Love Bites: Over the Landline

The sound rings through the house, and there is a moment of collective pause. Next, there is the usual yell: “Can you get that?”

Picking up the handset from its cradle is somewhat of a lucky dip. A short list of possible callers runs through my mind, but until that first hello, I never can be certain of who the caller will be. 

I haven’t known a time before mobile phones. However, I do remember when people would give you their landline number before their mobile number. I remember as a child being given a cordless landline to carry in my coat pocket when I was out alone. Now, of the few numbers that still call upon our landline, there is one which always takes priority: my grandparents’, from the USA. 

Whether I call them, or they call me, I speak to my grandparents a minimum of once a week. My grandparents know something is up if more than 10 days pass without a call. It is the slightly crackly line that connects my life in Scotland to theirs in Pennsylvania. Our phone calls consist of life updates, recipe exchanges, advice sessions, and shared laughter.

Every part of speaking to my grandparents requires intentionality. From punching their number into the keypad, to calling at the right time of day, using the landline requires me to slow down. To sit down. The cord of the phone quite literally roots me to the spot. I can’t talk as I walk or make dinner. I can’t even put the phone on loudspeaker. In that moment, all I can do is listen and talk.

That glossy, beige landline is a vessel through which love between my grandparents and I is carried. And so, until my grandparents learn to Whatsapp call, our landline is going nowhere.