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Sometimes They Call Back

A mysterious phone call delivers a message from the beyond

By shannon m burkePublished 2 years ago 12 min read
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Sometimes They Call Back

By Shannon M. Burke

The phone was ringing. Racing into the kitchen to grab it before the machine picked up, Kate glanced at the caller ID. The call was coming from her mother’s house. Jamming her finger down onto the ON button, she answered just in time.

“Mom?” A palpable silence stretched out between the lines. Kate paused--taut nerves thrumming in her ears, as she waited for a response to verify the voice on the other end of the phone. She held her breath, before gathering the courage to call out again.

“Mom?!!” Kate waited a few more moments, before she got up in a daze and started towards the base to hang up the phone. Just as she was lowering it, a small, tinny voice spoke up from the receiver,

“Hell – lo?”

Clutching at the telephone, Kate raised it again pressing it to her ear. “Mom!!!”

“Hello?” Her mother’s voice still sounded frail and far away, despite the fact that Kate had the receiver jammed against her ear so hard that it was starting to hurt.

“Mom! It’s me Kate!” Silence fell between the lines again and Kate’s stomach dropped as she slipped back into the chair.

“Speak up, I can’t hear you!” Her mother’s voice crackled back onto the line sounding agitated.

“Mom!!! It’s me! It’s Kate!!! Mom!!” Silence fell again, and then a resounding click, signaling the disconnect between the lines. Her heart lurched into her throat as the heaviness of what had just happened sank in. Staring dumbly at the phone a clawing, desperate, anxiety crept in making her head light and her heart race. It wasn’t like she could call her back, if only it were that easy. She couldn’t call back because her mother was in a place where she couldn’t be reached. When you’re dead, there’s no address to visit other than the local cemetery and there’s definitely no number for someone to return a phone call.

#

The phone was ringing. “Mom! Ma-maaaa!” Finn’s voice yelled up to her from downstairs. Kate’s eyes hot and gritty from lack of sleep, fluttered open then shut again. Groaning, she flipped over onto her stomach deciding to ignore it and her son too. Fragmented memories from last night's dream flashed through the fog.

Ringing phone. Caller ID. Mom. Mom.

The last thought slapped her into full consciousness – it couldn’t be. Still tangled in her bed sheets, Kate tripped out of bed and reaching blindly for her glasses started to stumble downstairs towards the kitchen-until halfway there she realized she must be going crazy. Certifiable. What was she thinking?!! Her mother had died almost a year ago to the day. Lately the dreams were becoming more frequent, and the more frequent they became the less she’d slept.

The dreams were always pretty much the same; the house phone would be ringing or she’d be out somewhere and her cell phone would ring, one time it was even Jack’s phone- sometimes she would hear her mother’s voice on the other end and sometimes she couldn’t hear her at all, yet nonetheless Kate knew it was her. No matter which phone she answered, the dreams always ended the same--her mother would say hello and Kate would respond, but she could never get through.

She leaned against the doorway to the kitchen and rubbed her brow. Her seven year old, Finn was fighting with his five year old sister over the last bowl of their favorite cereal. Her three year old was sitting contentedly in his booster seat watching the whole show go down as he gobbled down a fistful of strawberries that had left sticky red splotches all over his cheeks and nose. Her daughter’s voice was starting to reach what she and Jack called “The Banshee Pitch.” Paddy dropped a mushy strawberry and covered his ears, smearing red juice into his already tangled sandy brown hair.

“Moooomeeee!!!” The Banshee had spotted her and clearly thought that the louder she yelled the faster the situation would get resolved, clearly in her favor. Kate just stared dumbly at the chaos unfolding around her, unable to find her mom voice just yet. Jack flew into the room; suit on, bare foot, hair styled, beard untrimmed. Clearly he had been trying to get ready for work. Jack shot her an irritated look then refereed until everyone was calm again.

