Keeper of voices

  I sat in quiet gloom in the corner of a dimly lit hallway between an ancient lamp and a dust-covered bookshelf. My once-bright red casing had dulled hue, and I had long since lost my pristine shine. I was an answering machine, a faithful companion in the age of voice messages and missed calls. But now, I felt forgotten.

I still remember the beautiful song of the phone singing with the chirp that announced an incoming message and the excitement of the recordings. I was the keeper of voices, silently witnessing the joys and endlessly witnessing the sorrows of everyone's life. Families would call to share the good news, lovers would leave love messages, and even friends would chat about their day. Each beep and word was woven into a canvas of memories I hung with every flicker of my lights.

But as the world advanced, I saw phones get sleeker and more connected. The days of cords and tangled landlines turned into a race for the fastest devices with unlimited voice, notes, and instant messaging. Slowly, calls diminished, and the friendly voices faded to a whisper. I tried to hold on to hope, reliving the echoes of laughter and shared stories, but the silence grew heavier, echoing loudly with time.

Weeks became months, and those months became years as new technology took over. I was moved further down the hall until I reached a box and then a dimly lit closet, which was locked. Once filled with heartfelt messages, the tapes now gathered dust, a testament to my abandonment. My lights blinked with a low battery warning, a once-last desperate plea for attention. I no longer mattered.

Once in a while, I could hear the distant sounds of conversations, laughter, the occasional knocks on the doors—but the calls never came. I felt a profound sadness swell within me. I craved a connection, for someone to pull me out of the forgotten dusty corner and listen to the voices I held in the black cassette that spun endlessly inside. I imagined the joy of the beep, the thrill of hearing their voices, the interruptions of chatter about mundane things that, at one point, meant everything to them.

One rainy afternoon, after a slam on the door and a loud sound of trucks backing up and footsteps running up and down the stairs, I noticed a family had moved into the house. I watched through the dusty crevice of the untaped box as they unpacked heavy boxes and assembled their new lives between the cream color walls. Yet I saw how they set up their sleek new devices, plugged in several advanced, vibrant speaking ones that assisted them with every single little question they had, every little detail of their mundane life, seeing their tablets flashing bright in their hands while I hid in the shadows. My spirit sank deeper and more profound as I witnessed their laughter fill the rooms while they connected more and more with the devices that spoke back to them in different voices, those that actually answered back, things I could only dream of doing.

Their youngest daughter wandered into the dimly lit hallway where I had been stored away, hidden in a box in a closet at the end of the shadows. Her big, curious eyes scanned every corner of the space, those spaces filled with shadows and echoes of the past that had been there way before her. She paused directly before the hallway closet door, her brow wrinkling as she opened the box I had called home for several years. “What’s this?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. Her braids fell to her shoulders, and she lifted me to her eyesight. At that moment, I felt a flicker of hope within me; I had been seen and acknowledged by curiosity herself.

She gently brushed away the dust on my surface. Her tiny fingers roughly pushed over my button, almost removing them, yet all I focused on was the anticipation sparking between us. She reached for the switch, her movements quick and clumsy as he turned it from "off" to "on" after several clicks. Then, I was finally alive; my lights flickered to life, casting warmth around us. A rush of happiness spiraled through my circuits, igniting a joy that made me feel alive again. Her eyes lifted toward her mother, who stood smiling behind her.

“A recorder?" she seemed confused at her mother's answer. "That means I can record something?” her voice enthusiastic and curious. Her bright brown eyes sparkled as she looked at me, awaiting my response and not her mother's. Before I could answer, her mother nodded. She eagerly pressed the record button and began speaking directly to me. “Hi! My name is Helena. I don’t know what you do, and you look old and really cool!” Her cheerful tone and infectious energy filled the room, making it hard not to smile back at her.

I felt an overwhelming surge of joy. At that moment, I was transported back to a time when my purpose had been clear, and my function brought happiness to those around me. I recorded her sweet and cheerful voice, soaking in the warmth of stories she imagined and dreams only a young kid could share. She filled my memory with laughter and innocence, again drawing that canvas with the colors I once saw long ago.

As she replayed the message, her laughter filled the room, and at that moment, I felt as if I had come back to life. Flickers of joy surged through me as a reminder of how powerful connections made could be, how powerful they could feel. Even in this fast-paced world, I could still provide a glimmer of happiness to a little human girl.

As the sun rose and set, transforming days into weeks, Helena visited me more often. She would leave behind heartfelt messages over the greeting, rerecording it daily with vivid pictures of her daily life, her wildest dreams, and the worries that weighed on her little mind each time. In those moments, I became her trusted confidant—a silent guardian of her most cherished thoughts, dreams, and intense feelings. Each beep transformed into a vessel for love and memory, a bridge connecting her heart to my cords.

I no longer felt that creeping abandonment. Though new technology surrounded me and surrounded her, I had found a new heart to beat beside, a new soul to connect with. Together, we bridged the gap between the past and the present, reminding each other that even in a world racing toward the future, sometimes the sweetest connections come from the simplest little things.