. It was very sweet of you to call. 

The answering machine let out a beep and then proclaimed, "end of messages."  I looked at Gus with a sad puzzled look.  He was looking back at me with a similarly sad and puzzled expression.

The sun was already up.  There was no way I was getting any sleep.  Especially not now.  My mind was racing after listening to the voicemail.  Who was this man?  Who was Virginia?  She must have been the previous tenant.  Or maybe he had the wrong number.  The man sounded very old and very sweet.  His voice sounded weak and he sounded lonely.  How long ago was this message left here?  Maybe I could still reconnect them.

I picked up the phone.  There was no dial tone.  This made sense.  I hadn't paid a phone bill in my month living here.  I picked up my cell phone and dialed the number.  I wasn't exactly sure why, but I felt compelled to do this.

"Hello," answered a tired, small voice.

"Hi, is this Vic?"

"Yea, it's me," he answered, following a few throat clearing coughs.

"I'm sorry to wake you."

"You didn't wake me.  I've been up since 3 am.  My voice always sounds like this.  I'm old."

There was an extended silence.  I let out a nervous chuckle.

"Who is this anyway?  Jimmy?"

"No, I apologize again.  You don't know me, but I'm returning your call of sorts.  You see, you left a voicemail on my answering machine, well, it's not my answering machine, it was left here when I moved in and..."

"Son," Vic interrupted, "you're gonna have to speak up.  I can't hear a damn thing."

I wished I would have given this some thought before I picked up the phone.  How do I explain this?  I shouldn't have called.  But I continued, I had to.  "I'm sorry," I spoke up.  "I'm not sure how to explain this, but I think you were trying to reach someone else but instead you called and left a message with me.  Virginia?  I think you were trying to reach..."

"Virginia Moon?  Oh, sweet Virginia Moon.  Bless her heart," he let out a big sigh.

"Yes...  Um, I'm sorry to say that your message never reached her."

"Son, I know."

More silence. I didn't know what to say.  "You do?"

"Virginia died three years ago."

Suddenly, I somehow felt responsible for this, for his pain and for Virginia's death.  Obviously, I didn't know Virginia, or this man who I was now speaking with, but somehow I felt responsible for the sadness he was now reliving.  I had disturbed his peace to dig up old wounds.  I wanted to do something to fix it.  He sounded so fragile yet feisty.

"I'm so sorry, sir."

"Oh, it's fine.  Three years is a long time."

"I just thought I'd try to connect you with the person you were trying to..."

"So you must be over at the Mount Avenue studio?"  He clearly wanted to move on.

"Yea, I've been here about a month."

"Nice, isn't it?  And what's your name?"

"My name is John."

"Nice to meet you, John.  I'm Vic.  I live over at the Vet's home.  The Veteran's home next to the golf course, ya know.  Just a few blocks from you.  Been here a while now."

In struggling over what to say next, I noticed Gus was getting anxious.  He was staring at the door, pacing and wagging his tail.  He was telling me that he was ready for his walk and that he had some business to take care of.   He barked.

"Well, Vic, it was nice to meet you, but I better run.  My dog is dying to get outside," I said, hurriedly.

"Oh, of course. What kind of dog do you have, by the way?"

"He's a black lab."

"Ahhh, lab's are great dogs.  Well, listen John, old folks like me don't talk to young folks like yourself all too often.  And, I'll tell you what, it wasn't half bad," he let out a good laugh that turned into three deep coughs.  He took a deep breath, "and since you called a stranger to ask a question, I'm wanna ask you one: would you do me a favor?"

"Sure," I responded quickly and unexpectedly trustfully.

"Are you going to take your dog for a walk right now?" he asked in a high-pitched and innocent tone.

"Yea, I was going to take him around the block." I was puzzled.

"Are you a reader?"

"Yea, I love to read."

"And you're young, so I know you watch the movies."

"Yepp."

"Well, John, I've been in this place for twenty some-odd years and I've just about read and watched every damned thing we've got in here.  And I can't go to the bookstore on my own anymore, and the place where I used to rent movies went out of business years ago."

I was beginning to figure out what he was asking for.  "Do you want me to bring you a book or a movie?"

"I hate to ask.  But if you were already going to be out.  You wouldn't mind extending your walk and letting me borrow a book and a movie from you?"

"No, that's not a problem.  Do you have a preference?"

"John, thank you, son.  Just bring the best book and movie you've enjoyed recently.  I'm not picky."

We hung up.  I grabbed a book and a movie off the shelf.  I looked for Gus's leash and upon finding it he absolutely couldn't stand it anymore.  He yipped, whimpered and shook his body uncontrollably.  Calm down, buddy.  We're going.  We're going!

