Information Please..........

When I was  quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our  neighborhood. I remember 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 talked 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 anyone's number and the correct time.  
     My personal experience with the  genie-in-a-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 seemed no point 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 footstool 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 the icebox?" she asked. I said I could.  
    "Then chip off a little bit 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, and then  said things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was not consoled. 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, "Wayne, 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 in the now familiar voice. "How do I 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 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 a  half-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 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 call 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, did you say your name was Wayne ?"  
    "Yes." I  answered.
     "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 there are other worlds to sing  in. He'll know what I  mean."
    I thanked her and hung up.  I knew what Sally meant  .................