Nobody Reads This Page – “Carrie Calling”

 

c. 2024 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(7-24)

 

 

It was late on a Friday morning in the Icehouse home office. After awakening at half past six o’clock, I had made coffee to clear my head. An evening of Yuengling Amber Lager and Totino’s Pizza Rolls had precipitated a restless night in bed. And grogginess with indigestion, afterward. Now, as I sat at my keyboard, the sound of a vintage rotary phone began to jingle from a shelf overhead. This unexpected tone made me sit up straight, and bark in protest.

 

“Heyy, those Western Electric 500’s aren’t connected to anything! How much did I have to drink last night? I must still be inebriated!”

 

It took a moment to get myself vertical, and in place to check the vintage devices. I had several in a dusty row, colored green, black, and tan. Plus, a variation that used push-button keys. One-by-one I lifted each handset, until a familiar voice squawked in my ear.

 

Carrie Hamglaze, my mentor and journalist influencer, was on the line and in a playful mood. I guessed that she wanted to discuss the Republican National Convention, which had just ended.

 

“What’s wrong Rodney, it took you forever to answer my call! You must be moving at the pace of a turtle!”

 

I had to rub my eyes, as they were still hesitant to focus.

 

“Yeah, I roam around with two canes for support. So, everything I do takes time to accomplish. But in this case, I was right at my desk. The issue was with getting out of this chair, I have to leverage myself upward. While being careful not to end up on the floor!”

 

My cohort from Chardon offered words of comfort in response.

 

“Oh yes, I understand. Arthritis is a brute! It won’t be any better when you reach my age, believe me! But with a bit of patience, you will endure.”

 

I was grateful for her understanding. But still curious about the unconventional mode of making a connection.

 

“Before you ask, I fell asleep last night. Everything was a blur after neighbors stopped over to chat, as I lingered on the porch. A fellow from Kinetic/Windstream also came visit, and he caught me at a moment with no inhibitions. I was tipsy and freewheeling when he asked my opinion of their internet service. I think the poor man must have soiled his underpants. I was very blunt...”

 

Carrie huffed a bit and redirected my course of thought.

 

“I wanted to ask your opinion about the pick of Senator JD Vance for Trump’s Vice-Presidential candidate. Isn’t that wonderful? Yippee, he’s a great choice, I think. Make America Great! Make America Great!”

 

I had to clear my throat before offering a reply.

 

“To be honest, it made me reflect on politicians in general. You might recall that he had some strong opinions in 2016. He mused that the Orange Man was an ‘idiot’ and a ‘moron.’ He also said that Trump was ‘America’s Hitler.’ He even offered the possibility of voting for Hillary Clinton, while holding his nose...”

 

My friend reacted with disappointment at hearing these comments repeated. Her pale, Irish skin must have been burning.

 

“Rodney, I choose to focus on the here and now! Not yesterday’s headlines! I think that you should do the same!”

 

I nodded and reclined in the office chair.

 

“That’s good advice, maybe. But I can’t get his explanation out of my head. Vance claimed that he had been hoodwinked by the media. Led astray and misinformed. Now, I know of his accomplishments, as a member of the Marines, as a graduate of Yale, studying law, and as the author of ‘Hillbilly Elegy.’ He is smart and studious, someone worthy of respect. Intellectually gifted. So, how is it that he would be tricked by the prose hucksterism of professional writers who hate the MAGA King? There are many, many individuals in the press who dislike the Mar-a-Lago Menace. Hearing him criticized isn’t uncommon. How did that tip the scales for someone like Vance? He’s not a novice, not a nebbish, not at all naïve...”

 

Carrie sighed heavily. She did not appreciate my assessment.

 

“He changed his mind, Rodney! I respect someone who can admit that he was wrong!”

 

My fingers drummed a beat on the desk.

 

“Listen, I voted for the guy years later, because I guessed that he was playing the game. Like swinging the bat, or counting balls and strikes. You know, going with the flow of voters in our state. But when he took office, I realized that my gamble at the ballot box had been wrong. I outsmarted myself. The old person morphed into something else, like a science-fiction plot on the big screen...”

 

She must have wanted to curse, but maintained her composure.

“It’s not a picnic, Rodney! They are battling for the soul of a nation! Give them the respect they deserve!”

 

My head drooped submissively.

 

“I get it, I get it. Here’s my take though, it puts me in a mind-space where I have to question what is real and what is fiction. Do our elected officials mean anything that they say? After all, our current Vice President bashed Uncle Joe in the Democratic Primaries, in 2020. Then she jumped at the chance to be his second, to join the team. What does that say about her ethics? Is it just a matter of shifting priorities, or loyalties, or conveniences?”

 

My contact descended from the Emerald Isle snorted like a prancing pony.

 

“I LOVE PRESIDENT TRUMP, AND I LOVE HIS PICK OF MR. VANCE! AMEN!”

 

I reflected on a composition from bygone years that seemed to fit the moment.

 

“The fence-hop by our Ohio Senator makes me think of a song from Pink Floyd. Maybe you’ve heard it sometime, in the past? Their lyrics are deadly appropriate. Allow me to quote them here...”

 

I scrolled until the verses appeared on my computer screen.

 

“There is no pain, you are receding

A distant ship, smoke on the horizon

You are only coming through in waves

Your lips move, but I can’t hear what you’re saying

When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse

Out of the corner of my eye

I turned to look, but it was gone

I cannot put my finger on it now

The child is grown, the dream is gone

I have become comfortably numb.”

 

Carrie was flabbergasted and out of breath.

 

“That’s your premise, a Rock anthem by a British band? Rodney, your wandering mind has lost its way, I think! How do you engage with others while in such a fog of suspicion and doubt? How can you live happily in this land of the free? How can you live happily with all these questions clouding your thoughts?”

 

I closed my eyes and leaned forward, as if saying a prayer.

 

“Very simply. I call myself a Libertarian.”

 

Was my retired comrade ever really on the telephone? Or was this interaction simply a quirk of wordsmithing abandon? I could not be certain. Yet as the morning slipped into afternoon, I felt free from the cares of conflict and worry.

 

Through a miracle of imagination, our faith in free expression, hers and my own, had been renewed.