Uncle?

When I was younger and unprincipled, I took delight in goofing on people who dialed the wrong number. I'd proclaim that the person they were seeking was dead; usually recently deceased. Violently. Once I told the caller that he had the wrong number, because we didn't have a telephone. We lived in a vacant lot. The best was a series of calls I got for someone named Stephanie. From the sound of the voices calling for her, I gathered that Stephanie was probably in her late teens or early twenties. A college student, maybe. And it wasn't just one or two calls; it was a series that went on for weeks.

"Hello, is Stephanie there?"

"No, she's not," I'd answer.

"Do you know when she'll be back?"

"I couldn't say. I haven't seen her."

"Oh. Okay. Will you tell her that Allie [or Judy, or Beth, or Holly] called? We're at the library."

"I'll be sure to tell her as soon as I see her."

This went on for a while, until one evening when I got a call from what sounded like an older woman. She didn't sound like a friend.

"Hello, is Stephanie there?" and "Do you know when she'll be back?"

"Not sure, really. I think she's at the library with Judy and Beth. Have you asked Holly?"

"Holly? Uh, no. No. You see, this is her mother . . ."

I hope Stephanie and her mom connected.

That was years ago.

Then, just yesterday, I got a text message that read, "Uncle, I suddenly realized I haven't messaged you in a while, so I thought I'd say hello." I assumed it was a wrong number, and I texted back that I was not her uncle. (I do have a niece and a nephew, both grown, married, and with children. We don't communicate by text message.) But the writer texted back, Didn't I remember her? Her name was Vansa. And this was the number her mom had given her, and I probably didn't remember her because it had been so long. She offered to send me a picture to jog my memory.

But of course, the picture would probably be a fake.

In fact, her name probably wasn't really Vansa.

Maybe it was really Stephanie.

As intrigued as I was to see what she came up with, I decided not to pursue it any further and blocked her number.

But here's an interesting idea. A photograph stirs up memories of something that never happened, of people the narrator has never met. The story would involve a long-distance call, of course, or its 21st-century cellphone equivalent. A text? Or a voice call, and what would that sound like? A delusion? An hallucination? A real, but previously unknown niece or nephew? Perhaps something else entirely. I'll have to see.

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