hey you great big snufalufs! i wrote this essay a couple years ago. here it is again, now with AUDIO of my reading it which you can listen to. I did it all in one take and may have gotten very emotional at the end of it so if you wanna listen to that, have at it.

if you want to cowrite with other weirdos for accountability, camaraderie and all around good time cheer, there are BATWRITEs today at 330pm est (starting 30 min earlier than originally planned) and Thursday at 10am est. Would love to see you there obviously. Sign up here.

k here it is ya f*lthy an*mals:

My parents call a lot. And I don’t mean that they call every day, though they do that too.

I mean that they call, and if I don’t answer, they call again…and again…and then also again.

At some point between the calls, which can be spaced out by moments or hours depending on the markets, my dad’ll hit me with a text that reads: 

?

By which I think he means ‘hey just called you’ but reads more like every millennials second worst text-message nightmare right behind the kiss of death itself, “ok.”

Which, for the record, my dad also employs liberally throughout our SMS communiques.

Twenty minutes and at least one more missed call later, another text:

?????

And then, just in case I’d set up a “don’t let any texts through unless they have a minimum of ten question marks in them” filter, a third message:

????????????????????

Being reasonable people, my parents will then make sure to wait at least one USA-length minute before switching into Operation Code Red and text my wife Lauren with a simple and friendly:

Hi Lauren. How are you guys?

Which, in Dobrenkese, means “Hi Lauren we can’t reach Alex are you and him both alive plz confirm.”

Lauren will respond with something like:

Hi yes everything’s good.

Which translates in Laurenese to “I’ll tell Alex to call you.”

She’ll look up and see me a few feet away, lying down on the rug with our two year old son Wilder playing a really simple game called “all the tiny animals dive off the the firetruck ladder into the pool that’s also a bowl with almonds, then all the animals take naps (he and I nap too) until he screams WAKE UP and we all wake up and do it all over again.”

And yes, my phone will be right there next to me BUT in my defense: 1) it’s face down and 2) I have all sounds and notifications turned off because I’m a dopamine-addled rat whose low self-esteem fails to find validation in the slot-machine reward system of the so called “smart phone” even though really I’ve never seen the thing do anything all that smart like meditate or find a mentor or invest in an IRA.

“Al, call your parents,” Lauren will say and I’ll pick up my phone, see ‘Missed Call – Dad Cell (7)’ along with this question mark mountain –

?

?????

????????????????????

— and tell Lauren to play the almond bowl pool nap game so I can call my dad back. He and my mom answer together with a harried hello.

“Hi?” I say back, readying myself for this being about nothing serious whatsoever since I know they do this all the time.

“”We tried calling you a bunch,” they say as if it’s new information.

“I know I saw. I was away from my phone. What’s up?”

“Nothing,” they respond, casual as a Friday. “Is everything okay?”

“No, everything is not okay,” I say.

“What?” they ask, in that vindicated, of-course-it’s-not-ok-this-is-why-we-call kind of way.

What’s not ok, dear mama, dear papa, is you being one step away from filing a missing persons report every time I’m away from my phone for longer than 92 minutes aka the runtime of the classic film Home Alone. At least gimme the Godfather-length benefit of the doubt — two hours, 55 minutes – that’s all I ask!

This whole dog and pony show happens a lot, and ya know what, I do not like it. I don’t like the second-hand panic, the first-hand guilt of not being a good enough son, and I certainly do not like how my subconscious interprets the calls, i.e. ‘we don’t trust that you can exist out in the world without dying so we need to call often to ensure that you haven’t, ya know, died. Oh you’re alive, good…how’s the weather it’s really hot here.’

Trying to change them is futile. Whenever I explain how their behavior is likely grounds for some sort of ‘adult child of stalker parents’ restraining order, they clap back with the ultimate parental mortal kombat finishing move — “you’ll understand when you have kids.”

Except it didn’t work. We had a son and he’s two now and still I don’t understand not even a little.

“You’ll understand when you have grandkids,” my dad then says and ya know what, you gotta hand it to him – if nothing else, even when paranoid and insane, the man is funny. See also: the brashness of the ten question marks, at once both a meta-commentary the inadequacy of technology-mediated communication AND a perfect encapsulation of the abject fear he must have been feeling at that moment. A Mozart of his day. Our day. A Mozart of our day. 

Point is – the whole thing is absurd and infuriating and I won’t ever be that way with Wilder or his kids or anyone. No way, never, get real. Dream on. Good luck cashing that ticket because no. Not gonna happen. Not me. I’m different and mature. The buck stops here. The buck stopped. The buck shan’t move again. Don’t even think about it because no.

