Remember the first time you got a cellphone?
I definitely do. It was for emergencies only at first, back in 2003: I was in 6th grade and received my mothers hand-me-down Nokia. At the time, it was the bees knees. It had that game snake. I didn't have texting, and there was no camera on it. It was really heavy and ended up in the toilet a few months later at some movie theater in the middle of nowhere, FL. My mom was pissed.
Today I got a call from a random number. The area code read 386- Volusia County.
I answered.
"Lauren, this is my new number. Delete the other one and don't give the new one out," said a voice on the line. It was that simple. Barely any more words were exchanged before I hung up and quickly made the changes as directed.
The only other person who could get this correct immediately was my brother. It was either the guy I buy weed from when I'm in Daytona, or my mom.
You think it'd be the young guy that sold pot and moved around from beach house to beach house all the time, but no.
It was my mother. I think in the past 6 years, that woman has had her number changed over five times (two more recently).
Would you believe me in all of my years of middle school and the tumultuous years of high school that now, today, I still have the same number eight years later?
At least once a year there are instances where old friends from high school will tell me they still remember my number and that it was one of the few phone numbers they felt as if they'd always remember.
The only one I can think of that I've kept in my brain permanently is the house number of my childhood.
(386-677-5357)
I still get discounts from Winn Dixie with it.
I asked my mom about it once. She got it wrong, got frustrated and then gave up and lit a cigarette.
I dream of days where my mother and I can switch roles, where for once the roles are where they're supposed to be:
she's the parent and I'm the kid.
