One Confession Friday

Friday is the most perfect day to bare your soul's deepest desires, demons, hopes and fears. Here's to secrets--

In 7th grade I answered collect telephone calls from an incarcerated man.

He was randomly dialing in hopes of finding some easily manipulated individual like myself. I think he was just lonely but how would I really know? He called on at least a few occasions and we talked for a substantial amount of time. He even sent me a letter with photos of himself with his daughter. So, yes, I even gave this stranger my name and home address. I don't remember why he was locked up but vaguely recall it being for a good while.

I mean, you don't go to jail for more than 8 years for accidentally running over the neighbor's cat, right?

Anyway, my mother nipped the relationship in the bud once she scanned through the month's phone bills. I'm imagining this behavior is high on the list of things you don't want to catch your children doing, along with shooting up heroin and making out with a cousin. She made me promise to never accept this man's calls ever again. With that command I answered one last call to tell him my mother was ending our friendship--it seemed like the polite thing to do after all. He agreed and that was that.

A few years ago I was home for the weekend and answered the phone. The phone never rings in my parents' home now that teenagers no longer live there. To my shock and horror, there was someone from a prison praying I would accept his collect call! I squeaked out a "No" and hung up. I never told anyone this happened. My mother has never mentioned this happens any longer and now that umpteen years have passed. Was it a fluke I was home and answered the phone? I don't know. Did the imprisoned man pass my number off to his cell mate upon his release, therefore, forever leaving my parents answering criminals' collect calls? Oh, I'm sick just thinking about it.

I pray this guy doesn't show up on my parents' doorstep some day and kidnap them. I can feel guilt over eating more than 3 cookies, imagine the guilt and shame I would endure for that.

Please Mr. Prison Friend, please just forget there was ever a "we."