In the week before Rachel moved to Montreal she called several times trying to arrange meetings, failing to remember that I do not use the telephone. Even though it was critically important that I answer, I simply could not – I just stared at the screen and hoped that she would follow up with a text message.
The public risk I elected to attempt at Happy Ending last winter was deliberately chosen as an effort to crack my phobia. Sadly, the treatment was not a success.
But if I hate anything, it’s weakness. There are some constraints in my life that are necessary, but others are just deranged.
Yes, talking on the telephone generates an instant panic attack. But sometimes it is important. When I realized that I had nearly missed the last chance to see a good friend I resolved to answer the phone from then on.
Of course, since I did not state my intention, nobody called me.
Seven weeks later, standing in front of the Bus Stop in the middle of the night, I told this story to Mark Mitchell. He decided to be mischievous and call me periodically through the rest of the trip.
And I answered.
The phobia is still just as strong, but I persevere. Old friends are used to the fact that I do not use the device, but Jean is innocent of that knowledge, and so has become one of the rare people to hear my demented voice at the end of the receiver.
In the states I used the cursed device to interact with Gordon and Ana Erotica. I’ve even talked to my agent on the phone about good news – two separate things that makes me panic!
Who knows. Perhaps I will place a call myself one day.