The Key by Tobias

She heard the phone from behind the door. She struggled with the lock, her heavy bag of groceries and the file she had brought over in order to prepare for tomorrow’s lecture. She was just about to start a graduate level course in philosophy and she would like to impress her teacher, but the task at hand required a rather more practical sort of discipline. Finally she managed to open the lock, put the file and the groceries down and picked up the phone. ‘Hello’ she said with a voice still shaky from the rush it took her to enter.

She did not have a great day already and when the other side didn’t even bother to answer she became genuinely annoyed. She heard someone breathing on the other end. “Who’s calling”, she demanded with a voice she now hoped sounded sufficiently curt. No answer. “Have it your way then”. She disconnected the phone.

The next fifteen minutes or so were spent putting away the groceries in the kitchen’s cupboards and in the huge refrigerator her parents had given her when she moved out. Afterwards she picked up the newspaper flicking through it absent-mindedly while sitting in a comfortable chair. She switched on CNN and watched it equally disinterested. She knew she had to start studying, but wasn’t looking forward to spending the next two hours in dense texts and also preparing dinner.

The phone rang again. This time the sound seemed different to her than it did usually. Possibly because the first time there was no answer and that tends to make people uneasy; she was no exception. She let it ring twice, then a third time. After the third time, she picked it up. “Hello”. No answer. “Who is this?” she inquired, more out of a sense of habit than that she thought she would get an answer this time. Still an answer came, sort of. She heard the person of the other hand press one of the numbered keys on the phone producing a high beep tone. 'Beep'. She decided to answer in the same vein and press a key as well. The other pressed the key shortly twice, 'beep-beep'.

"Ok", she said, beginning to get oddly curious, "you can answer me pressing the keys then". Short beep. “So, you are ok with that”, she said. “One short press indicates ‘yes’, two times indicate ‘no’, understood?” Beep. “Do I know you?” Beep. “You are not pulling a joke on me, are you?” Beep, beep. Why don’t you just talk to me, are you afraid to talk to me? Now she heard the high pitched sound of the key not once or twice, but three times, pressed long and repeating each other quickly. She took the phone from her ear. Does that question upset you? A pause and then a short and curt sounding click. The phone was pressed to the hook in what seemed a controlled and deliberate movement.

After this conversation she had a peculiar feeling. She felt as one would feel just before being formally introduced to a new acquaintance. The conversation hadn’t upset her; it had also not frightened her. She hadn’t even been very curious as to who the caller was. Yet she felt she met someone new, a sudden change in her environment. She began deliberately tidying up the newspapers and files. She noticed she was alone and the house seemed new to her in some way, similar to what one might experience returning home after a long holiday. The feeling of difference left though after she made coffee, after she opened her file and started studying. She made pasta for herself for dinner and watched her favorite TV series, 'Law and Order'.
The next day her lectures were rather uneventful, not to say dull. She had studied them but still failed to understand everything that was being said. Her lecturer was a very learned man, but he had trouble descending to the level of his students sometimes. She was home earlier than yesterday, which gave her time to dress for dance practice.
Dance class she had enjoyed from early adolescence, which had surprised people around her because she never was a person for bodily activity and she was very skeptical of her looks in general. She was known as soft spoken, kind, but usually in the background of things, not wanting to impose. She could be considered shy. Dancing was different though. She thought of it as a game of thrusts and challenges, a game in which she could lose herself provided she danced with the right partner. Yes, in dance she could lose herself and merge with the music, the rhythm and the meticulously prescribed steps.

She packed her shoes, she chose her outfit, she applied her make up. The phone rang. She checked her watch, same time as yesterday. “Hello”, “beep”, a sufficient introduction. She felt that slightly tilted, curious feeling again. “Hmm, you are a punctual type, am I right? She heard the short high pitched sound of the key, pressed once. She decided to engage this caller straight on and find out about his identity. He was bound to speak up sometime she figured. “Are you a man?”, she asked. Beep. Do we know each other from classes? This time there was a pause, as if the other hesitated, then she heard the sound of the key, once. So we know each other from class, are we attending the same lectures now? Beep, beep. Are you by any chance trying to get me on a date or something, but are afraid to tell? Again she had to take the phone from her ear as he angrily pressed the key three times, pressing it for a long time. “Ok, ok, I will not ask such questions anymore”. She noticed she became confident talking in this rather asymmetric way. “Do you know much about me?” Again a hesitation then she heard the key pressed twice. “Do you know I take dance lessons, do you like dancing? Beep. “I am off to tango classes in a couple of minutes, so I will have to hang up on you soon. Do you want to know what I will wear in class?” Beep. She felt a search of daring going through her. The other being restrained to his use of the keys somehow granted her a power she rarely felt. She told him about a black dress, about black tango shoes, she even added that she would wear long earrings. “Are you satisfied with my choice of dress”, she asked playfully and maybe a little flirty. Beep, was her answer and then she decided to press down the receiver, disconnecting with a firm click.

