Information Please
by Author Unknown

When I was quite young, my father had one of the first
telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the
polished, old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver
hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the
telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my
mother used to talk to it. Then I discovered that somewhere
inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person her name
was “Information Please” and there was nothing she did not
know. “Information Please” could supply anybody’s number and
the correct time.

My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle
came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor.
Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked
my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there
didn’t seem to be any reason in crying because there was no
one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking
my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway.

The telephone! Quickly, I ran for the foot stool in the
parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up, I
unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear.
“Information Please,” I said into the mouthpiece just above
my head. A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into
my ear.

“Information”

“I hurt my finger…” I wailed into the phone. The tears
came readily enough now that I had an audience.

“Isn’t your mother home?” came the question.

“Nobody’s home but me,” I blubbered.

“Are you bleeding?” the voice asked.

“No,” I replied. “I hit my finger with the hammer and it
hurts.”

“Can you open your icebox?” she asked. I said I could.

“Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your
finger,” said the voice.

After that, I called “Information Please” for everything. I
asked her for help with my geography and she told me where
Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me my
pet chipmunk, that I had caught in the park just the day
before, would eat fruit and nuts. Then, there was the time
Petey, our pet canary died. I called “Information Please”
and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the
usual things grown ups say to soothe a child. But I was
unconsoled. I asked her, “Why is it that birds should sing
so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up
as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?” She must
have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, “Paul,
always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.”
Somehow I felt better.

Another day I was on the telephone. “Information Please.”

“Information,” said the now familiar voice.

“How do you spell fix?” I asked.

All this took place in a small town in the Pacific
Northwest. When I was nine years old, we moved across the
country to Boston. I missed my friend very much.
“Information Please” belonged in that old wooden box back
home and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny
new phone that sat on the table in the hall. As I grew into
my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations
never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and
perplexity, I would recall the serene sense of security I
had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and
kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put
down in Seattle I had about half-an-hour or so between
planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my
sister, who lived there now.

Then, without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my
hometown operator and said, “Information, please.”

Miraculously, I heard the small, clear voice I knew so well.

“Information.”

I hadn’t planned this, but I heard myself saying, ” Could
you please tell me how to spell fix?”

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, “I
guess your finger must have healed by now.”

I laughed, “So it’s really still you,” I said. “I wonder if
you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time.”

“I wonder,” she said, “if you know how much your calls meant
to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward
to your calls.”

I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and
I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit
my sister.

“Please do,” she said. “Just ask for Sally.”

Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice
answered,”Information.”

I asked for Sally. “Are you a friend?” she said.

“Yes, a very old friend,” I answered.

“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” she said. “Sally had
been working part time the last few years because she was
sick. She died five weeks ago.”

Before I could hang up she said, “Wait a minute. Is your
name Paul?”

“Yes.”

“Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in
case you called. Let me read it to you.” The note said,
“Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in.
He’ll know what I mean.”

I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.

Never underestimate the impression you may make on others.
Whose life have you touched today?

<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>~<>
Have you got a tear running down your cheek, or a lump in your throat? It’s it amazing that something so good can make you feel so good and bad at the same time, so heart felt. Well i hope you enjoyed this story as much as i did. I recieved this story form www.healthywealthynwise.com

Love always for you are always loved ~ Monika