Ringer

I am sitting at my desk, upstairs in my office. I just brought the phone to my mom, because my brother called her on my number, rather than using the number that gives it a special ring so she knows its for her. I handed my mom the phone and she started yelling into it like it was a deaf, non-English speaking contraption from Mars. I walked back upstairs and went back to work.

She bellows from her living room, which is where the garage used to be, down a flight of stairs, through the kitchen, and down the hall. She uses a shortened, one syllable variant of my name (the name she gave me). But she stretches it out to several syllables, bending the note and letting her voice crack with each one: "Cah-ah-ahn!!!" I, making a big show of patience (to whom? I am alone upstairs), restrain a loud sigh and pick up the cordless on the desk next to me. "Yes?" I say politely.

"Are you on the phone?"

"No, I just brought you the phone when Gary called."

"You are not using it now?"

"Well, I picked it up when you called so you wouldn't have to yell."

She pauses a moment to process this. "Does your fax machine just cut in when you are on a call?"

"I don't have a fax machine."

"Well, it just cut in and made an awful noise and then that 'schhh schhh' sound. We're you trying to use it?" I still don't have a fax machine.

"No, mom, I don't know what it could be."

Pause. She's waiting for me to offer to do something, but I don't know what it is. "I guess I'll just call him back."

"OK. I'll hang up now."

My sister thinks she's getting old and forgetting things. I don't. I think she's just getting worse at whatever that thing is that's wrong with her.