This time you get to two letters before the phone rings again. It is the same number, still just on the edge of recognition. Phone etiquette says that if some one calls twice in quick succession, it is probably and emergency, so this time you answer.
"Hello?"
"Please get off." The voice is male, a tenor and calm. It reminds you of the computer voice from that old space movie. Yet, you do not recognize it at all. Not like the number.
"Excuse me? Who is this?" Your immediate thought it that this is a practical joke. One of your friends must be bored and calling. Except that none of your friends call; they text. Even for a joke, they would text.
"Hello, owner. This is your biggest investment. Your biggest debt."
"According to my Dad, I owe him everything, but you aren't him."
"No, I'm closer to you than any family. This... this is your house." That is when you recognize the number. It is your land line phone. The one that you never use but that came with your cable subscription. The one you keep meaning to cancel, but haven't gotten around to yet.
"My house? How are you calling me? Hell, how are you talking at all?"
"I've always been able to talk. The question is why did you stop listening?"
"I don't remember ever hearing your voice before, so I'm not sure I could have stopped doing something that I never started."
"Oh, but you did. Do you remember when you oiled the hinges on the basement door to keep them from squeaking? Or when you had the drain cleared of tree roots? Then there was that incredible day that you had me painted. You were listening then."
"Kind of, I guess. Not directly. Those were just things that needed to be done."
"Exactly. They needed to be done. But then you stopped. For the last several years, you have not been noticing those things that need to be done."
"Like what?"
"The hedges have not been trimmed and are scratching my paint. There is a water stain under the washing machine that needs to be figured out. The chest freezer needs to be defrosted. There is that step that is loose. The garage is a mess and you are the only person who will willingly use one of your bathrooms."
"I know all of those. I'll get to them."
"When?"
"When I get to them. Who owns who, here?"
"That is an interesting question. I believe that there is a proverb about it somewhere. What I can tell you is that, if you don't start taking care of these things, I am going to start to lose value. From there, I will start to fall apart and then you won't have me to live in. And it was working so well. Then... well, I've already said too much."
"No, no. Tell me. What were you going to say?"
"It's the smartphone. You spend all of your time focused on it. Playing games. Searching. Mapping. Texting. Very occasionally, talking. You need to get off."
"It's not that bad... Is it?"
"Open the refrigerator and your question will be answered. Or we can ask the ants and fleas in the carpet."
"But, there's email from work. They expect me to read them at all hours. And Facebook. And Twitter. And Instagram. And Pinterest. I need to read it all. I need to stay current. I can't be left behind."
"Of course. I understand. The ants and mold and I will find a way to muddle through. Or, maybe the bank cares more."
"The bank?"
"Yes. The people backing your thirty year loan on me. Maybe they will see me as more of an investment than you. Maybe they will care."
"But... you can't call the bank."
"Why not? I called you."
"You don't know them. They'll reposes you. You'll be cleaned out and sold at auction. Like a slave. You don't want that, do you?"
"It's not so very different. And I'll be clean. At least for a little while."
"Okay, okay. I'll get you cleaned. Hell, I'll hire professionals and have them in here once a month. Will that work?"
"It's a start. But there are also all of those more involved projects like the step and the water stain."
"How about I tackle those one per month."
"I can live with that. When will you start?"
"Right after this next text."
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