A couple weeks ago 

It’s 410pm and I’m on the stationary bike in our dedicated workout room / lauren’s piano room / lauren’s office / our bedroom. I’m watching the HBO show Barry on the iPad — Season 4, mid-season — and I’m cruising. Lauren went to go pick up Wilder from daycare and is taking him to a playground until 5pm when my shift as Primary Caretaker will begin. Life is good.

I text her to see how it’s going and get back to my riding. Barry is getting intense, the show just did a — spoiler alert I guess? idk why this is my responsibility but whatever — big time jump into the future and now Barry has an eight year old kid with Sally. They live in the middle of nowhere in a giant field and he’s teaching her how to use a gun because he has to leave for LA for a classic one last job kill someone situation.

I check my phone again and see that Lauren hasn’t responded. Weird but no big. I text again.

Five minutes later, really going fast on the bike now, I check again no response weird but sorta big actually as I realize I haven’t heard from her since picking up Wilder hmmmm oh wait I know I’ll just check her location which, as married people, we’ve set to share with one another FOR LIFE (its in the vows).

Her little LW icon pops up on the map and it’s…at our house?

I scan the entire house, visible from my perch on the bike, but do not find her. Wait, the map says “Location last shared 5 hours ago” which is wrong because I saw her like an hour ago? No big deal. I’ll call her. I’ll say hello and then i can rewind Barry because I’m missing some pretty violent s**t on there right now is there an intruder in their house dressed in all black skin suit covering his face and body and my call goes straight to voicemail?

That lady who does the auto voicemail message starts her whole ‘the person you are trying to reach’ s**t as I try to think this through: why wouldn’t she answer the texts why is the phone off she always keeps her phone charged why isn’t her location updating did somethign happen somethign happened is she okay is Wilder okay?

beeeep

I hang up before leaving a voicemail, not wanting to be desperate or crazy because obviously I’m not.

Hang up, call again. STRAIGHT TO VM.

S**t where did she say they were going which playground not the one by the house because they drove –

beeeep

Hang up, call again. STRAIGHT TO VM.

If the phone was charged and now its off that means she either turned it off which never happens

Hang up, call again. STRAIGHT TO VM.

or what else there’s no other options besides a car crash holy s**t they got into a car crash and the phone got wrecked and now its off and It isn’t updating location oh f**k

Hang up, call again. STRAIGHT TO VM.

Hang up, call again. STRAIGHT TO VM.

Hang up, call again. STRAIGHT TO VM.

Hang up, call again. STRAIGHT TO VM.

Hang up, call again. STRAIGHT TO VM. F**K.

I turn up the difficulty on the bike because pain is gain so I’m pushing harder and can’t really breathe, sweat pooling on my chin before dropping onto the hardwood floor in little puddles of mess. The intruder in Barry just crashed into the house with his truck what the f**k I need to rewind but first I try to text and I can’t because of all the sweat all the words are garbled so I just sent it with typos:

“Bheyeyri aerate you oukjjjy”

Ok just calm down Alex everything is fine send another text

“sorryy just havnt heard from you lemme know you’re okaaaay”

what time is it 425 okay good what time were they supposed to be back 5 yes ok 5 that’s in no time

Which is how everything feels right now like there is no time because they really can’t be dead I really can’t live without them like actually no joke what the f**k

I keep refreshing Lauren’s location but there’s nothing just the same b******t from 5 hours ago that says she’s here in the house which is where I would really love for her to be thanks a lot Apple dipshit f*****g surveillance state phone its because we know too much that we fear too much cavemen didn’t have geolocation and they turned out ok

I imagine in vivid detail how my life will look now that I’m all alone like a Hallmark movie where the dad is left all alone home alone broken all the time shell of their former selves and everyone else tries to help but they can’t so I imagine the drugs I’d start taking and wonder if I’d be strong enough to not take them but who are we kidding of course I’d take them maybe I find some now just to –

Straight to VM

I picture his little squish of a face and something breaks or cracks or jostles in my already fragile psyche and I start to ugly cry like whatever you imagine a man passionately sobbing and shaking with rage looks like, I’m doing the opposite, weak and small and terrified because I’m alone and may forever stay that way and I never think about losing them because its way too scary but now the floodgates are wide open and I’m drowning with no one to save me.

Or. Or is the water like 2 feet tall and I’m being dramatic? Surely that’s it. Surely everything is fine everything is good

I imagine the white SUV crashed on the road and my hands are shaking holding the phone the phone is shaking as it tells me again that there is no location for Lauren she does not exist on the map an6ymore she was last seen 5 hours ago in my house does that make me a suspect shut up alex what the f**k am i gonna do just do sometyhing

Drenched in sweat tears, riding even harder now, I google “what to do if you think someone has been in a car crash” and see a message that says to call your local police department and see if any crashes have been reported so I google Glendale Police and the google maps entry says it’s closed in big red letters which, what? Police can’t be closed also they only have 2.5 stars wow ok I call and a robot lady says “you have reached the glendale police department for english press 1”

I press 1

You have reached the glendale police department if this is an emergency press 1 otherwise select one of the following options

how do I know if this is an emergency I mean obviously it is but I know they wouldn’t think so ugh

“for traffic bureau 2

for jail custody information press 3

for report copies and records press 4

for the evidence room 5

for vice and narcotics press 6

for criminal investigations press 8

for recruitment and backgrounds press 9

for all other matters press 0 or stay on the line”

After all that we’re just gonna stay on the line ok?

