By TANYA BALARAJU, ’14
Ring, ring. It’s me, your phone. And I have a point to make.
You said you forgot me at home yesterday, but I know what the truth is. You borrowed someone else’s phone, didn’t you? Isn’t it a bit shady that you were on the line with some other phone? That you abandoned your loyal, unsuspecting phone this morning to get some time away from it? Well, I hitched a ride in your backpack when you weren’t looking and I heard everything.
I knew it — it’s my looks, isn’t it? Just because I’m not some shiny iPhone 5 with a jewel-studded case, you wanted to give some other phone a try? Well, let me tell you — though I may be a bit cracked in places, I love you more than any other phone ever can or will. And I wouldn’t shatter into pieces if you ever “happened” to let me slip out of your hands, unlike other cellular devices. That phone you used yesterday? I dialed her number when her human least expected it. Surprise, surprise: her human dropped her on the sidewalk and now she’s shattered. Needless to say, she won’t be helping you out anymore.
You try to shut me off during school in order to put our sweet conversations to a halt, but I’ve seen the other kids pull out their phones immediately after the last bell rings and resume typing their text messages. They don’t seem to mind their phones. Why? Because their phones have the speed and the sleek figures that everybody wants nowadays. As for me, I’m just an old, worn-out piece of plastic, your embarrassing two-year-old secret of a cell phone that nobody is allowed to see. I can’t teach you the meaning of life or sassily reject your marriage proposals like Siri can, but know that if the impossible happens and you asked me to.marry you, I would say “yes.”
You see, I want to be your cell phone forever and ever. I want to be the phone your children will call when they need a ride home. I.,want.to be the saving voice ..in your pocket when you’re sitting in a boring meeting in an office somewhere. I want to be the phone that keeps you up past 2 a.m. in a conversation with your significant other — wait, scratch that last part: you’re mine. And you will be mine, all mine, until both our batteries die.
The flip phone who came before me warned me of your type. You get bored easily, she told me, and in a year or so you’ll be ogling at those glitzy phones in the commercials and store windows. But that’s perfectly fine with me; I understand that you are human and are thus bound to feel this way now and then. And here’s the best part: I’ll be here for you through all of that. When those other phones you’ve been checking out behind my back get glitchy, when they die on you in the middle of a conversation, when they refuse to download apps because you haven’t updated your software, I will be there for you, waiting to be held in your hands again. I will anticipate the day you accept me again, the day you decide that I am the only phone worth your time, selfies, and radiation capacity — that is, unless you decide to recycle me or donate me to someone else.
Though the thought of replacement makes me shudder, remember this: I will never forget you. I will visit you in your dreams and sing you lullabies with the ringtone you’ve grown so accustomed to. Deep down, you know you’ll always love that familiar voice of mine, and I know those other phones don’t stand a chance. You may “forget” me at home, but that’s where I’ll stay, waiting for you to return to me. With my seemingly endless battery life, I will always be on for you to make a call or send a text, or even snap a grainy picture. I will always remain by your side. And I will love you, human… forever.