The Number Was Wrong

A stranger leaves a birthday message for Marisol at 8:06 on a rainy Tuesday. The number is wrong, but the kindness in the call reaches someone who has been waiting for a voice to arrive.

This is a fictional voicemail, turned into a song.

This is the voicemail a stranger left on Tuesday at 8:06 PM for Marisol.

Hi, it's Linda, I hope I have the right one The number in my book is hard to read I found it underneath a stack of coupons And thought you might still be the girl I need

I made a cake, the small kind from the box mix It leaned a little when I pulled it free I put one candle in it for the picture Then saved the other one for you and me

The number was wrong, but the room was quiet And you said my name like you knew where I was I let you talk about the cake and the weather I let you tell me somebody was proud I kept the message, I kept the message Long after you said you would call back around

You said the rain was tapping on the window You said the dog had stolen half the bread You said you hoped I wasn't working late now The kind of things that fill a day instead

You asked if I was still afraid of driving You laughed before I had a chance to speak Then there was paper moving by the phone line And your voice got softer at the end of the week

The number was wrong, but I didn't stop you There wasn't a reason I needed to give You said happy birthday, Marisol, darling And left a little light where my name isn't I kept the message, I kept the message I played it once for the rest of the night

At 8:06, the kitchen was still blue-lit The takeout box was open by the sink I had been waiting for a call from no one And trying not to notice how I think

You told me there was frosting on your sweater You told me you were turning fifty-two I pictured someone standing in a doorway With both hands full of things they meant to do

Maybe Marisol is in a new town now Maybe she changed her number years ago Maybe she is sitting by the window Listening to a voice she doesn't know

But you were so certain I was listening You said, sweetheart, like the word was mine So I stood there with my hand above the counter And let a stranger give me back some time

I wrote the date across the saved screen Tuesday, 8:06, Linda's voice The little red light blinking in the hallway The phone still warm beneath my palm and choice

I never called to tell you you were mistaken I never found a way to make it kind Some gifts arrive without a proper address And some are only meant to be replayed at night

The number was wrong, and I was nobody But you sang one line before the tone You said happy birthday, Marisol, darling Like there was somewhere I could still belong I kept the message, I kept the message I keep it low so the neighbors don't know A stranger's voice in a borrowed kitchen Saying the words I needed to hear slow

Happy birthday, Marisol, darling I hope you got home before the rain The number was wrong, but I still hear it And I don't delete it, not today