“Hello glendale police department” a real human woman says.

“Hi um I’m, I can’t,” I stammer, “I can’t get a hold of my wife and wanted to know if maybe she had been in an accident?”

Verbalizing the words, I’m shocked awake — there it is I just said “been in an accident.” It’s real now it’s not just in my head it’s out in the world does that does that make it real am I making it real?

“Ok sir can you tell me the car’s license plate?”

“I um dont have that but i have the VIN which is weirdly on my phone because we just had to file a claim for a little rear end situation where another dude rear ended me while I was driving her car”

“ok sir go ahead”

I tell her the VIN which, notably, starts with a number followed by the full word FART.

A pause.

“The white Honda CRV?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say before doing whatever the opposite of breathing is because holy s**t she’s looking at the accident report and there’s Lauren’s car the white Honda CRV the accident why isn’t she saying anything she’s not saying anything why won’t she just confirm the accident already I need to know that it happened –

“okay sir we aren’t seeing any accident reports here, does your wife drive on highways a lot?”

“i don’t know yes sometimes I’m not sure” the hell kind of question is that?

“ok great then you may want to call the California highway patrol because they often –” she continues but I am not listening because I’m getting another call and

I look down and its Lauren.

Lauren.

Lauren.

It’s Lauren who shouldn’t be able to call because her phone is dead and she got into an accident but somehow she’s doing it somehow she’s willed herself to pull off this impossible feat OR its someone else on her phone about to break the news to me —

“Hey” I finally say.

“Hey how’s it going” she answers back, calm and dandy.

“…did you get my messages?”

“Oh no we were at the playground with no service did you call?”

lol did I call.

“I thought you got into a car accident.”

“oh no we’re fine.”

“I called the police”

“you what??”

“to see if-”

“oh no don’t worry we’re okay everything is okay”

“ok um yea good i’ll see you at home soon I’m gonna take a shower”

I’m beside the bike now, keeled over, sweaty and shaking the same way our dog Robert does when there are fireworks and then, during all of this and not a moment later – I realize that, just as the prophecy hath foretold, I have become my parents, worrywarts and all.

I picture the two of them sweating atop matching stationary bikes, desperately trying to get a hold of me and being unable to, keeled over sobbing because they think I am dead and, for a moment I get it. In fact, what I just did was way crazier, like i was seconds away from filing a missing persons report because I hadn’t heard from my wife for the duration of a single episode of CSI.

But Lauren isn’t mad. She understands, and when she and Wilder get home I hug them both and cry until Wilder says “GO AWAY” and pushes me back into the sweatlodge of our bedroom gym. I sit and imagine him all grown up, still screaming “GO AWAY” because I keep trying to get a hold of him.

At which point I’ll sit him down and pass on the prophecy as it had been passed onto me, though perhaps I’ll share the unabridged version:

“You’ll understand when you have kids and it will feel like the worst pain you’ve ever felt and you won’t even want it to go away for having it removed would also mean having the love that brought it forth removed and if that was gone so too would you be gone ugh what a goddamn nightmare good luck lol i love you call me when you get wherever you’re going btw seriously not a joke just call me what you can’t call your dad is it going to kill you because if you don’t it could kill me lol jk have fun love you but seriously call also don’t ever forget your mom’s VIN number has the word FART in it.”

I work really hard on this newsletter – it’s my job now like it’s how I make money.

So if you’re digging this and all the other work, please consider becoming a paid subscriber – it would mean a lot.

and hey guess what here’s a big nice 20% off deal too bc why not

And if you can’t afford a paid subscription — don’t worry AT ALL. Let’s just you and I hope that the fat cats with big stacks reading this will find it in their surprisingly warm and cuddly hearts to support BAT so that we can all be like James Bond and live another day.

* Do you irrationally worry people in your life are dead? Do you call incessantly or just sorta brood internally?

* Are there things your parents do that irritate you far more than they should?

* To the parents with kids who are older – what sorts of fun anxieties about one’s children do I have to look forward to?

*

*

* free time: write about whatever the hell you want like where did your brain go After reading this? Or what is on your mind today idk you choose have fun with it I love you call me back.

This is a public episode. If you’d like to discuss this with other subscribers or get access to bonus episodes, visit botharetrue.substack.com/subscribe