Call me anytime.

Three simple words. Maybe you've even said them yourself. Maybe people have said them to you. I know exactly how many people have said them to me. Three.



The first person to tell me to call anytime was my grandmother. She actually told me I could call collect too. (I'm the only one in the family that ever got that half of the offer.) She told me she was up late every night, at least until nine. That part stills makes me smile. She died fifteen years ago this summer. She was my confidence. She was the one who reminded me not to be intimidated by other people with fancier backgrounds, that didn't mean that anything they had to say was worth listening to anymore than anything I had to say. I still have a letter she wrote me when I was at a summer prep school program the summer between my junior and senior years of high school. It's a total pep talk. I kept it close, on my desk, through college after she died. Whenever I need a little hit of Grandma C, there it was. She was a very wise woman, a very tough woman. She got a scholarship to attend college, but couldn't use it because she was the only one in her family with a job. It was still a pretty big accomplishment for the oldest child of two Irish immigrants with nothing more than primary school educations themselves. She was a cop, walked a beat third shift during WWII, while my grandfather was in the South Pacific. She taught all of us, especially my sister and me, that nothing in the world is as important as your family, that if you're bored you can always take a walk, reading is the most basic way to learn and you never get too old to take advantage of it and if you can't sleep, there's nothing wrong with saying a rosary or two. All of my best qualities I attribute to her.

My college boyfriend was the second person to tell me I could call him anytime. I believe he lived to regret it. There's one night, or early morning, in particular that comes to mind, but first, I should explain something about myself. I hoard. I can't explain why, as I've never gone hungry, but I hoard food. Most often it's candy, cookies or junk food that I hoard. In most cases I never eat it. Sometimes, one of my family members will come to visit and find my stash and eat it, most likely it goes bad and gets thrown out. But it's not like I hide it either ~ they'll find the stash of Easter candy in the cabinet or the months old ice cream in the freezer. My family can't understand this habit. I'm apparently the only person in the family who can have this kind of stuff around without eating it this minute. I believe that's why they find my hoarding so strange. But back to the story. I had a Christmas stocking that someone had given me full of miniature Reeses and Hershey's Kisses and such, so, of course, instead of eating the candy, I just stuffed the whole thing in my bottom desk drawer. Now, I lived in an apartment in a converted row house in Baltimore, which meant shared walls and critters visiting once in a while no matter how clean you kept things. Apparently on one of these visits, some mouse found my Christmas stash and one Spring night I was awoken by the sound of mice feasting on candy wrapped in foil. (Trust me, if you've ever heard this, you wouldn't forget the sound.) So, I was a little freaked out by the noise that was obviously IN my bedroom and we didn't live in the safest neighborhood (there is no such place in Baltimore City or at least there wasn't in the early 90s), so I called my boyfriend. By that time I had identified the noise, remembered the Christmas Stocking, turned on the light etc, and just couldn't get back to sleep. He wasn't exactly thrilled to have been woken up and asked what was probably a rather sensible question ~ what do you want me to do about it? Actually nothing. I didn't want him to do anything, except keep me company until the feasting ended and I could go back to sleep. So I probably kept him awake 90 minutes in the middle of the night, while I tried different methods of persuading the mice to leave the desk (they would not) and passed the time until they quieted down and I could go back to sleep. Consider this a public apology, 13 or 14 years late. I'm embarrassed to admit that I was ever (clinches teeth) that high maintenance and that I abused your affection. I'm sorry.

Funny to admit in an entry that was supposed to go in an entirely different direction, but it really means little to publicly apologize to a person who is about as likely to read this blog as, say, Jon Stewart. (And I would know JS had the blog because he would be trying to get in touch with me to write for his show, duh!!)

Now, it's just assumed that you can call your parents at any time, but only for certain reasons. I could never have pulled off the mice feast fiasco on my parents. Although, I think my father would have played along for a good fifteen minutes or so. You also really can't drunk dial your parents ~ if you do drunk dial your parents, you have a pathology far more serious that my hoarding tendencies... And, you should refer back to the "Dirty Little Secrets" post, because I really think "I drunk dial my parents" belongs there. But what I'm saying, is in case of emergency, you can always call your parents. I'm not saying you'll always get through. It took me half an hour of busy signals to get my mother on the phone when I called from the ER after getting in a car accident on the way to a friend's wedding. And,no, they still wouldn't get call waiting!!! I think the "call me anytime" with parents is more of a mutual understanding. There are certain situations where you are expected to call them, regardless of the hour, they would be upset if you didn't.

Now, the last person who told me to call anytime, and the only person I currently have a standing offer with, lives about 6 time zones away or so. He's probably getting ready to go to work now, while I'm considering getting to sleep. We've had the agreement, which was reciprocal, until I moved into my sister's, for over a year now. We both happened to be going through some really bad stuff at the same time, completely different stuff, but bad none the less. I guess it helps to know that someone else feels like crap, that someone else feels alone and scared of what's next, scared to stay in the same place, but even more afraid to step forward. I can't completely understand what he's going through or gone through, having never been there myself and the same goes for him and my life, but we've known each other forever and even if we don't have faith in ourselves, we have faith in each other. When he found out I got fired, he reiterated the offer. I hold that offer in my pocket like a tiny piece of a childhood security blanket. I know he will cheer me up, make me laugh, convince me that I'll be fine, make fun of the entire incident with me, provide suggestions of how karma may act out in this instance. He won't offer platitudes about how this is for the best or offer pity for my horrible luck. He'll remind me of who I am, that I land on my feet, that I'll be just fine, stronger, even. Have I taken him up on the offer? Of course not. Will I? I don't know. Maybe just having the option is enough right now.