“Well, not much with me,” Marilyn said. “But I ran into Alan Gleason this morning. You remember Alan. From high school.”
“Alan.”
“Well, he remembers you.”
“I’m glad you called,” Linda said. “I should have called you. When are you going to be in New York?”

“Me? I don’t know. You know I hate to get on an airplane. You could come out here. You know we’d love to have you. But anyway what got me to call is that Alan’s in New York a lot, and he didn’t know you lived there now. You should have let them put you in the class reunion list. Anyway Alan’s not married. He used to be, so that’s OK, but he’s not married now. And he asked whether you were married or involved or anything, and I said that you weren’t when I talked with you last, and I didn’t say how long ago that was because if you’re still not with anyone you might not want him to know how long you’ve been alone. So, Linda, what about it?”
“What?”
“Alan. You’ve got to remember him. The tall guy who wanted to be a Lutheran minister. Only that’s not what he did. He studied engineering. Remember how we used to like to make him blush? Are you seeing anyone? Should I give Alan your number?”

“No, I’m not seeing anyone. But Alan Gleason. He was so shy.”.
“Like you’re one to talk! What are you doing now? Still copy editing?”
“Yes. I’ve got a book on the history of knitting now.”
“I tried knitting twice,” Marilyn said. “Knitting would have had no history if it depended on me.”
“It’s been around a long time,” Linda said. “What are you doing now?” It was getting easier to talk, the way joints and muscles moved more easily after she walked for a while when she’d been at her desk for a long time.
“You’ll never believe it. I’m studying massage therapy. That’s how I ran into Alan.”
“You gave Alan a massage?”

“Oh, no. We only practice on other students. But I was headed for class and he was coming out of the federal building. He recognized me. You know, Linda, he said he studied engineering, but I think he’s FBI or CIA or something. He was coming out of the Federal Building, and I don’t think I look exactly the way I did 20 years ago.”
“Alan? FBI or CIA?”
“Wouldn’t that be great? Anyway we went for coffee, just talking about high school, you know, and he wanted to know about you. Well, you’re the most interesting, living in New York and all and being an editor. Linda! Should I give him your phone number?”

“I. . .  I’ll have to think about it.”
“But you’re not involved with anyone. I don’t count that Mark. The gay one.”
“No.” That answer was simple. It didn’t change. She didn’t see even Mark much now that he had a lover again.
“Well, I’m giving Alan your number. He’s interested in you, and you might get interested.”
Linda felt guilty, as if she had not written a proper thank you note for a gift whose purpose she was not completely sure of.
During her shower that night Linda thought about Alan calling. Changing her number would be so much trouble. She’d have to put the new number on the no-call list.
She went to bed in the room where the curtains were always closed. In the morning she went back to work, looking away from the manuscript only to check the spelling of a name.

©
2008 Judith Shual
"Voice From the Past"
                                             by Judith Shual

First the phone’s ring was an irritation, a call to do something other than check the manuscript for punctuation and the spelling of names. On the second ring she thought, “telephone,” and on the third she thought, “but I got myself on the no-call list.” On the fifth ring, Linda got up and answered the phone.

“Hi,” she heard. “It’s Marilyn.”
“Marilyn?”
“Marilyn. Hey, Linda, I know I haven’t called for more than a year.”

Linda roused herself to the correct, polite response. “I haven’t phoned either,” she said.  She had to think what to say next. “What’s happening?”