I know that, objectively, I should have probably been a little more cautious and less trusting--I mean, all of the sudden I am personally delivering entertainment to an old man who I have never met before--but, subjectively, I was just as excited as Gus.  There was something about the way Vic spoke that was warm.  I mean, his message to Virginia was sweet.  Plus, there's something about him being a veteran that instilled trust too.  His voice was how I imagined my grandfather's.

After all, I was the one who called him.  Maybe he should be the one who is a little creeped out.  But he seemed unfazed.  The man was just in desperate need for some entertainment.  More than anything, he was probably in need of some company.

Well, I guess that made two of us.

We'll See

Just over a year ago, Tracy and I laid on our backs in Yountville, staring at the ceiling with thoughts swirling.  Tracy had just accepted my proposal.  We were going to get married.  Married.  We were ecstatic.  This changed everything.  We shared a bottle of wine and called family.  The joy was contagious and overwhelming.  

We tried to sleep.  Because the lead up to the proposal left me exhausted, I crashed.  Because of Tracy being blindsided by my proposal, she couldn't sleep.  We knew there was still so much to do in the next year.  Finish school, the bar exam, plan a wedding, find jobs.  But we felt reassured knowing we were going through it together.  

Last night, we laid on our backs in the same place, staring again at the ceiling wondering how it all happened so fast.  Where did the year go?  Did this all really happen?  

All of it did happen.  We finished law school.  We took the bar exam.  We got married.  We found (temporary) jobs.  It was our year.  The wedding was magical.  The honeymoon was perfect.  The Giants won the World Series.  My skeeball team won the brewskeeball championship.  We've started settling in on our own, in a town that we love.  We seemed invincible.  There was only one more hurdle and we felt confident in our vertical.  

But last night, the rug was pulled out from under us.  This time I was the one who was blindsided.  But instead of a marriage proposal, it was a denial that blindsided me.  

"This applicant was not successful in passing the bar exam," read the screen in bold red letters.  It had to be a mistake.  Maybe I didn't type the numbers in correctly.  I tried again.  ID Number: 5969.  File #: 419897.  "This applicant was not successf...." I couldn't look.  I didn't prepare for this.  Neither did Tracy.  She typed in my numbers just in case.  Same result.  

She then typed in her numbers as I looked over her shoulder.  In bold green letters read, "This applicant was successful in passing the bar exam."  We both cried.  She wanted it to be me.  I wanted it to be her. I felt her success.  She felt my pain. 

The night was equally beautiful and painful. Half of me passed and half of her didn't.  

While I laid awake last night, this fable kept reoccurring in my head:

An old farmer who needs his horse to plow the land and grow crops discovers that his horse has disappeared. His neighbors lament for him, “Oh how terrible. You will have such hardship.” The old farmer looked at them and simply said, “We’ll see.” 

The horse returned with a mare and all the neighbors said, “Oh how lucky you are. You now have two horses.” The farmer contemplated and said, “We’ll see.” 

The farmer’s son rode the feisty, new mare, fell off and broke his leg. “Oh how dreadful,” the neighbors said. “You’ll lose a hand to work the land.” Again the farmer shrugged and said, “We’ll see.” 

Finally some soldiers came to the farmer’s house looking for army recruits. When they saw the son’s broken leg, they let him be.

There's still so much to grapple with.  I'm not sure what it all means.  I'm not sure if this a sign that this is not my calling, that maybe I'm supposed to do something else.  Maybe one attorney in the family is plenty.  Who knows.  Tracy always did better than me in law school.  I had to fight tooth and nail just to stay afloat in law school.  It was never easy.  

Or maybe it means something entirely different. Maybe it means that I am supposed to be a lawyer, but one who's had to take a winding path.  Maybe I just have to dust myself off and keep fighting...

We'll see.  

I don't have to figure that out right now.  For now, I am continually reminded of how much there is to be grateful for.  Health, family, friends, my wife, free legal representation.  In the end, I'm confident that this is something I'll be grateful for.  I'm just not sure when, how, or why that will be.

We'll see.  

It rained all night.  But when I woke up around 10 after a fitful night of sleep, there was a break in the rain.  Tracy and I threw on our running clothes and ran through the vineyards of Yountville.  The clouds were moving quickly and the sun fought to break through.  As we ran, we talked and talked and talked.  When we got to the end of the run before we loop back, we started to feel a sense of peace and acceptance.  We walked and caught our breath.  Tracy grabbed my arm and stopped.  She pointed to the left, above the vineyards and just before the foothills.  We had never seen a more perfect rainbow.  Vibrant colors and a perfect shape.  We could see both the beginning and the end of it.  What does it mean?

We'll see.