Please Leave a Message

Jane found the old answering machine at the back of the wardrobe while she was clearing out her childhood home. She hasn’t seen one of those in years. Her dad was glad to put it away as soon as he could. He hated anything to do with phones. Curiosity compelled her to plug it in. She didn’t expect it to work but when she checked for messages, the machine let her know there weren’t any new ones. Surprised by how easily she remembered how the answering machine worked, she pressed rewind to check for any saved messages.

She pressed play, “Daddy, it’s me.”

She didn’t remember recording this message. It was odd to hear her own voice, not knowing what came next.

“I should have told you immediately but… well I chickened out. Umm, I scratched the bumper of the car when I was parking. I’m so sorry. I was really really careful, but I didn’t see the fence. Anyway, I’m sorry for not telling you in person. Love you.”

A big smile spread across Jane’s face as tears filled her eyes. She didn’t remember that day, but it must have been more than a decade ago. She sounded like a scared teenager. She realized how embarrassed and afraid that version of her had been. So scared of her dad’s reaction when that incident mattered so little that she had no recollection of it. Her dad wouldn’t have minded anyway, but she hated disappointing him, especially then.

While she couldn’t remember when the message was recorded, it must have been during the first 2 years after her mom’s death. She remembered barely anything from those years. She knew she got a driver’s license 6 months after her mom passed away, only because that’s what her license said.

The leaves had barely turned orange, yellow and red after her mom’s diagnosis during the first week of the school year, and then she was gone. The sickness had progressed quickly, but getting used to her not being around had taken much longer. 

The house had remained the same since. The calendar from that year remained on the wall showing a recipe for Millie's August Pie. No one in the house had the energy to even flip to September, and then when she died, her things were as she left them. It was an unspoken rule to not touch her things. They had both agreed to it without discussing it.

The crossword with a pen always sat on top of the coffee table. It was briefly moved to wipe the table, but then the crossword was put back in the same place. It had been hard to explain to her husband when she first brought him around and introduced him as her boyfriend. 

“Don’t you think it’s time to move on and put those things away?” he said casually. “Isn’t it just making you both sadder seeing it around?” Jane’s hurt look revealed to him the terrible mistake he had made. He hadn’t brought it up after that. 

In the hallway on the ground floor of the house where she grew up, Jane held on to the answering machine carefully and closely. She half expected her dad to walk out of the kitchen any moment and tell her how to make up for scratching the car. “Young lady, come here for a second,” she heard in her mind. A strong voice full of character, no fuss, but also love and compassion.

She looked at the answering machine in her hands and noticed the outgoing message icon on the menu.

“Hey, you’ve reached Adele, Jeff and Jane. Please leave a message after the beep and we’ll get back to you. Have a great day!”

Jane’s knees were shaking as she slowly sat down on the floor. She hadn’t heard her mom’s voice in more than 16 years. She couldn’t remember when the answering machine lost its place on the hallway desk and landed in the cupboard, but she wondered if her dad put it away to stop replaying the outgoing message on repeat. She wished she could remember more from those times. Particularly now, when the only other person who had lived through those memories was gone too.

As she sat on the floor, Jane’s hand clutched the answering machine against her chest. She wanted to travel back in time before her mom got cancer and live the most mundane of Mondays over and over again on a loop like Groundhog Day. Before life got heavy and complicated. 

This was the house where her parents’ presence was all around her that she could see, smell and touch. She feared losing that. Losing her past and the memories that made her who she was. She didn’t want to sell the house, but also couldn’t imagine living in it.

It took Jane a long time to get up from the floor. She sat there in the semi-darkness of the unlit hallway, staring at the glossy black cover of the answering machine, until she heard kids scream outside running home after school. The neighbourhood was full of young families now, there were only a few remaining old-timers. The house would go to a nice young family who would create their own memories here. Her parents would want a new family here bringing this house back to life, but at that moment, she wanted to simply stop time.

She slowly stood up, having to support herself by leaning on the desk. She held the answering machine before putting it on the coffee table next to the crossword. She looked over the old photographs on the walls and took them down, one by one., moving through the house to gather what to keep, throw away and donate.

She didn’t remember driving home. She was surprised to find herself parked in the garage of her house. When she stepped into the house, she heard the kids screaming outside. She was grateful that she could walk to the bedroom undisturbed.

“Is that an old answering machine?” asked her husband. “Wow, I haven’t seen one of those in a long time. I don’t think the kids have ever seen one. They should see this.” He opened his mouth to shout at the kids, but he noticed Jane’s look and kept quiet.

The answering machine was just the right size to fit into Jane’s nightstand drawer. She quietly placed it there, with the crossword puzzle underneath it, and closed the drawer. Running her fingers over the nightstand, she took a breath and walked out of the room to prepare dinner for the kids. In her own house with her own family.