Next Caller

As far as she knew, there was no name for her condition. In the past, Elaine had described her symptoms to several doctors. A doctor might ask, ‘... have you had any recent health concerns?’ and she would answer, ‘Yes. Whenever I speak to someone on the phone, I visualise them in incredible detail’. A pause would follow and to fill the silence she might add, ‘Except, the faces don’t belong to the people who are speaking. It also happens when I listen to the radio. Or hear an announcement over a loudspeaker, like at the train station’. The doctor, failing to recognise any diagnostic markers, would offer a well-meaning platitude, ‘well, some of us have very active daydreams’. She had a great respect for doctors. Their opinions were informed by science and sanctioned by laws. And so, she very rarely spoke about this very unusual condition.

One day, Elaine was putting together a shelf at home. As she obediently followed the instructions, she listened to her favourite talkback radio program. Elaine happily felt the time melt away and she gave no thought to anything outside her four walls. Elaine was the homely type - had become the homely type. The lively sounds of the main street nearby had once felt inviting; she only had to walk down the street and there it all was - dinners, bars, run-ins with neighbours. But now, the city’s hum only made her home feel so very quiet; the tiny sounds that accompanied her day-to-day pottering seemed enormous. And so, the radio was always playing. Elaine reached out along the back wall of the almost-shelf, searching for a groove. She felt only a smooth wooden panel. Consulting the instructions, she realised the rear wall of the shelf had been placed back to front in step four. She was now at step twelve. Tossing the manual to the side of the room, she closed her eyes and the familiar face of the Host grew brighter, projecting itself into her mind’s eye.

Luminous blue eyes peered out from a weathered face. Elaine was reminded of the rock pools she used to visit at the beach. The host had stern angular features, but there was something tender about his appearance. She often spent entire evenings with her eyes closed, lost in the incredible detail of his ethereal face. The real face of the host was rather ordinary in appearance. Strangely, the faces in her mind bore no resemblance to their real life counterparts. Beautiful people might re-appear with unsavoury features, or commonplace faces could re-emerge bearing a remarkable nose, complete with septum piercings. The faces were always the same; the mouth did not speak, though the expressions changed, seemingly to reflect what was being said; and the image was clearest when she closed her eyes. The secondary faces would float before her, and Elaine could only, had only, been able to wonder what this strange phenomena meant and whether it was even real.

The Host was introducing a new segment. His expression softened and his smile receded. The next segment would be something more sentimental. Elaine opened her eyes and noticed that it had grown darker. Looking up at the windows of her basement terrace house, the last remnants of the warm honeyed light of the late afternoon shone down into her living room. Returning to the shelf, she jammed the tiny allan key into the crevices of the shelf, removing screws she had only just tightened. A further wave of frustration swelled within her and for a moment the shelf seemed like a waste of time; it all felt like a waste of time. But then, closing her eyes again for a moment, she was calmed by the image of the host’s face. He was smiling warmly, invitingly, as his voice carried over to her from the digital radio on her sideboard. She resumed her work and listened.

The host was introducing a segment called ‘dashboard confessional’. Listeners were invited to share a story about a confession they’d shared while in a car. A man, all neck, called to share a story about his partner’s shameful scam investments. A pallid bloated face shared a confession she’d made about forging the results of a drug trial. A thin smiling waif-like figure had professed their love for their long-term friend - the feelings were not reciprocal. Elaine smiled as she searched for a mounting plate. The stories that made it to air were often undignified and involved some type of concerning ethical implication. But the way the host talked about these stories seemed to elicit a sense of meaning or closure. She enjoyed imagining what she might say in response to the show’s segments. Nothing came to mind for ‘dashboard confessional’. She avoided driving. When she did drive, it was usually alone. When she was not alone, she preferred to watch whatever scenery was passing by.

Elaine felt a growing desire to call in. Talkback radio had become one of her greatest pastimes, filling her days with people and stories. Though her curious condition carried little obvious benefit, mostly she had simply tried to manage it, she relished the sensory experience of talkback. She felt sorry for the listeners who had only voices to keep them company. Experts on gardening or endangered species fascinated her to no end. Tragic tales of traffic incidents or fires held intrigue and mystery. There were also the political talking heads, who analysed and speculated on the state of affairs of the government of the day. She had little interest in politics, but all the same felt moved by the seriousness of their pronouncements. One day, the right segment would arrive and she would call in. At this thought, Elaine cast her eyes towards her telephone, but saw only a pile of papers and letters. A red flashing light was just barely visible from beneath the clutter. Pulling aside the clutter, she looked down at her answering machine. She had a message. She stood for a moment, looking at the answering machine. It was so old, practically ancient. The cassette had never been replaced and the symbol for the rewind symbol was worn down to an abstract smudge. Elaine turned down the radio, then pressed play on the answering machine. The spools in the tiny cassette whirred to life, a hiss sounded, and then the voice of Paula crackled out of the machine’s speakers. A long face, with searching eyes, set amongst two mountainous cheekbones greeted Elaine. Letting out a gasp, Elaine hit the pause button and the face disappeared.