He turned towards her, “You were standing right there!” “Why didn’t you–”

The words dropped off. Her eyes were bloodshot, her curly hair a tousled mat of frizz, and she probably didn’t realize it yet but her glasses were sitting sideways on her nose. “The dreams again?”

Kate just nodded.

His look had changed from one of irritability to concern. “Look, I can cancel my morning and early afternoon appointments, but I’ll need you to grab the kids from school – why don’t you try and lay back down?” She felt terrible about the idea of him canceling meetings--again.

“Jack I don’t think you should…” The irony wasn’t lost on her that the person she used to call for help was at the very root of her unrest. He gestured at himself before pulling her into his arms.

“Look at me! I’m a mess too this morning, just get some rest, we’ll talk later.” He kissed the top of her head and then turned his attention back to Paddy who had reached into his sister’s nearby cereal bowl and was starting to throw soggy cheerios across the table.

#

She had found a quiet, high-backed, booth at the back of the bar and watched as beads of sweat ran down her frosted glass of Riesling. Gemma had phoned a few minutes ago to tell her she’d be running late. A week had passed since her last dream about her mother, but sleep hadn’t gotten any better--she’d been trying to turn in early but kept waking up, twice every night and at the same exact time; 11:11 and 1:11. It was the strangest thing.

“So sorry to keep you Kate!” The musical lilt of Gemma’s Indian accent interrupted her thoughts.

Kate looked up and smiled at her oldest friend then stood to give her a hug. “Oh Gemma! You’re a sight for sore eyes!”

She laughed, hugging her back, “You as well… I had quite the day--my patients were… well, let’s just say there have been better days!”

Gemma’s voice was light enough but her gray eyes were solemn. As a pediatric oncologist at Mt. Sinai, Gemma’s days were rarely bright and breezy. But it was an occupation that she believed to be her life’s work and that she did--tirelessly, day and night. Once when Kate had jokingly asked if she ever rested, Gemma had smiled sadly then responded, “Cancer never sleeps Kate.” On the rare times that their schedules coordinated they would usually meet at their favorite pub for a bite to eat and a glass of wine--it was a rare treat for the both of them.

“I’ve been dreaming about her so much Gem, it’s been getting worse the closer it gets to her anniversary and when I’m not losing sleep dreaming about her, I’m losing sleep waking up at the same time every night--two different times anyways--every night!!! I’m so tired all of the time and the kids have been brutal lately--I’m completely overwhelmed and under rested.”

After catching up for the past few hours Kate had gotten to the heart of what her mundane existence had become--one big rinse, wash, repeat, cycle.

Gemma thoughtfully mulled over all that her friend had confided. “What time do you wake up at?”

“11:11, 1:11, why?”

Instead of answering Gemma asked another question. “Have you been writing?” Not sure which direction her friend was taking her Kate shook her head in confusion. “How long has it been?”

Kate thought about it. “It’s been a year.” A year since she had found her mother in the house she had grown up in, she had been sitting in her father’s favorite chair with a lukewarm cup of coffee sitting on the coffee table. An aneurysm--they had told her when they did the autopsy, Gemma had told her even if she had gotten there sooner there wouldn’t have been anything she could’ve done. Still, she had felt cheated and angry. Her father had died when she was little and now to lose her mother too, at 35…. “She never answers me.” She didn’t realize she had said the words until Gemma responded.

“Did you ever think that maybe you’re not letting her?”

“Wha--What do you mean?”

“Maybe she’s trying to tell you something Kate, it might be what these dreams are all about--but it’s possible that even though you think you’re trying to hear her, you’re too upset to let her through.”

Kate was baffled, “So what do you think the eleven’s mean?”

Gemma nodded her head in thought then answered.

“From a numerological standpoint, some people say that when you are seeing a sequence of numbers such as 111, 222 and so on, that they are divine messages that may mean different things for each individual, the particular numbers that they are seeing seems to hold a certain relevance as well. Many people around the world have reported on this phenomenon--and it is believed for example, that when 11, 111, 1111 or numbers that add up to this sum start appearing, there can be several interpretations.”

