the young salesman.

“No, but you will have all of your phone numbers.”

He said it as if it were of little importance. As if the fact that I could still call my friends without much trouble, would be enough to close the deal. My stomach began to churn at the thought of it and I contemplated leaving…without the new phone. Do I really need frills? What he didn’t get, was that my no-frills phone had stored more memories than could ever be retrieved at the push of a button. Each message I had saved had been stored as a memory. Each message represented a different stage in my life over the past year. A new defining moment.

“Is that a problem?” he asked, probably noticing the paleness in my face. I pictured the days when I needed a laugh.

I’d have to say that I became passionate about the power of the written word, the year my mom handed me my first journal. I was probably about ten years old.

“Write until your heart’s content,” she said smiling.

“What will I write about?” I asked skeptically.

She kept smiling. “You’ll know when it’s time and until then, keep it close by your side.”

She knew me well and couldn’t have been more correct. My journals began with pretty little books that offered a mere three lines of writing for each day, to lock and key journals that offered two paragraphs of space a day, to the more appropriate handcrafted journals with endless pages of lined paper. Paper that called to me during the day and way into the darkness of the night. It called to me when there were moments of joy that couldn’t be contained and moments of truth that couldn’t be shared. As my life passed me by, though, so did the age of the written pen. “No,” I remember saying, I won’t be a laptop writer. Ever. It’s all about the way the pen hits the paper.”

Until I realized my thoughts came too quickly for the mere pen and paper and that with my fingers perched on the keyboard, I could rattle off about 500 words an hour. It was only a matter of time before I realized the escape my writing created as my laptop and I began a life of fantasy and fiction in writing my first novel. It was around the same time I decided to leave my marriage of 14 years, which only made me need my writing even more! My laptop had clearly become my companion during the day, especially helping me venture into places I might never have entered alone. Gone were the day of: What will I write?

There were times when the silence of the night was deafening and I wished my computer would find a few choice words or a simple voice to keep me going. Little did I know that there were other ways to break the silence…the sound of a text message.

I remember the first one I received so vividly. What was that sound? Where was the unread message? How do I even get it? But within days, I welcomed that familiar sound into my world and associated it with life. There were texts that would bring comfort, knowing I was on someone’s mind. Texts getting me out of bed in the night and ones helping me to awake in the morning. Texts that would break me from a spell of depression and ones that would join me in my nights on the town. Silent friends, I called them.

The truth was that I had become dependant on these silent voices from various people in my life. Some that I knew very well and some that I hardly knew at all. Some that weren’t very nice (and quickly deleted), to the ones I hardly felt I deserved (and would never be deleted).

I knew how much I enjoyed these texts, but not how much I depended on them, until the day I went to purchase a new cell-phone. It had been a long year with a no-frills phone and I was clearly passed the “emergency use only” phase. It was time for some frills.

“Can I save my text messages?” I asked the young salesman.

“No, but you will have all of your phone numbers.”

He said it as if it were of little importance. As if the fact that I could still call my friends without much trouble, would be enough to close the deal. My stomach began to churn at the thought of it and I contemplated leaving…without the new phone. Do I really need frills? What he didn’t get, was that my no-frills phone had stored more memories than could ever be retrieved at the push of a button. Each message I had saved had been stored as a memory. Each message represented a different stage in my life over the past year. A new defining moment.

“Is that a problem?” he asked, probably noticing the paleness in my face. I pictured the days when I needed a laugh. T

lled to me when there were moments of joy that couldn’t be contained and moments of truth that couldn’t be shared. As my life passed me by, though, so did the age of the written pen. “No,” I remember saying, I won’t be a laptop writer. Ever. It’s all about the way the pen hits the paper.”

Until I realized my thoughts came too quickly for the mere pen and paper and that with my fingers perched on the keyboard, I could rattle off about 500 words an hour. It was only a matter of time before I realized the escape my writing created as my laptop and I began a life of fantasy and fiction in writing my first novel. It was around the same time I decided to leave my marriage of 14 years, which only made me need my writing even more! My laptop had clearly become my companion during the day, especially helping me venture into places I might never have entered alone. Gone were the day of: What will I write?

There were times when the silence of the night was deafening and I wished my computer would find a few choice words or a simple voice to keep me going. Little did I know that there were other ways to break the silence…the sound of a text message.

I remember the first one I received so vividly. What was that sound? Where was the unread message? How do I even get it? But within days, I welcomed that familiar sound into my world and associated it with life. There were texts that would bring comfort, knowing I was on someone’s mind. Texts getting me out of bed in the night and ones helping me to awake in the morning. Texts that would break me from a spell of depression and ones that would join me in my nights on the town. Silent friends, I called them.

The truth was that I had become dependant on these silent voices from various people in my life. Some that I knew very well and some that I hardly knew at all. Some that weren’t very nice (and quickly deleted), to the ones I hardly felt I deserved (and would never be deleted).

