Text of Kin

The text pinged into my phone early one evening.

“Did we know each other before?”

Before? Before what? Are we talking about a particular time and place, or do you mean reincarnation?

Maybe we fought side-by-side in the Punic Wars, or I was a carpenter and you were my lady. Or was it the other way around?

It’s hard to say seeing as I don’t know who you are.

“I found the number in the phone book,” the text continued, “but there was no name, and I wasn’t sure we knew each other, so I messaged you.”

The phone book? Does this person really have an old-time hard copy phone book?

I had one for years that I carried around in my wallet.

It was a small, brown, and I was constantly crossing out outdated numbers. And I had far too many numbers without names.

If I was interested in a woman, I held off on putting her number in my book as I figured this would be bad luck.

I finally tossed the thing after the pages started falling out and cell phones came along and made the personal phone book obsolete.

I’m pretty sure I didn't know this person before, although there is that little twinge of doubt that I might be ignoring an old friend…who still uses a phone book.

This is most likely a scam, preying on people’s faulty memories and need for connection.

I didn’t respond. All those years of watching horror movies taught me that vampires can only enter your house if you invite them in.

Maybe a vampire was texting me. That might explain why he’s so behind the times.

I never really cared for texting and I much prefer to speak with people on the phone.

All Thumbs

However, I’m most definitely in the minority.

Text messaging is the most used data service in the world, with 8 trillion texts are sent worldwide every year, not including app-to-app messaging. America is responsible for roughly 45% of the world's text volume and Americans text twice as much as they call, on average.

I wonder is the same person who texted me back in July to say, “Hey, We’re having a barbecue tomorrow. Aer (sic) you coming?”

There was no name, no time, no location. Sorry I missed your barbecue, but I don’t know who you aer.

This is the Labor Day weekend, marking the end of summer, the end of barbecues, and the beginning of hell on earth for me.

I hate cold weather and I think I’ll get jump a start on my annual vow to make this my absolute last New York winter and make the declaration now. No sense in waiting.

Of course, I’m giving myself the summertime blues, recounting how I didn’t go to Shakespeare in the park, or outdoor concerts or take the ferry ride out to Far Rockaway.

But at least my sister and I saw the Coney Island fireworks display, took our annual ride of the Spook-a-Rama and checked out the sand sculpting concert. And I went to the barbecue at my sister’s building.

“Hi, I’m Laura, are you on my dating site?”

No, Laura, I’m not. But thanks for thinking of me. Now please take my number out of your phone book.

And there’s the anonymous text I received that consisted of just one word:

Ready.

Ready for what?

Am I ready for cold weather, abysmally short days, the whole holiday freak parade, and the end of yet another year?

Or maybe the author is telling me that I should be getting ready for whatever the hell is heading my way.

At this point I’m ready for anything.