A woman I work for just told me that she destroyed her cell phone by crying into it. Her tears went into the phone and fried the board. She said she was kind of glad because she’d been wanting to get a new Razor for a while anyway. There’s a metaphor in here somewhere, but I’m just not sure what it is right now.

On the subject of cell phones, I rarely answer mine. I much prefer hearing someone’s succinct voicemail to actually conversing with him or her. And when I call someone, I often find myself thinking that I’d really rather be able to leave a voicemail instead of actually having them answer. Again, there’s probably a world of meaning in that, but I don’t feel like figuring it out right this moment.

I like to change the ringtone on my phone every three or four months or so. I had three different rings last year. I never download; I just pick one from the noises that came with the phone. A couple days ago I was picking my new one and I came across the ring that I used at the beginning of last year through the late spring. It’s funny how even a short little sound can bring back such a vivid feeling, like sense memory. Songs do that of course, but even just that tone sent me thinking back to a year ago and the bittersweet feeling of hope and the shame I felt for feeling hope every time I heard that sound. The split second between hearing the ring and bringing the screen to my eyes to see who it was that was calling me was constantly filled with those conflicting emotions, followed by more elation/disappointment when the caller was revealed, depending on who it was. There was only one word I ever wanted to see on the screen: “Her.” Sometimes it wasn’t “her.” Sometimes it said “parents.” As much as I love them, that was a bummer. Or it would be any of my friends; still not much better. I always wanted it to be “her.” And when it was, part of me still wished it wasn’t. It was never her calling to tell me the things I wanted to hear. It was her calling to tell me about her day, or to ask me for something, or just to say hi. But that was all, and though I knew even then that I wanted too much for too much more, as soon as I hung up with her I immediately began waiting to hear that sound again.

So I changed the ringtone. Something a little more pleasant sounding. And I decided not to answer anymore when she called, just let her go to voicemail with the others. I actually followed through on that promise every now and then, too. But not always, and when I did of course I always called her back almost immediately. I always got her voicemail.

By the time I changed it again, months later, it was partly a ritual in my mind of moving on and moving forward, now that she rarely called at all. That new ring isn’t one I now associate with a flash of elation or even excitement or a shade of embarrassed hopefulness. It’s just a sound. And not one I even heard that often actually. By that point everyone I knew got sick of always getting forwarded to voicemail I guess.

This week when I decided it was time for a change again, I scrolled pretty far down the list for a totally different one, and it turns out my phone has some pretty elaborate, delightfully cheesy dance-music sounding rhythms, so I chose one of those. I’ve been called a few times this week, and the sound of it is so peppy and energized that I have to say it honestly makes me happy to hear it. And I answer the phone more now than I used to, no matter who’s calling. I guess I could say that I’ve set the tone for the new year. Lame, I know.

She still does call every now and then. But she’s not “her” anymore.