The Last Call
I hate answering the phone at night. F**king telemarketers.But some nights I have no choice. It's what I do. I answer the phone and try to make sense of all of 'this' to someone who doesn't understand and doesn't want to play anymore. Someone tearful, tortured and possibly suicidal.
Most people, especially survivors of sexual assault, aren't aware that the person that's trying to keep them in the here and now instead of that past horror of horrors, was sitting comfortably at home just before their call.
They think we're sitting in some clean environment surrounded by medical staff and equipment. Or worse, they think we're sitting in some overcrowded cube farm in Bangor or Bangalore.
Perhaps we were playing parcheesi with the kids, trying to get the damned cat to stay still long enough to be photographed or on the best of nights, making love with the reason we're still here.
But we're enjoying life, as much as we can with our memories of all the other phone calls, praying the phone doesn't ring. All the other pain we've asked them to give to us. All the other horrors we absorb so that someday, they might be able to play parcheesi with their kids.
Please don't misundertand. It is not a desire for uninterrupted life that makes us crave silence but the hope that tonight is the night there are no new victims. The night that those we've helped in the past are dreaming of fairies, knights in shining armour and sugar plums, whatever the f**k those are.
But not tonight. Tonight was the last call. Usually, this means a call that comes in minutes before the shift ends. Shift. That sounds so clinical. Almost as though I get paid for this. Like it's a job instead of a calling. Meskey/I'm sorry to rant.
I'm so old my back goes out more than I do. If you haven't heard that joke, you're young enough to have life left. Please enjoy it. Life, not the joke.
Tonight she called just as I finished adding the last veggies to my crock pot and another batch of bear claw stew would soon fill my apartment (and the halls) with aromas sure to entice the neighbors and homeless. And before you ask, there are really no bear claws in bear claw stew. I mean who eats claws? Eeyew!
She took a pill when she answered my call. She took a pill just as she had the previous four times she called the center; the central number that routes the calls to whomever is next in the queue. She wanted to talk to ME. Not the person who was actually on call, but ME. Something I'd said or the sound of my voice or whatever reason it was in our previous calls, she only wanted to speak to me.
I didn't need to open any files or ask any questions. I remembered her story. It was exactly like all the others. Completely different. It's hard to forget talking to a twenty year old still trying to make sense of having to live alone at fourteen years old because she was raped by her father and seven or eight of his equally drunk buddies. It's an image that never leaves either of our minds. Except for tonight. It was the last call.
She was driving around, calling every fifteen minutes or so and taking another pill. I didn't know what kind of pill. I didn't know how long she'd been motoring around and trying to drive out that horrid memory. An hour? Three hours? Six years?
But we talked. If she had been in an apartment or home, I'd have told her that one of my non-existent children had fallen or the cat was sick. Anything to have time to use my second line to report a probable suicide and have the ambulance and police go to the address that appeared on the caller ID at the center phone. But she was mobile. Even GPS wouldn't help without some idea if she was in the neighboring town or neighboring country.
So I did my best to listen and talk, to remind her that it was not her fault. It was not a punishment from the f***ing useless god her mother taught her about. It was sick individuals and alcohol and military training and Ann Landers and hoola-hoops. Nothing and everything. The chaos of this place. Nothing and everything. Every thing and no thing.
Yet every few minutes, I could hear her shake the bottle (rough estimate? capacity of thirty with about half of that already gone) and take another long draught of beer/wine/water. Another pill closer to the spirit world and hopefully some peace. Another pill closer to death.
I tried to get her to join me at the hospital. I knew she had enough pills that it would be necessary to first turn her over to what I hoped would be caring staff to pump her stomach. I told her about how Mi'kmaq do not end their life this way. I lied to her. If there were consequences for my deceit, so be it. I lied like a white man from town. I begged, I listened and did whatever else I could.
But every ten minutes or so she would hang up on me, only to call back a few minutes later with another shake of the bottle. Another drink of whatever liquid she had. Another chance for me to fail.
And then my worst nightmare occurred. The phone didn't ring. She didn't call. I had no idea where or how she was. Did I get through to her? Was she now sitting in the emergency room with a tube through her nose feeling like she was being raped again as her stomach contents were sucked out by some uncaring machine? Or was she sitting in a parking lot wondering if one more pill was enough or whether she should just take them all.
And that's when I realized my shift had ended. Any other calls but hers would go to someone else. Some other poor soul who would have to put the kids to bed or give the cat a few treats. Someone else to answer the phone.
It was also when I also noticed the bottle of pills my doctor gave to me for my incessant back pain. I took one. It helped with the pain in my back but also the pain in my heart so I took another. And then another. I decided to write this and maybe one of you will understand why I hate phones. A pill a paragraph. A drink of mead to wash it away. With each pill my back and heart feel better but sadly, not my spirit. I never realized how easy it was to chase the pain away. I guess I should shut off the crock pot so I don't burn the place down. I'm sure I'll fall asleep. things are a bit fuzzy. I'll do that and have another pill. And then I'll have another and another until our pain is gone.
But I won't call anyone. No need to worry them about what I've done. No reason for them to answer the phone. Absolutely no need for me to be their last call.