This is really good, so I feel the need to post this today. Good stuff! For the idiots out there, including my sister, this is merely an email. THIS DID NOT HAPPEN TO ME. Beth


Midnight Phone Call

We all know what it's like to get that phone call in the middle of the

night. This night's call was no different. Jerking up to the ringing

summons, I focused on the red illuminated numbers of my clock.
Midnight.
Panicky thoughts filled my sleep-dazed mind
as I grabbed the receiver.

Hello?"

My heart pounded; I gripped the phone tighter and eyed my husband, who
was
now turning to face my side of the bed. "Mama?" I could hardly hear
the
whisper over the static. But my thoughts immediately went to my
daughter.
When the desperate sound of a young crying voice became clearer on the
line,
I grabbed for my husband and squeezed his wrist.

"Mama, I know it's late, but don't...don't say anything, until I
finish.
And
before you ask, yes, I've been drinking. I nearly ran off
the road a
few miles back, and..."
I drew in a sharp shallow breath, released my husband and pressed my
hand
against my forehead. Sleep still fogged my mind and I attempted to
fight
back the panic. Something wasn't right.
"And I got so scared. All I could think about was how it would hurt
you
if
a policeman came to your door and said I'd been killed. I want..to
come
home. I know running away was wrong. I know you've been worried sick.
I should have called you days ago, but I was afraid...afraid..."
Sobs of deep-felt emotion flowed from the receiver and poured into my
heart.
Immediately I pictured my daughter's face in my mind and my fogged
senses
seemed to clear. "I think--"
"No! Please let me finish! Please!" She pleaded, not so much in
anger
but
in desperation.
I paused and tried to think of what to say. Before I could go on, she
continued, "I'm pregnant, Mama. I know I shouldn't be
drinking now...especially now, but I'm scared, Mama. So scared!" The
voice
broke again and I bit into my lip, feeling my own eyes fill with
moisture.
I looked at my husband who sat silently mouthing, "Who is it?"
I shook my head and when I didn't answer, he jumped up and left the
room,
returning seconds later with
the portable phone held to his ear. She must

have heard the click in the line because she continued, "Are you still
there? Please don't hang up on me! I need you. I feel so alone."
I clutched the phone and stared at my husband, seeking guidance. "I'm
here,
I wouldn't hang up," I
said.
"I know I should have told you, Mama. But when we talk, you just keep
telling me what I should do. You read all those pamphlets on how to
talk
about sex and all, but all you do is talk. You don't listen to me. You
never let me tell you how I feel. It is as if my feelings aren't
important.
Because you're my mother, you think you have all the
answers. But
sometimes
I don't need answers. I just want someone to listen"
I swallowed the lump in my throat and stared at the
how-to-talk-to-your-kids
pamphlets scattered on my night stand. "I'm listening," I whispered.
"You know, back there on the road, after I got the car under control,
I started thinking about the baby and taking care of it. Then I saw this
phone booth and it was as if I could hear you preaching about people
shouldn't
drink
and drive. So I called a taxi. I want to come
home."

"That's good, Honey," I said as relief filled my chest. My husband
came
closer, sat down beside me and laced his fingers through mine. I knew

from his touch that he thought I was doing and saying the right thing. "But
you
know, I think I can drive now."

"No!" I snapped. My muscles stiffened, and I tightened the clasp on my
husband's hand. "Please, wait for the taxi. Don't hang up on me until
the
taxi gets there." "I just want to come home, Mama."
"I know. But do this for your mama. Wait for the taxi, please." I
listened to the silence in fear. When I didn't hear her answer, I bit
into
my lip and closed my eyes. Somehow I had to stop her from
driving.

"There's the taxi, now."
Only when I heard someone in the background asking about a Yellow Cab
did I
feel my tension easing.

"I'm coming home, Mama."
There was a click and the phone went silent. Moving from the bed with
tears forming
in my eyes, I walked out into the hall and went to stand in
my
sixteen-year-old daughter's room. The dark silence hung thick. My
husband
came from behind, wrapped his arms around me and rested his chin on
the
top
of my head. I wiped the tears from my cheeks. "We have to learn
to
listen," I said.

He pulled me around to face him. "We'll learn. You'll see." Then he

took
me into his arms and I buried my head in his shoulder. I let him hold
me
for

several moments, then I pulled back and

stared back at the bed. He

studied

me for a second, then asked, "Do you think she'll ever know she dialed
the

wrong number?"



I looked at our sleeping daughter, then back at him. "Maybe it wasn't

such

a wrong

number."



"Mom, Dad, what are you doing?" The muffled young voice came from

under

the

covers. I walked over to my

daughter, who now sat up staring into the darkness. "We're practicing,"
I

answered.



"Practicing what?" she mumbled and laid back on the mattress, her eyes

already closed in

slumber.



"Listening," I whispered, and brushed a hand over her cheek.