One Ringy-Dingy ... Two Ringy-Dingy ...

Unavailable Name and Number

One Ringy-Dingy ... Two Ringy-Dingy ...

There it is. That sound, ominous, forbidding, scares you with a shudder. It wakes you from your deepest sleep. It catches you unawares just as you've decided to have a late night soak in a hot bath. It startles you in the morning even before your first cup of coffee.

It's the sound of your telephone ringing, buzzing, or playing some inane ringtone, just when you thought your day was over or your day hadn't really begun yet.

Night time telephone calls are almost never about good news. Even a midnight booty call from someone you dated way back when, someone who has decided to "just call you up and see what you're doing" is intrusive.

"What am I doing?" you ask, as you consider the current state of your readiness for a overnight guest. "What am I doing? Why, I'm sleeping," you add as you slam down the phone. Don't worry. That person on the other end of the call has already moved on to the next number on the speed dial.

Any other night time phone call seems a prelude to bad news.

Ring, ring. Auntie Marie has passed away.

Ring, ring. Dad has had a heart attack and is in Memorial General.

Ring, ring. René has run away from home.

Ring, ring. Bill has left me and taken the kids to Watertown.

Ring, ring. Honey, I still love you, and I don't want you to leave me ... please ... give me another chance.

What is it about these kinds of "emergencies" that they have to shared at all hours of the night. Certainly, some things need immediate attention, but for the most part, life goes on. In fact, most of these critical moments are seen much better after a good night's sleep. Most trauma-dramas seem to be less harsh, less severely overwhelming, at the break of darkness in the light of a new day.

In most cases of mid-night telephone conversations, there is nothing immediate that you can do, except listen to the sadness or anger of your caller. If Auntie Marie has passed away, well, there's little you can do. After all, she's dead, and yes, it's sad, but really, why must we gear up the grieving process ASAP?

Bad news is bad news. Nobody begs for it. Nobody wants to jump into tears in a state of semi-conscious sleep.

Ring, ring. Here's your midnight snack. Pain on a pita.

No thanks. No thanks. Take a couple of Tylenol, let me sleep, and call me in the morning. The bad news will still be bad when I wake up. If need be, I will probably be able to cry with you much better after my first cup of Kenendy's Koffee.

Then, again, sometimes you're surprised. Today, when the phone rang in the wee hours of the morning — early, far to early for some sad telemarketer trying to sell me a subscription to Outdoor World or a Mutual Life insurance policy — I was startled.

Ring, ring. "This can't be good," I thought as I checked the call display and saw only Unavailable Name and Number.

Ring, ring. "What in world?" I wondered as my mind raced from one disastrous scenario to another.

For a moment, I considered letting the call go to the answering machine, but at the last moment, I picked up, despite all my feelings of sheer dread.

Then I heard a familiar voice say in the most sultry, sleepy tone, "I just wanted to tell you how much I love you."

Instead of hearing some nightmarish news, I heard an affirmation. Could this call have waited until morning? Yes, of course it could, but I'm glad it came when it did.

Death can wait. Worry can wait. Heartbreak can wait. I'm not sure love can wait. And if it can, I don't want it to wait.

Words of love streaming across the airwaves or along a maze of telephone lines that connect us are like no other telephone calls. They have no context of time or appropriateness, and they are welcome into my world any time of day or night.