I knew how much I enjoyed these texts, but not how much I depended on them, until the day I went to purchase a new cell-phone. It had been a long year with a no-frills phone and I was clearly passed the “emergency use only” phase. It was time for some frills.

“Can I save my text messages?” I asked the young salesman.

“No, but you will have all of your phone numbers.”

He said it as if it were of little importance. As if the fact that I could still call my friends without much trouble, would be enough to close the deal. My stomach began to churn at the thought of it and I contemplated leaving…without the new phone. Do I really need frills? What he didn’t get, was that my no-frills phone had stored more memories than could ever be retrieved at the push of a button. Each message I had saved had been stored as a memory. Each message represented a different stage in my life over the past year. A new defining moment.

“Is that a problem?” he asked, probably noticing the paleness in my face. I pictured the days when I needed a laugh.

early become my companion during the day, especially helping me venture into places I might never have entered alone. Gone were the day of: What will I write?

There were times when the silence of the night was deafening and I wished my computer would find a few choice words or a simple voice to keep me going. Little did I know that there were other ways to break the silence…the sound of a text message.

I remember the first one I received so vividly. What was that sound? Where was the unread message? How do I even get it? But within days, I welcomed that familiar sound into my world and associated it with life. There were texts that would bring comfort, knowing I was on someone’s mind. Texts getting me out of bed in the night and ones helping me to awake in the morning. Texts that would break me from a spell of depression and ones that would join me in my nights on the town. Silent friends, I called them.

The truth was that I had become dependant on these silent voices from various people in my life. Some that I knew very well and some that I hardly knew at all. Some that weren’t very nice (and quickly deleted), to the ones I hardly felt I deserved (and would never be deleted).

I knew how much I enjoyed these texts, but not how much I depended on them, until the day I went to purchase a new cell-phone. It had been a long year with a no-frills phone and I was clearly passed the “emergency use only” phase. It was time for some frills.

“Can I save my text messages?” I asked the young salesman.

“No, but you will have all of your phone numbers.”

He said it as if it were of little importance. As if the fact that I could still call my friends without much trouble, would be enough to close the deal. My stomach began to churn at the thought of it and I contemplated leaving…without the new phone. Do I really need frills? What he didn’t get, was that my no-frills phone had stored more memories than could ever be retrieved at the push of a button. Each message I had saved had been stored as a memory. Each message represented a different stage in my life over the past year. A new defining moment.

“Is that a problem?” he asked, probably noticing the paleness in my face. I pictured the days when I needed a laugh.

g me to awake in the morning. Texts that would break me from a spell of depression and ones that would join me in my nights on the town. Silent friends, I called them.

The truth was that I had become dependant on these silent voices from various people in my life. Some that I knew very well and some that I hardly knew at all. Some that weren’t very nice (and quickly deleted), to the ones I hardly felt I deserved (and would never be deleted).

I knew how much I enjoyed these texts, but not how much I depended on them, until the day I went to purchase a new cell-phone. It had been a long year with a no-frills phone and I was clearly passed the “emergency use only” phase. It was time for some frills.

“Can I save my text messages?” I asked the young salesman.

“No, but you will have all of your phone numbers.”

He said it as if it were of little importance. As if the fact that I could still call my friends without much trouble, would be enough to close the deal. My stomach began to churn at the thought of it and I contemplated leaving…without the new phone. Do I really need frills? What he didn’t get, was that my no-frills phone had stored more memories than could ever be retrieved at the push of a button. Each message I had saved had been stored as a memory. Each message represented a different stage in my life over the past year. A new defining moment.

“Is that a problem?” he asked, probably noticing the paleness in my face. I pictured the days when I needed a laugh.

the young salesman.

“No, but you will have all of your phone numbers.”

He said it as if it were of little importance. As if the fact that I could still call my friends without much trouble, would be enough to close the deal. My stomach began to churn at the thought of it and I contemplated leaving…without the new phone. Do I really need frills? What he didn’t get, was that my no-frills phone had stored more memories than could ever be retrieved at the push of a button. Each message I had saved had been stored as a memory. Each message represented a different stage in my life over the past year. A new defining moment.

“Is that a problem?” he asked, probably noticing the paleness in my face. I pictured the days when I needed a laugh. The time I spent retrieving old messages just to make myself smile.

Wanna do lunch? (A way to remember the first time he called).

Going out tonight? (A spontaneous date).

Need coffee? (Could always use a friend for coffee).

Hey sexy! (Someone redefining who I was).

I watched the salesman pull the tiny card from my phone and cringed, wondering if I’d read them enough to always keep them stored. There was a tug at my heart as I remembered the words that kept me company, loved me, made me feel sexy and alive and mostly made me smile. I took a deep breath as I opened the new shiny phone.

Quickly I pushed the button I loved most. Text messages. Empty. Exhaling deeply, I knew it was like my first journal. Empty…but only for now.