Love Trips: Lost and Found

Loosing my cell phone feels like loosing my best friend. My cell phone knows all of my contacts, even some I’ve forgotten. My shiny, palm-sized friend takes photographs of all my other friends. My hand-held buddy and I even share secret codes that only she and I can decipher.

My cell phone is not only my trusted companion, but she also keeps me organized. She knows where I’ll be at any given moment. She even knows my menstrual cycle and sings an upbeat melody when it’s time to get my flow. So you can imagine my sense of loss, my sense of utter desperation when my cell phone was riding down the streets of New York City in the back seat of a yellow cab. While she was out getting a tour, I was frantic. I tried to visualize the name that was printed on the smudged window, separating the cabby from his passengers, but I got nothing. So I tried the next best thing. I picked up my mother’s gigantic home phone and dialed my phone number. The phone rang and rang and rang. I hung up and called over and over again. I tried a few more times before accepting the fact that she was lost.

In order to cope with the loss of my technologically-savvy comrade, I focused on the positive. Without my cell phone, I didn’t have to call certain people back! I could start a clean slate, choosing which numbers to store and which numbers to be rid of on my new cell phone.

Loosing my cell phone also meant loosing contact with Kurt. I didn’t have any other way to contact him and I was relieved. Our last conversation left me angry and offended. Kurt had called me to wish me Happy Holidays. It was a thoughtful gesture so I decided to open up and share some of my future plans.

“I may be moving to Miami next year,” I shared.

“You know, it’s hard to be single in Miami,” he replied abruptly.

“It’s hard to be single anywhere,” I replied, unsure of his point.

“Yeah, but Miami is full of beautiful women.”

He doesn’t think I’m attractive enough to live in Miami?! I thought angrily. I refused to accept his backhanded comment.

“Well, I’ll have no problem then. I’m a beautiful woman, so I’ll fit right in,” I responded confidently.

Kurt tried to salvage himself by stating there are a lot of models in Miami and that they’re a different kind of beauty. He then changed the subject and asked when I would pay him a visit. I told him I would go in a month or so. He told me to call him after the holidays to confirm plans. I agreed before hanging up the phone, but I had no intention of visiting Kurt. No intention of spending a weekend with a man who questioned my beauty and made me doubt myself. I had had enough. Enough to know four months later that I wanted to omit his number from my new cell phone.

That day, I sat on my bed with my new pal. I stored the A’s and the B’s, the C’s and D’s, the E’s and F’s. The H’s and I’s were complete when my cell phone rang. It was a number I had yet to store and didn’t recognize. I took my chances and picked up.

“Hey, what’s up?”

Who’s this?” I questioned.

“You don’t remember me? We met last night,” he replied.

“No really, who’s this?” I asked again, annoyed this time.

“I can’t believe you don’t remember me. Pete from the bar,” he said jokingly.

His raspy voice triggered my memory.

“Hey Kurt,” I replied astonished. It was unbelievable. He called merely minutes after I had received and activated my new phone.

“You were supposed to call me to plan your visit. But you flaked again,” he replied bluntly.

“I lost my cell and didn’t have your number. Plus I don’t have your email,” I rambled, still in shock.

“Well now you have my number. And take down my e-mail.”

I pulled out a sheet of paper and wrote it down. Now I had no excuse. My new buddy could find herself in the back seat of another yellow cab or riding down the 1 train, and I would have a way to contact Kurt. I could have told him his words offended me. I could have deleted his number and trashed his e-mail after finishing our conversation. But I didn’t want to loose him. It wasn't the time for me to let him go. So I added his email to my Yahoo! address book. I pressed the tiny, right button on my cell phone, typed in “Kurt”, and hit “Store”.