Do you think I'm being oversensitive because I think the voicemail woman on my cell phone is being mean to me?
OK, here's what happens.
I see that I have messages. I go through all the rigmarole to retrieve my messages. The woman says in a lilting voice, You have two new messages and SEVEN old messages, she snarls, as disgusted as if I've been hoarding stolen library books. The distaste she has in her voice! The Why–Don't–You–Clean–Off–Your–Desktop about it!
I can't listen to these saved messages, but I have to keep them. I talk back to the message woman, because I've had enough of her sniping.
Delete this! I tell her.
She's too chicken to answer me back.
Somewhere in those seven messages is baby, baby Zach saying "Hi, Mamaw" before he changed it to Memaw.
Somewhere in those seven messages are voices that make me smile and laugh. Somewhere in those messages are messages from Mom.
I remember, her voice sounded old then.
In one message she was worrying if I had gotten home safely from my errands.
It was four o' clock in the afternoon.
I could never listen to Mom's messages now. Sometime I will be able too, but–– for reals––not now.
Seven Saved Messages is my scrapbook of sound and voicemail message woman better change her attitude about it.
D.G. Fulford is the author of , written with her mother Phyllis Greene. She is also the co-founder of . You can find her at .
Photo credit: Marcia Smilack