Southwestern College Collegian

Issue date: 2/20/08 Section: Personal Column

While on my search for the man who will write me a love song, I've discovered many lyrical admissions of love. However, none have been quite as poetic as Slum Village's "Call Me." The song samples the smooth sound of the Isley Brother's "Between the Sheets" beat, and Dwele delivers an impeccable Al Green like chorus. In recent days a man, who I will only refer to as Fresh, called me. I gave him a hard time because that's my personality, but I did notice the way I felt when my phone rang. As a single girl, I hardly ever have the opportunity to "cake" but when I do it is always an interesting experience. Until this breath of fresh air called my phone, I'd taken for granted the difference a little call can make. I thought about the effort it'd taken to find him a special ring tone just in case he should call, and when he did how my smile was a little brighter than it'd been all day. I remembered when I initially gave him my number how naturally the words, "Call me," flowed from my lips. It's always been my game to be the aggressive and confident type, but like any girl when I give out my number it means more than let's take a chance. In fact I usually ask 1,000 questions before giving up my name, and another 100 before giving out the digits. Symbolically, my ten digits say "I'm definitely interested." In his case I'd been interested for a while. During my analysis of why I give out my number, I thought about the day I met Fresh. Oddly enough it was around Christmas my sophomore year. Two years older than me, he sipped a vodka and orange juice illegally, and I dared to ask for a sip. Like Carrie's Mr. Big, he has since become this ever present love interest appearing and disappearing randomly leaving only the smell of his cologne behind. We worked in the same mall at stores adjacent to one another. While I folded clothes at Aéropostale I stared at him doing the same in Champs. It was summer by the time I had the nerve to speak to him again, and the only words I could conjure were "call me," as I boldly wrote my number on his hand. Years of playing phone tag between relationships has resulted in a strange relationship. A friendship of sorts, but the same romantic potential I recognized in high school is still there. The late night texts about television shows and random personal facts, and voicemails during summers away have made us evolve into this nameless thing. As my phone rings and his name appears on my caller ID, it's just like the first time we met. I become 16 again. Feel special because of our correspondence. And when he hangs up I remember he's not mine. The dial tone reminds me how far away he is, and how sporadic his trips home are. I've deleted his number over and over, but it's saved in my heart. There have been days I sent him hate texts, but the most beautiful occurrences have been the words of apology exchanged. We're not Facebook or Myspace friends, but pictures of him are etched in my memory. Many of you can identify. There is that one you can't seem to shake. That no matter what avenue you take him or her remains reminding you of what could be. Reminding you of why you said "Call me," the first time and why you've promptly answered every call since. The song says "All I want to do is show you love, but all I got to do is find the time." It suggests that maybe the lack of investment in certain relationships may lead to the downfall of something good. Slum Village says the answer is to simply say "call me." Learning the lesson of poor communication is what kills a lot of good things. A lot of relationships start off open and end up closed. We lose our willingness to talk, and in some cases listen once we get to know someone. The key is keeping things open. No matter what you should never stop calling because the moment you do, may be the time it takes to lose someone special.

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