Telephones are just supposed to be harmless pieces of equipment that allow people to communicate with each other. These inanimate objects which transport sound allow us to discuss mindless chatter; we might talk for minutes or even hours and say absolutely nothing or maybe something, depending on the day and our mood at the moment. We usually do not think of telephones and the possible implications associated with them. We do not think of telephones as anything important until they convey destruction and death in the middle of an endless night. Then telephones become one of the most disturbing technological inventions ever devised, and the information they convey changes our lives forever.
It seems like a lifetime ago that all of our lives changed forever. It was one of those steamy June nights in Florida when the longest 48 hours of my life began with the far off ringing of the telephone at 3:00 A.M. The ringing brought me out of a terrifying dream of an explosion of crashing metal, torn bodies, and crimson red blood everywhere. Our car had been hit broadside and part of the side was torn off. It was impossible to tell how badly everyone was hurt, but my mother was laying sideways motionless in the car, and my reactions told my bruised body to move, but not a single part of my body could move and try to save her. I was trapped in the back of the car and could only lay there helplessly, listening to the screaming sirens roaring closer. My senses could hear a terrible screeching noise that would not cease, until it finally woke me up in the dark, fearful and unsure of my surroundings. Only then realizing that there was no crashing metal, and the screeching noise was coming from the telephone on my dresser, I grudgingly dragged myself out of bed toward the phone. The nightmare was so real, so frightening, and that blasted phone would not stop ringing. My arm clumsily grabbed the receiver, and my voice sleepily said hello.
