Telephone Line

"Hello, how are you?

Have you been alright

Through all those lonely, lonely, lonely, lonely nights?"

- Telephone Line, ELO

There was a time when I used to love talking on the phone. This was before the ubiquity of the Internet, before cell phones, texting, video calls, etc. It was also before I had a job, and much of the work I've ended up doing over the years has fallen under the designation of customer service, where I would interact with folks either in-person or over the phone. That can wear down one's capacity for certain types of contact methods during off-hours. This was before all of that. This was when I was a bright-eyed and bushy-tailed young person.

As a teenager, I had the privilege of having a telephone in my bedroom. I'd love to describe how this was some sort of lifeline for a lonely, teenage Matthew, but that would, for the most part, be a bit overdramatic. The equipment came in handy for making quick plans with one or two friends, but that was pretty much it. Then, I joined a radio theatre troupe, and there I met someone who would become a fixture in my life for awhile. Her name was Zuzanna. She was from Poland, but had been living in the states for some time, and her Americanized name was Susan. She was close to my age, maybe slightly older, and went to the local university laboratory high school.

There were the adults in our radio theatre group (ranging in ages from 20s through 60s), and then there were the teens. Susan and I were part of the latter group. Not all of us got along, but her and I managed to bond somehow. We would talk on the phone for several hours, 3 to 4 nights a week. It is nearly impossible to imagine, as a middle-aged adult, what on earth we could have discussed so often and for so long, yet that's what we did. Susan was fun, and she was also an intellectual. Our topics of conversation were far-reaching. Of course, our friendship was very much in-person, as well as over the phone, but those nightly calls were where we truly connected.

As I got older, I became less and less enchanted with using the telephone. And, as an adult, I've actually loathed it. There's a friend who is my exact opposite in that regard -- he dislikes texting, and prefers verbal conversations over the phone. It has actually led to some tension in our friendship at times. Thankfully, most of the people in my social circles are into texting as the primary means of communication. Isn't that how it is with everyone these days, save a few?

Something odd has happened over the course of the last nine months. There are occasions, increasingly noticeable in their frequency, where I'm sitting around, moodily staring at my laptop, and thinking, 'I want talk with someone on the phone.' This is usually later at night, after Ashley's nodded-off, and I'm alone with my thoughts. There's a sometimes overriding sense of wanting to connect with friends. Texting and direct messaging won't do. It needs to be a phone call. Of course, this never happens, because no one talks on the phone anymore for more than a few minutes. Also, I'd feel odd even broaching it with someone.

There is an affinity in hearing the human voice, when it is part of a focused and sustained conversation between persons who care about one another. Zoom and Skype aren't quite the same because they include the distraction of visual cues. When it's just the voice, just two people directly listening and talking with each other, sharing their thoughts and details about their lives, separated by distance but brought together by a phone call... that sort of platonic intimacy can be deeply impactful. It can heal the soul in ways we aren't consciously aware of.

I hadn't thought of the beautifully lengthy phone conversations with Susan in awhile, but they've been on my mind recently. Maybe it's the pandemic, the sense of isolation from so many who used to be a commonplace part of my life? Maybe it's the enriching experience it was to know her, to bask in her intelligence, to listen to her talk? Perhaps it was her smile? Or how she was one of the few people to laugh at my jokes back then? Or how she gave me a copy of Jean-Paul Sartre's No Exit for my birthday, and I remember thinking how it was the most surprising and eye-opening gift I'd received up to then (we'd discussed Sartre in one of our conversations -- she wanted me to read something by him).

It's been a long time since I've talked with Susan. It had been awhile since I'd had really nice, serious, catch-up, 'Hi, how are you?' conversation with a friend, but that changed yesterday. I had a conversation with someone I've known for awhile. We used to see each other for escape room excursions, movies, walks during break time at work, and the occasional lunch. We'd texted a few times since the pandemic began, as has been the case with several other friends. When, quite out of the blue, he suggested a day and time for a phone call, my initial reaction was to do the knee-jerk recoil that I've done for so long as an adult. And then, rather quickly, the aforementioned longing for a verbal chat with someone, to hear a friendly voice as we engaged in conversation, took over, and I said yes. We talked for about an hour, and it was nice.

The phone call wasn't like those sublime conversations of yore with Susan, but then nothing will likely  compare with those. What I appreciated about yesterday's call was that it provided an opportunity for a sustained, verbal exchange. We could hear each other's intonations as we spoke, gaining a better understanding than the somewhat impersonal form of texting could ever provide. I'd like to do this more often with those close to me. I can't believe I'm saying it, after all the years of adulthood where I've despised that form of communication, but then these are strange times we find ourselves in.