Growing up, Elaine kept spent much of her time with her two friends, Paula and Tash. On group calls after school they would go over the day together. They would impersonate Ms Lewen disciplining the class, pick apart the classroom social dynamics, and listen to one another talk about how they pictured their lives turning out. As Elaine laughed with her friends, her eyes closed and she saw so clearly the second faces of her friends. Winding the phone cord around her fingers, she wondered at the faces in her mind, which couldn’t just be a product of her own imagination, or even just a symptom of some novel psychological condition; there was something in the faces that felt so significant. In her adolescence, the faces gradually took on a new meaning. They seemed more alive. Speaking with her friends on the phone, the faces would seem to mock her as she spoke, or they would flash a dark look of disapproval when she interrupted. For a time, she tried to simply ignore the faces. But they seemed to become even more vivid and confronting when deprived of attention. Then, for a time she sought to understand them. She would speak to her friends on the phone, carefully studying the faces of her ghostly interlocutors. Pacing around the house, the long cord of the telephone would trail behind her like an umbilical cord. Her laugh upset the faces, she spoke at too greater length about her detective novels, her local gossip was too mean spirited and personal. Eventually, exhausted by the ineffable faces, unable to contend with them any longer she stopped answering her phone. It had been years she thought since she’d heard from her friends. What would they have to say? She pressed rewind and replayed the message from the beginning.

Once more, Paula’s voice warbled out of the speakers and a graceful face appeared before Elaine. ‘Hi Elaine, I hope this is still your number. It’s been such a long time.’ Elaine studied Paula’s face. Paula explained that she was checking in on Elaine after she had missed their school’s five year reunion. ‘Elaine I promised Tash that I would give you a call to make sure you’re doing ok. Call me back so I can stop worrying! OK Bye!’ Elaine stood still for a moment. Somewhere outside, she could hear feet patter past her windows. Something in her seemed to be lifted up and she twisted the phone cord absentmindedly. It was nice to hear from Paula; to be thought of. Elaine hit rewind again and re-played the message. In Elaine’s mind, Paula’s face seemed somehow had changed over the years, her features were less pronounced. Like trying to recall the melody of a song different to the one playing, Elaine struggled to recall what Paula actually looked like. People grew older and their faces changed. It didn’t have to mean anything. She re-played and re-played the message, now paying careful attention to Paula’s face towards the end of the message. Her demeanor seemed to change right when she said ‘...so I can stop worrying’. Elaine started to murmur fragments of a conversation, things that she might say to Paula. A shriek rose up above the lively evening night. It was so quiet. Elaine walked over to the radio and placed her fingers on the volume wheel. She would call Paula back after the show finished. She turned the volume up.

The face of the host re-emerged and Elaine sat back down to finish her project. The host was introducing the final segment of the night, ‘things left unsaid’. Elaine hadn’t heard this segment before. The host had been called a diplomat last week from beyond the grave. Nothing supernatural, he assured the audience, just a comment that was passed on by a mutual friend of the deceased. The host had no chance now to ask his deceased friend what he had meant by the term. The host explained that his knowledge of his friend meant that he need not ask - it was a compliment of the highest order. But he wished the friend had not died with such things unsaid. Elaine thought about the last time she had seen her friends, Tash and Paula.

She had spent less and less time with Tash and Paula once school had finished and she had stopped answering her phone. Elaine had left an invitation in each girl’s mailbox inviting them to dinner and had set about planning the evening. She visited second-hand shops and was delighted to find matching plates and cutlery. She bought a radio and found a station that played only instrumental music. Finally, she found a suitably sophisticated recipe for the occasion: cassoulet. From time to time the phone would ring but Elaine didn’t notice it. The answering machine flashed unheeded. The day came and Elaine was relieved at the sight of her two friends arriving right at 6pm. The evening started off well enough; time was turned back and it was as things were before. Elaine didn’t say much, but she felt so comforted sitting in her home with her two childhood friends. However, the conversation eventually turned to what Elaine had been up to all this time. ‘Do we have the right phone number Elaine, you are so bad at answering your phone. We used to talk all the time, remember those group calls we did’ Tash said. Elaine had said something about how difficult it is to find the time, and how she wished it were easier. Tash and Paula started to reminisce about their group calls. As Elaine served up her dinner, she struggled to keep track of what was being said. As she sat down, she let out a short gasp as she noticed Tash and Paula’s second faces floating above her guests. They started to eat. The faces circled the table, peering down at the food, making faces of revulsion as her guests ate. The conversation continued and Elaine felt her head nodding along as her eyes stared in horror at the otherworldly faces, which were now staring back, wearing pitying expressions. It wasn’t long before her friends were lingering in her doorway, exchanging goodbyes. Elaine looked at them, looked around them, waiting for her faces to return. But they did not, and Paula and Tash smiled, thanked her and made to leave. She had wanted to ask if they had enjoyed spending time with her. She wanted to know if they had really enjoyed tonight. Turning a final screw, she stood to admire her finished shelf. It was night time now. Elaine turned on a lamp, picked up her teledex, and carried her phone over to the radio which was now seated up upon the shelf. Kneeling down before the radio, phone in hand she sat in thought. Her finger was poised over the rotary phone. The Host was thanking his callers. Encouraging his listeners to keep calling in, to keep sharing their stories with him. She tried to picture Paula’s face, her real face. But the face of the host was before her, glowing fiercely. His face had changed slightly. It wasn’t obvious at first, but his face was different. His eyes now truly shimmered, fierce eddies revealing something teeming beneath. His mouth had opened slightly in a knowing grin. She started to dial.