A Phone Call Pauses Morning
Virginia was preparing for the arrival of her grandchildren and their
father. She had gotten up early, showered, and surveyed her increasingly
wrinkling skin as she slathered it with thick moisturizing cream. She brushed
up her sparse grey-brown hair in its usual bun and then dressed in a yellow,
green and orange, floral gown. After putting her make-up on, she wore sunshine
on her face.
The grandchildren and their father were expected from Germany around 4:00 p.m. The grandkids were going through a growth spurt and had big appetites. They had the long legs of runners, high jumpers, pole vaulters, the height of basketball players, the energy and stamina of focused winners. She saw them as future Olympians, so she had bought lots of cold cuts, salmon slices, bread for sandwiches, juice and fruit. Unlike many young children, they loved vegetables, and she had stocked up on carrots, sweet peppers, celery and cucumbers which they loved to snack on.
Then the house phone in the living room rang. It was around 11 am. Virginia picks up the phone when it rings.
“Your daughter has had
an accident,” says the German-accented voice of a woman when Virginia picks up
the phone.
Virginia isn’t sure
she’s heard correctly. Her body stiffens. She breathes hard, pauses long before
responding in a shaky voice. “What?”
“Your daughter was in an accident,” the woman repeats. Then insists:
“She is not hurt.”
Should I be hopeful?
Virginia wonders, dreading what might come next.
“But your daughter is
in shock. Shaken,” the woman continues.
Did the woman
identify herself? Did I miss that part? Did the woman tell me she was the
police? Did I miss all that in the shock of the moment?
“The
car she was driving is slightly damaged,” the woman continues, “ but the other
car is beyond repair. Your daughter asked us to call you.”
“Can I speak to her?” asks
Virginia, her voice squeaky and breathless.
“Yes, you can,” the
woman says. “But she is in shock. Said she would kill herself if she had to go
to prison.”
That’s dramatic,
says the voice in Virginia’s head. It doesn’t sound like Florence, at all.
“Let me talk to her,” Virginia begs, her head spinning.
“ Okay. I’ll hand her the phone.”
The voice on the phone is that of a bawling woman,
unable to speak.
“Florence, Florence, tell
me what happened?” Virginia pleads. But the weeping becomes louder. Virginia’s
heart sinks.
“Does she usually
drive?” the woman on the phone asks.
Virginia assumes she is the police. “No! Not
in Germany.”
“She was driving a
friend’s car when the accident happened,” the woman answers. “She was driving
without a license. And that is a serious charge here in Germany. The man in the
car she hit is in critical condition. If he dies, your daughter will go to prison.
Can you confirm your daughter’s name, date of birth, and address?”
Breathing heavily, Virginia
tells the woman the year her daughter was born. “I don’t know her address off the
top of my head,” Virginia stammers. “ She moved recently. I need to get my
address book.” Virginia is aware that she never remembers people’s addresses or
phone numbers. She remembers faces and a few numbers are imprinted in her
brain. She has had the same telephone number for the last thirty years.
“Can you bail her out?”
the woman asks, interrupting Virginia’s scrambling thoughts as she searches for
the address book.
“Can’t you get a
hold of her husband?” asks Virginia.
“He’s here, trying
to contact a lawyer. Can you bail your daughter out?” the woman repeats.”
“And what about the
children?” asks Virginia.
“They
are in the hands of a trusted friend. But the bail money is necessary if you
don’t want your daughter to spend the night in prison. It is a hundred thousand
Euros.”
“A hundred thousand,”
Virginia repeats, almost sinking to the floor. Her head feels like it is
swelling. The number, “one hundred thousand” is stuck in it. “This is too much
for me,” her voice trembles and trails off as she speaks. “My husband is not
here. He is in the garden allotment outside the city.”
“Can’t you call him?” inquires
the woman.
“No,” Virginia replies. “He never picks up his phone. And I going to
call my son. Or you can call my son.”
Virginia quickly
searches her mobile phone for her son’s number and gives it to the woman. “I
will try to reach him myself, too,” Virginia says.
“But I need the bail
money now. Do you understand? Can you give us your mobile number, the woman
asks?”
“I’ll call my son,
first,” Virginia replies, her head now a boulder on her shoulder.
Virginia’s thoughts have
been caught in a whirlwind all this time. The grandchildren and their father
should have been on the train to Basel. They would have been in Basel in a few
hours. Why didn’t Florence call and tell me they had changed their departure
time? Why didn’t she tell me they had changed their plans. It just doesn’t seem right.
“I’m going to call my son,” Virginia repeats mechanically.
“Do not hang up the
phone,” the voice demands.
Virginia rests the house phone down. She moves away from it
and calls her son, Rupert, on her mobile. She tells him what has happened, her
voice, high-pitched, hoarse, and shaky.
“It’s a scam, Mom,” Rupert
says flatly.
She feels like a scolded child but starts to hope. Maybe that’s what this
is, she thinks.
“They’re trying to
extort money from you, Mom,” Rupert says. “They’re are using AI to clone
voices. They target the elderly, and vulnerable people, who probably keep money at
home. Many don’t trust banks. The
scammers send couriers to homes to collect the money.”
Virginia’s heart rate
slows. She hadn’t got that far into their trap, she thinks. She
sees the house phone lying on the sofa. ignores it.
“Call Florence,”
Rupert orders.
Virginia calls her
daughter.
“Hi Mom,” Florence
answers. “I’m on the train to Cologne. You sound stressed.”
Virginia floods
Florence’s ear with the events of the last half-hour. “I’m relieved you didn’t
kill anyone, and you’re not going to prison,” she finally says. “ We would have
been devastated. I will hang up now.
Please be safe.”
Virginia turns off her
mobile and begins to breathe slower, feels her blood pressure lowering. I thought I had lost my daughter to prison.
And instead, I found her on a train to Cologne. The weekend will be normal
again. This could have happened to anyone. It could have been a
real tragedy. It is not her fate today but it could be the fate
of others? In that moment she feels blessed, and grateful for the day.
She breathes
deeply, and still somewhat in a trance, completes the preparations for the
guest room…clean sheets, towels, toothpaste, and toothbrushes….Done! And now, to
decide on what to cook for the grandchildren’s dinner. Chicken, pork chops,
or something Asian? she wonders aloud. She sinks into a sofa and begins to
wean her thoughts off the phone call that almost derailed her life.
© Althea Romeo Mark
Althea Romeo Mark is the
author of two full-length poetry collections, The Nakedness of New
and If Only the Dust Would Settle, (English-German), four chapbooks, On
the Borders of Belonging, Beyond Dreams: The Ritual Dancer, Two Faces, Two
Phases and Palaver, Shu-Shu Moko Jumbi. The Silent Dancing Spirit.
Publications so far 2023
The poem, “Checkpoint,” published in Persimmon Tree, Summer edition
featuring international poetry, https://persimmontree.org/summer-2023/international-poetry/
“The Waterfronts Women and Men”, published in Bookends,
Jamaica Sunday Observer; The Memory Thread, A poetry collection in
English and Chinese that features poets Vasiliki Dragouni, William Marr and
Althea Romeo Mark: several poems published in Breaking the Silence: Anthology of Liberian Poetry. Edited by Dr. Patricia Wesley, the 302-page anthology of poetry is the first comprehensive collection of
works of literature from the 1800s to the
present. University of Nebraska Press, 2023; “Malaria Misery,” Nano
Poems for Africa, The Silk Road Anthology, Egypt, 2023;
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