Phone Call

The phone rang with an abrasive clamor, imitating church bells sped up to three times their ordinary speed. I jumped out of bed immediately, presumably because human instinct demands that loud noises prompt us out of sleep lest we be devoured by predators. I ran to pick up the phone to stop the damn ringing.

The Caller ID read "Unknown Number." I contemplated letting it ring. It was only a few days until Election Day and it was probably someone volunteering at a phone bank. Or maybe it was someone from my old college asking for donations. Maybe it was a telemarketer. Maybe it was a scam offering to clean my carpets at a low cost. Or maybe there was some slight chance that this one singular phone call could change my whole entire life for reasons yet to be known.

The least likely possibility was all too tempting. I picked it up, suppressing my "I just got out of bed" voice.

“…Hello?”
Silence. I held a beat, and inched back into my inquiry.
“…Hello? Hello? Is anyone there??”
A little voice responded to me in a whisper. A little girl.
“Is this my Aunt Maria?”
“No, I’m sorry, you have the wrong number. Good luck finding your aunt.” I pulled the phone away from my ear to hit the red end call button.

Noah Purifoy Foundation / Joshua Tree, California / May 2018

“Please, don’t hang up the phone. Could you help me find my Aunt Maria? I’m lost.” The voice was small, and soft, and vaguely desperate.
I briefly contemplated her request. Was this a prank? Was this someone’s sick idea of a joke?
“Um, okay. What’s your name, sweetie? How old are you?”
“I’m Eloisa. I’m going to be eight next month. Aunt Maria said she would throw me a party with balloons and I was going to wear a princess dress and all my friends were going to be there.”
“That sounds like a lot of fun, Eloisa. Can you tell me where you are?”
“I don’t know. I’m lost. It’s dark here. I’m cold.”
“Hang on, I’m going to call the police.”
The little girl started to sob. Almost incoherently, she started to plead. “Please, no police. I won’t be able to go home if you call the police and my Aunt Maria won’t be there anymore. They’re gonna take her away like they took my mommy.”

I didn’t know what to say. Before I could formulate a sentence I heard a loud bang in the background, and laughter. Almost maniacal. The phone hung up and I was left with my home screen, taunting me in its normalcy. I was at a loss as to what to do and who to call for help. I felt that I had no option other than to believe the girl when she said I shouldn’t call the police. She wasn’t wrong. When was the last time the cops had really helped with anything in this community? Indeed, this singular phone call had already changed my life for good, but I didn’t quite know how yet.