She smiled to herself as she started preparing for class. She carefully zipped her dress and applied make up in a studious fashion. She spent more time on her looks as usual as if preparing for a special event or a date instead of dance practice. Her dance classes went extremely well too. She danced with her long time dance partner and one-time crush. She executed her steps with even more grace than usual, freer, or so it seemed.

The next time the phone rang she felt some sort of intimacy with her caller. She told him about the lecture she would be attending and how she was lucky to be able to take a break from the books by dancing. She told him that her dance classes went extremely well. With a slight impish glee she told him about her ex boyfriend and current dance partner. When she started asking questions to uncover his identity the answers he gave were rather inconclusive. Yes, they had been in college together, but he had refused to answer whether they still were, using his familiar method of the three long beeps.

The following day, a Saturday by chance, she found herself waiting for his call. It didn’t come. On Sunday the phone rang. She talked to him about her weekend and even about her plans for the coming week. That this could be dangerous entered her mind, but the deliberate and self restrained manner the other had used for communication, somehow made it look safe to her. He listened patiently and never interrupted, not at all like her friends or her ex lovers. “Can I ask you why you didn’t call yesterday?” The answer came in two short beeps. She wanted to pursue, but decided to stick with the rules. “You will keep calling me won’t you?” The key was pressed, but with hesitation and very short. You don’t know yet? Now the beep sounded once, no hesitation. “Ok, but you want to know more about me don’t you?” The beep sounded once. I will tell you, if you promise to answer my questions truthfully too. She asked about his appearance and it seemed he was an ordinary build man, her age, with blond or brown hair. Not much to go on really. He refused to answer questions which were very specific. When she objected that that was not part of the deal she only encountered silence at the other end.

Ok, I will describe myself to you, even if you wish to remain a mystery. She told things about herself, where she was born, from what family she came, where she had lived before attending university. The same patient silence on the other line and once or twice the keys were pressed when she asked him questions. She wanted to get a reaction from him so decided to go a little further and described her house to him including her bedroom. She felt unashamed and even divulged quite private details, for instance her preference for silken pajamas and satin nightgowns. He remained unperturbed. She than started to describe herself, but before she could proceed, she heard a short shhh on the other line, than they were disconnected. She was puzzled, but accepted it as part of game of which he apparently could set the rules.

In the days that followed with their inevitable phone calls, she began feeling she was changing by divulging these details about herself. She displayed herself to someone who remained anonymous on the end of the line, but seemed to appreciate to listen to her. For the first time she felt truly creative. By gradually revealing herself on the phone, she recreated herself, by putting into words who and what she already was, but which she had never truly realized herself. Before her eyes and ears, a beautiful woman unfolded, self confident, intelligent and graceful. She went to her lecture with increased confidence. She looked at herself with different eyes, with the eyes of an anonymous caller. She was observing herself sitting behind her desk, taking notes and asking questions. All the time she kept thinking about how to put this all into words. After the lecture she speedily packed and left for her home where at exactly four o’clock the phone rang.

She took up the phone with the feeling of anticipation. Something would happen, she wanted something to happen. She quickly started talking about herself and about a new dress she bought. The semester would be closed with a big campus party and she wanted to look good. She described the dress, including the low cut décolleté and the strapless bra she would where inside it. She told him how the color of her hair would match her dress. She told him about her legs and how they would seem longer because of the cut of the gown. She described herself in detail. He listened patiently, she could here his breathing, it didn’t change as she had hoped. “You like me talking to you like that?” The answer was affirmative. She went on to describe how she would like to dance at the coming ball and with whom. The phone was disconnected.

