Sorry, Wrong Number

I didn't know whether to be amused or offended but feeling intrigued by the anonymous message on my cell phone - a lengthy, rambling and somewhat incoherent sounding accusation about my having made harassing telephone calls to man ( who's voice I'd never heard), about his wife ( who I didn't know) and a husband ( who I don't have), I thought I might return the call as considerably enough, he had left me his cell phone number in the event that I might want to discuss the situation with him personally. His threats to call the telephone company, the sheriff, the city police, the FBI and to make my life a living hell were made in a weary, resigned tone of voice, quite impassionate and calm. He sounded more tired than angry - curious for such call, I thought, and a little sad.

Secure in the knowledge that he had made a mistake, I called his cell phone, intending to set him straight. It went to voice mail and disappointed, I left my name and number, I suppose in hopes of an apology and the even more vain hope of some personal vindication - sad to say, even a mistaken accusation from a total stranger still triggers my defenses. I can't abide being blamed for something I didn't do, no matter how trivial or foolish it may be, it makes me feel mistreated and judged unfairly, which in turn makes me angry, which in turn makes me determined to get even. Remnants of childhood cling to me like lint - if I feel I've been wronged, forgiveness isn't in my nature.

There was no return telephone call from the sad voiced man with the suspect wife. Perhaps he hasn't listened to his messages or realizes he made a mistake and lacks the courage to correct it. Maybe he isn't the kind of man who thinks putting things right is important. I'll probably never know and while I tell myself is doesn't matter, that it was a wrong number and an insignificant accusation, I still feel the sting of injustice.

There are days when I allow the angry child in me to show her stubborn face and I despair of my own foolishness.