Whenever it goes off in the middle of a meeting I’m embarrassed. First, because you’d think after it happening so many times that I’d remember to put it on silent. Second, because it’s some horrendous hip-hop song that’s so not me. Now, deep rattling bass that instead sounds reed thin coming through the tiny speakers on my cell phone, shakes me from my sleep.The glowing numbers on my bedside alarm clock inform me that it’s just past 3:00 a.m. I can’t imagine who’d be calling me at this hour, but when I see the name blinking back at me on the screen of my cell phone, it feels like my heart has stopped dead in my chest. It’s 5:00 am in Minnesota. I instinctively know there will be no good news when I hit the answer button.“Hello?” My voice is foreign to my ears, like there’s cotton shoved in the canals that distorts everything I hear.“No, it’s fine,” I tell her. The voice is familiar, but the sound of her tears is not. I’m transported back to our childhood.