The next day she asked him if he had liked her descriptions and if he thought she was beautiful. When the answers were positive she proceeded to describe even more, revealing every part of her body through her words. She felt as if she was painting a picture with them. When the phone was eventually put down she felt good about herself, she felt daring, flirtatious and like a woman.

The feeling of self consciousness and now even confident beauty didn’t leave her. She attended lectures, did shopping, prepared for dancing with so much more purpose now. It seemed she was carrying her private mirror with her, a mirror revealing only her best parts. Everyday he would call and now everyday she would first talk to him about her what her days were like. After that she would describe herself, what she was wearing, what she wore underneath and how she had danced and with whom. She looked forward to his calls and to the inevitable revealing. When talking to him she became conscious of her body, of her beauty and of his desire, which he confessed to after she asked him.

Her days became centered on his calls, skipping social events and drinks with friends in order to be home at four o’clock. The conversations grew longer and she confided more and more. She confided childhood secrets, problems within her family, painful memories about her ex boyfriends, and even more intimate details. The only responses were in the high pitched voice of a numbered key on her phone. Yet, when she would tell those things she felt like a feather was slowly caressing her breasts. The sounds of the numbered keys made her become who she was and made her find more and more of her true self, or so it seemed.

In everyday life she started to dress in more variety of styles, wearing clothes she thought she would never wear. She asserted herself in classes and she still danced better than she ever did. Her friends commented on her looks and her teacher complimented her essays. She finally felt like she had begun being herself, as it is put in both psychological self help literature and the mystical writings of the ancients.

A discomforting feeling started nagging her. She felt at times she owed her new found identity to an anonymous outsider and not to herself at all. She owed it to someone she didn’t know, but who kept calling her. She didn’t just wonder about who he was anymore; she needed to know who he was. She even began to have an idea about who he could be.
Years ago someone had fallen in love with her, someone who had not dared to approach her outright with it, but who’s infatuation was obvious. It had been a persistent crush too. He wrote her poems and all that. She didn’t have time for him than. Besides she was involved with somebody else at the time. They had been at university together, that did fit. Could it be that he has found her number and in this way regained contact?

She decided to try something. Through the yearbook she found his phone number. She decided to call and see if he still had the same number. She recognized the sound of his voice. She didn’t say anything. Eventually he hung up the phone.

She received her phone call at the same time as always. Somehow though the session didn’t seem to go well and the phone was disconnected rather earlier than usual it seemed.
The next day she called his number again. He picked up. She didn’t want to say anything. Somehow she thought it would spoil it all and besides she didn’t know how to begin. If it was him, than she had been telling all her secrets to a boy that she once knew, not to some comforting stranger. What was maybe even worse was the possibility that there would probably be no contact anymore. She didn’t want to let go of the fantasy just yet. She decided to press one of the keys. He pressed back. She pressed again, two times this time. “Who am I talking to?” His voice sounded distant, as can happen over the phone. She hung up.

Her stranger still called her, but she felt she didn’t enjoy being called anymore. Her descriptions lost their intimacy, as if she recounted the feelings of another. She didn’t know what to ask anymore, she had no more questions. Gradually the phone conversations shortened. He stopped calling everyday, sometimes leaving long intervals. She decided not to pick up at four o’clock if he did. She missed her calls, but somehow the magic was gone when talking to the man at the other end of the line. So too, was the magic gone from her dancing and from her essays. The dress she bought seemed to have faded color. She began to feel clumsy and reproached herself for allowing this to happen, to become addicted to the beeps of the phone coming from someone who could be anybody. Now she began to feel scared, she had revealed herself to a total stranger perhaps. Maybe he would get angry at her lack of response; after all it had been months now since he first called, not really a short affair, if you looked at it from this angle.

She decided to call the number she had found in the yearbook. His voice sounded reassuring at least. They had spent years together in college and even though it didn’t bloom into anything, they did like each other’s conversation and had had quite a rapport with one another. She couldn’t just reveal herself totally though. What would he think, why would she call him, with what excuse? She had rejected him. Besides, if he had been the stranger all along her silence would be words enough. She decided to press the number 9 key on the phone. He responded with the short strike of a key. She pressed the 9 numbered key again. “Well, my anonymous friend, If you don’t want to talk to me, than at least use the keys to answer some questions I have”, he said. “If you press the key once, it means yes, twice means no, would you do that for me?” After a short hesitation she pressed her key, once. “Do we know each other”, he asked.