“Hi this is Diane. I’m not in at the moment, but leave a message at the beep.”

That’s the message my sister has on her cell phone, and it’s the only way I’ve heard her voice for the past two months. She’s busy with meetings, I’m usually at school and it seems our schedules seldom mesh.

So I’ve taken up having a relationship with her phone.

Before you laugh, consider what a cell phone’s answering service offers you.

First, it listens to every word you say. And doesn’t interrupt. Just patiently waits for you to finish saying everything you want to say.

When’s the last time you had a conversation with a human like that?

Secondly, the answering function doesn’t remind you of all the bad mistakes you made in your life. We’ve all had those conversations with friends…

“I bought a new sweater today.”

“You didn’t get a yellow one. You know yellow looks awful on you.”

Silence.

“You bought the yellow one, didn’t you,” says your friend while you shove another piece of candy into your mouth and look for the bag of Doritos hiding on the top shelf of the pantry.

But the answering machine conversation is quite different.

“I bought a new sweater today. It’s yellow. I know that color looks awful on me, but I think I can wear this particular shade of yellow and, best of all, it was on sale. If you think that’s a good idea, give me a signal.”

At that moment, the end-of-message beep comes on and you rejoice – someone agrees that the on-sale, puke-lemon yellow sweater is a good idea.

Sometimes I find myself hoping the person I’m calling doesn’t answer the phone, especially when I have bad news, want to complain or am in a rotten mood.

When it’s a friend, they either set you straight or try and talk you out of the bad mood. But, let’s face it, sometimes you want to just vent.

But when that nasty mood strikes, I don’t call Diane’s cell phone. We have too good a relationship to ruin it with a petty rant about how tight my pants are getting as I sip on a chocolate malt, complete with whipped cream and a cherry on the top.

So I dial my own cell phone and wait for the inevitable green light: “Leave a message at the beep.”

“Hello,  cell phone, I just had to get this off my chest. I know you’re going to think I’m an awful person but I just had to vent.”

And with that, I go on for as long as it takes to feel vindicated and then end the call, feeling much better.  Later I replay the message, chagrined at how dumb I sound and quietly delete the message.

No one hurt and, better yet, nobody knows.

“Hi, this is Diane. I’m not in at the moment but leave a message at the beep.”

“Hi Diane’s cell phone. I’m driving home, looking at the sunset and thinking about our Dad. When you see Diane, ask her if she remembers how Dad would come home late at night and bring us comic books?

“See if she remembers when he’d stop the car on the railroad tracks and open the door. He said it was to let the train through, even though there wasn’t a train in sight. We’d yell for him to get us off the tracks and he’d just laugh.

“Cell phone, you don’t have that memory but it feels good to share missing Dad with somebody who won’t tell me I’m being silly. Thanks for being there and for listening.”

“Beep. Message recorded.”

And remembered.

This column was originally published in The Fort Bend Herald.