I didn’t hear the phone until the third ring. My eyes opened, I was suddenly aware of how hot I was, how dark it was, that there was a cat on my head and that it was way too late/early for my phone to bee ringing. Where was my phone?

I shuffled to what can only loosely be called the dining room - since it’s really just one big room and the dining room table is there. Phone located. Man it’s dark.

It’s not entirely unusual for the phone to go off in the middle of the night. I encourage everyone I know to call if they need a ride, regardless of time. My oldest brother (not the one I frequently type about here) tends to ring after a night out, and just last week text messaged me twice at 4am on Saturday. I expected it to be my him.

I look at the screen and the number is just a number. A local number, no name associated. Someone calling from jail? I answer just as the call rolls. Too slow.

I grumble and call the number back.

A nearly incoherent man/woman answers. “You call me.” The inflection is indistinguishable. It’s probably a question but comes out as a statement.

“No,” I say, “you called me. Who is this?”

“Who dis,” they say. Great.

“You’re kidding, right? At two o’clock in the morning you’re calling and asking who I am?”

Ugh.

I hang up. I shuffle back toward bed with the phone still in my hand. It rings - it’s the number again. I force it to voicemail. The phone rings again, and again, and again. On the sixth round, I answer. I bark profanities into the phone with sleepy lips and closed eyes. I hang up. The phone rings another half a dozen times before I roll over and say to The Mc “I’m creeped out. You answer it.” He does, dutifully.

It takes him a minute to identify the button he needs to push though his sleepy head. “Who is this?” he says. I can hear the response in the dark “Who dis? You call me.” He asks again. Same response. We listen to the person babble to the silence for a while and finally hang up.

The phone rings again and again and again. I take turns between sending him/her to voice mail, and answering it then immediately hanging up.

I finally turn the phone off at 3am after what I can only estimate as 30+ calls.

We’re falling asleep. The Mc says “you have to report that tomorrow.” I sigh. “To who? Surely this isn’t an issue 911 or even T-Moblile would care about or be able to act on.” I watch TV. I know how this works. Besides, it’s not like he/she is at our door. There’s no immediate threat.

Falling asleep I remember our home number changing a few times when we were kids. I remember it being to evade crank callers who wouldn’t give up, but my memory on that is probably wrong too. What I do know is that I still have all three numbers assigned to us in my head, and I used to tangle them up a lot.

I don’t want to change my number, I don’t want to have to call anyone about it, I don’t want to be creeped out (did he/she just dial at random until someone answered, or did they get my number somewhere - in a trash bin or on a previous utilities recklessly discarded garbage?). Part of me feels the smallest bit sad for whoever that person is and whatever screwed up situation brought them to that point, but more of me feels violated, and that makes Hulk very very angry…and very very tired.

Curious? Want to call and get on that endless loop with me? 404- 671 6112 is the number that kept on giving.