Information Please

"Are you bleeding?"

"No," I replied. "I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts."

"Can you open your icebox?" she asked. I said I could.
"Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger."

After that I called Information Please for everything. I asked
her for help with my geography and she told me where
Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math, and she told
me my pet chipmunk I had caught in the park just the day
before would eat fruits and nuts.

And there was the time that Petey, our pet canary died. I
called Information Please and told her the sad story. She
listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to
soothe a child. But I was unconsoled. Why is it that birds
should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families,
only to end up as a heap of feathers, feet up on the bottom of a cage?

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly,
"Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing
in." Somehow I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone. "Information Please."

"Information," said the now familiar voice.
"How do you spell fix?" I asked.

All this took place in a small town in the pacific Northwest.
Then when I was 9 years old, we moved across the country to
Boston. I missed my friend very much. Information Please
belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow
never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat
on the hall table.

Yet as I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood
conversations never really left me; often in moments of
doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of
security I had then. I appreciated now how patient,
understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a
little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put
down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between
planes, and I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my
sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I
was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said,
"Information Please".

Miraculously, I heard again the small, clear voice I knew so
well, "Information."

I hadn't planned this but I heard myself saying, "Could you
tell me please how to spell fix?"

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer,
"I guess that your finger must have healed by now.
I laughed. "So it's really still you," I said.
"I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me
during that time."

"I wonder," she said, "if you know how much your calls meant
to me. I never had any children, and I used to look forward
to your calls." I told her how often I had thought of her
over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I
came back to visit my sister. "Please do, just ask for Sally."

Just three months later I was back in Seattle. A different
voice answered Information and I asked for Sally.
"Are you a friend?"

"Yes, a very old friend."

"Then I'm sorry to have to tell you. Sally has been working
part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died
five weeks ago."

But before I could hang up she said, "Wait a minute.
Did you say your name was Paul?"

"Yes."

"Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down. Here
it is. I'll read it. 'Tell him I still say there are other
worlds to sing in. He'll know what I mean.'"

I thanked her and hung up. I did know what Sally meant.


[Index] [Friendship] [Information Please] [Letter] [Tommy's Essay] [Don't Quit] [Troubles]

[The Fence] [The Wallet] [Creation of Woman] [Friendship A to Z] [Relationship]

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