The Phone -Memory Snapshot

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The Phone While I was a kid, my father got one of the first phones in the neighborhood. I can perfectly remember that wooden crates lacquered, mounted on the wall. The bright receiver was hanging on a side. I was still too small to reach the phone but I was always listening, fascinated, as my mother spoke to him. Then I discovered that somewhere inside this device lived an amazing person. Her name was “Hello Central” and there was no one thing in this world, which she would not know. Hello Central can tell you anybody’s phone number and also the exact time . My experience with this spirit closed in a bottle came one day when, while my mother was visiting a neighbor and I was playing whit the tool bench in the cellar,I hit my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible and there was no one around me to show any compassion. I walked around the house sucking on my sore finger until I reached the ladder. The phone! I quickly dragged up a chair from the living room in the lobby. I stepped on it, I forked out the telephone receiver and I put it to my ear. “Hello, Central! “, I shouted into the microphone which was just above my head. A click or two and then a low and clear voice answered me back. ” I’ve hurt my finger “, I whimper on the phone and tears overcame me soon, now that I had an audience. “Your mommy is not home? “, the question followed. “There’s nobody home but me ” I stammered. . “Are you bleeding? “, the voice asked me and I answered that i am not. “I hit myself with the hammer and now it hurts so bad”. “Can you open the cooler? ” she asked me again and I said I can. “Then get over there and get a piece of ice and keep it glued to your thumb ” said the voice. Then I started to call “Hello Central” for anything. I asked help for my geography lessons and she told me where Bucharest was. She even helped me with my math . She told me that the squirrel that I trapped in a park the day before, eats fruits and nuts. Then came a day when Figaro, our canary, died. I called “Hello Central” and I told her the sad news. She listened to me and then started to tell me things that parents usually tell their children to calm them. I asked her, “What happens to birds who are singing so beautifull and bring so much joy to people,why do they have o end in a pile of feathers on the bottom of a cage?

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