The First Phone Call

Terry and I kept writing after that first Thanksgiving night. Emails, at first. Long ones. Thoughtful ones. The kind where you sit a little straighter while reading, as if someone kind and intelligent has just walked into the room. By Christmas, the connection had quietly deepened. We were friends already, somehow. Old friends. The kind who do not need a warm-up conversation. We simply picked up where we must have left off years ago, though neither of us could explain how that was possible.

It felt strange.
And beautiful.

New Year’s Eve arrived, soft and ordinary. Terry told me what he would usually be doing if we had not met. Something either boring or wild and aimless, depending on his mood and honesty. We laughed about it. We said “Happy New Year.” We said “Good night.” Then I shut down my free internet, because that was how things worked back then.

Moments later, around midnight, the phone rang.

Someone in my student condo tracked me down and handed me the receiver. I remember my stomach dropping. Calls after nine meant emergencies or bad news. I braced myself.

“Hi,” the voice said, calmly, “My name is Terry. I have a little house, a big dog, and a Tiger rice cooker.”

I froze. Fully. As if my body needed time to catch up with my heart. I was shaking. I could not speak.

Then, gently, “Sweetheart, are you there?”

“Yes,” I said. “Are you really Terry?”

He laughed. A real laugh. Warm, easy, unmistakably him. That laugh handed me my composure back, piece by piece. We started talking. Or maybe we drifted into it. I do not remember the words. I remember the sound. His voice was steady and kind. Familiar in a way that made no logical sense. We finished each other’s sentences as if we had been practicing for years.

Eventually, he said he probably should hang up. It was a shared phone. My housemates might want to call home. He said he would wait for me to hang up first.

Neither of us did.

Then he said it.
“I love you.”

I had not expected it. I paused. Took a breath. And answered honestly.
“I love you, too.”

The relief in his voice was immediate and tender.
“You said it,” he said. “You said it. I never dreamed I would hear it back.”

A lifetime later, that voice still finds me.
Usually in dreams.
Always saying the same thing.