Gemma paused for a moment avoiding Kate’s eyes, then took a small, neat, sip of her half empty glass of red wine and continued.

“There are a few that I have read of, and one would be that to see these numbers means to keep your thoughts positive--that your guides in this world are letting you know that it is time to awaken to your life’s true purpose and to let you know that they are there. Often times when people are going through their darkest hour are when these signs start to appear, and it seems to happen most when people start to lose their way.”

Gemma looked up.

“There is more going on in our world than is visible to the naked eye Kate, an extra layer of fabric--so to speak--as delicately woven as a shimmering string of gossamer just out of our reach and oftentimes beyond our comprehension.”

Kate just stared at Gemma in disbelief. “Gemma, you’re a scientist--you don’t actually believe in this stuff do you?!”

Gemma just smiled and pulled a legal sized plain white envelope from her purse. She slid it across the table towards Kate.

“Open this soon and I think you should start writing again. I know it’s hard for you, but maybe your relief is in your writing. I think you might be able to help others if you can start to pull your pieces back together--or maybe writing will do that for you.”

Kate shook her head, “I don’t know about that Gem--I mean you’re the one who cures cancer…”

“Don’t you think that words can heal? That stories can inspire?”

It wasn’t that late but the bartender had turned off the jukebox a while back, Kate hadn’t noticed until now. Gemma stood up to give her a hug as some of the lights at the back of the bar started to wink off. Kate mulled it over without responding and hugged her friend back. Gemma had parked out front and insisted on driving her to her car in the parking ramp. Just before she got out Kate found herself asking “Do you think I’ll hear from her again?”

Gemma grinned, “Sometimes they call back.”

#

Kate was still mulling over her conversation with Gemma from the night before, when she had managed to sneak off into her garden. She was hoping to pull some weeds and try and plant some of the new perennials she had just bought at the garden center, when Finn found her. Finn--her first baby who was growing up too fast--over the past year he had started to lose most of his boyish pudginess with the exception of his face and hands.

His hands had always been one of her favorite features other than his round and rosy apple cheeks that were constantly flushed. His hands had always been big; as a baby, a toddler and even now as a rapidly growing boy--She and Jack had always joked that they were like miniature bear paws. They had grown along with the rest of him but were still chubby and dimpled. Her initial reaction was agitation at being disturbed until she saw the remnants of her baby boy in those hands that stretched out before her.

His fingers were covered in marker stains and his nails were dirty, but instead of shooing him off to the bathroom to clean them her eyes filled with tears as she looked up into his face. He was beaming down at her, his thick shock of wild brown hair was covered in cowlicks that were sticking up every which way and his big, chocolate eyes were twinkling.

“Mama, I picked these for you!”

A tangle of yellow and white wildflowers--some turned root side up and some bent and broken, were clutched awkwardly in his hand. She found she couldn’t speak just then and instead just smiled up at him.

“Grandma told me you like wildflowers, there’s eleven of them all together.”

Her heart caught in her throat. First it stopped then began to beat into a gallop. “What?! Finn--what do you mean grandma told you? Eleven--honey what do you mean?”

“I had a dream about grandma last night, she said to give you these, she said you would love them--and she told me to pick eleven. Why eleven? That’s weird!”

His face scrunched up in confusion, then grinned when he spotted his little brother running towards them. He put the flowers down by her kneeling pad then raced off to chase Paddy around the yard. She looked after him for a moment “Sometimes they call back…” She whispered under her breath.

She dropped what she was doing and walked around to the back hall where she had set her purse down the other night. She slid the envelope out that Gemma had given her the night before and opened it. Inside was a computer printout for a writing contest from a popular magazine. It was their 83rd Annual writing competition and the deadline for submissions was in a few days. 83. She added the numbers together in her head and smiled.

The End

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