Ring Me Up

Missed Connections London Facebook Group

15 February 2024

Post Number 1984:



To the blue-eyed man in the lilac shirt at Rhodri's on the night of 10 February:

Hello!

Look, I’m not usually the type to do this. Before you walked into my life and changed the flow of my days with just a radiant smile, I would have looked at this page, sighed at all the syrupy confessions of deep longing and affection, and started being concerned for the safety of all who yearn to connect with a stranger, to all who dare shout into, well, a void. Now, look at me prattling on. I guess I just thought that if I do not grab this chance, I might lose the opportunity to talk to you, cut down the lines of communication before they’ve even been built up. If it comes out awkward and weird, I’m so sorry.

Well, first of all, I want you to know that I can actually answer your question that fateful night. I know. It was Rhod, the bartender and owner, that you posed that little query to, your sparkling sapphire eyes flying open as you heard the funky bass line, bright brass notes, and soulful voice crooning in Japanese piped in from the bar’s loudspeakers. You excitedly asked Rhod what song was playing, and unfortunately, for you, he replied that he didn’t know, and that his son living in Japan was the one who created the playlist for the bar. You sighed and gave a polite giggle before shrugging, as if to resign yourself to never knowing what that mystery tune is.

I do, though. It’s called “Telephone Number”, and it’s by a Japanese singer named Junko Ohashi. I happen to own a copy of the album it’s from, and you’re right. I also find it’s a smooth little jazzy gem. Funny you should choose that particular song, though. Ah, I don’t want to get ahead of myself.

However, apart from the title of the track, there are other things I’ve kept inside me ---things I’ve written on the Notes application of my phone that I use as a journal, things I’ve practiced every day to tell the man I've been yearning to hold for a very long time now. Yes, I was waiting for the day I could spill them out to the very person I’ve dreamt about a thousand or so times already. Well, I think this is the day I want that man to answer the call of my heart, and of course, I'm talking about you.

I want you to know that that February night at the bar wasn’t the first time I saw you, actually. I first encountered you and your sapphire blue eyes at a record store in Islington at the beginning of last year; you beamed as you scoured the stacks and saw Heatwave’s “Too Hot to Handle” (one of my favourite albums, by the way) amongst the myriad of titles. Even then, the very first time I laid eyes on you, I just had to notice you, as if there were a ringing tone in my head saying, “Come look at him”. Since that day, I have dreamt about you beaming, this time, at me as I put on a record on our player in the living room.

I want you to know that the first time I bumped into you randomly at a Waitrose, that very moment I was on Cloud 9 as you got a shopping trolley and give me a polite smile, I resolved that I would get groceries only there. I want you to know that Rhodri’s wasn’t my regular bar until one March night, my friend invited me there for her birthday and boom, there you were, your dark blue eyes filled with cheekiness as you chuckled at a joke from a mate of yours. You know how they say that smartphones are addictive; well, I find your radiant smile and scintillating eyes even more so. Yes, I’m so hooked on them that I changed my places of habit just to see more of you. I think it’s worth it, though. Unlike an addiction to social media apps, this is something I don’t want to purge from.

I want you to know that one of my most prized possessions is a calling card you accidentally dropped on the floor at Rhodri’s one night in June. I couldn’t help noticing the small piece of cardboard, as if it were a nugget of gold buried in rock. I tried to hand it back to you, but in my stilettos, I couldn’t chase after you as you briskly walked out the door and into the summer night. I hope you don’t mind that I’ve kept it, Jonathan; yes, I had to peek at what your name was. (Sorry if that was weird.) Jonathan….I’ve always found that such a beautiful name. To me, it sounds very, well, gentlemanly with a hint of cool (God, sorry if that’s even weirder.). Of course, now, it’s even more beautiful to me now that I know it’s what you’re called.

Most of all, I want you to know that that girl who stood you up that night a couple of days ago was very foolish to not show up for the date you set up. No, I’m not part of some party line; I just overheard you talking to Rhod and found out that she messaged you that she wouldn’t show up because she dug through your social media accounts and figured you weren’t her type. In fact, every single woman who I’ve seen you take to the bar for drinks on a date and then, have the gall to reject you is absolutely out of her mind, I think. To repeat what Rhod told you when you received that bitter rejection text message, Jonathan, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all. If there’s anything wrong, it’s with these women’s eyes for not seeing how dazzling you are. I see it, and if you give me the chance, I will show you what I see in you, which is, well, the entire universe.

You know, I was about to tell you everything, spill to you these words I’ve saved on the Notes app of my phone for more than a year. I closed my eyes, pondering on how to finally confess it all you, before I got up with my knees wobbling…and did not see you on that bar stool anymore. Apparently, you had to hurry home to not miss the last Victoria line service. I was gutted; it was like I missed an important, life-changing call by five seconds. I cried on my way home, tears splattering on my phone screen still displaying the heartfelt speech I wanted to give you, and wondered if I would ever get the chance to speak to you.

…and that’s why I’m here, hoping against all odds that you’d pick up the call of my heart. Since you were asking Rhod about “Telephone Number”, I thought why don’t I do the same as Junko Ohashi and ask you to give me a ring (Yes, that is what that song is about, by the way, a woman begging for the man she fancies to come call her up.). I know this is brazen, but what else is a girl to do when she is calling for someone to be in her life?

You can call me at 07297 056709, if you’d like. I promise that if you do say yes and dial that number, I shall try to make you smile as brightly as you did when you found that Heatwave album all those months ago. My phone ringing because of your call would be as if a choir of angels sang all around me, you know. I’ll be patiently waiting, Jonathan.

Waiting for your ring,

Carly (a.k.a. The brunette in the salmon dress)

******************************************

Oh…my….word! Could this be really happening?

I was just about to post on Missed Connections London when I read, oh my, a post by someone who seems to be the woman I’ve been seeing --- well, more like stealing glances at--- regularly at Rhodri’s on the same group page…and it looks like it’s about me. ABOUT ME??

Could it really be that the woman I fancy has answered my silent call for her heart? OH MY!

There’s only one way to find out, I guess. With my hands trembling with nerves, excitement, and elation, I grab my mobile phone and dial the number at the end of the open letter to me. Oh goodness, here I go.

07....

Oh my God! She also fancies me! The enchanting, intoxicating woman I’ve been secretly staring at whenever I’m at Rhodri’s, the same brunette woman with the dazzling steel grey eyes who I’ve dreamt about for over a year now, would like to talk to me, Jonathan Williams. HOW IS THAT EVEN POSSIBLE?!

...29...

Oh goodness, I still can’t believe she actually noticed me at that record shop. Not only that, but that Heatwave album is amongst her favourites too? Pinch me; is this real? Well, I guess I’m going to have to tell her that I couldn’t help gazing at her and those twinkling eyes filled with joy when she was scouring the stacks that same January day.

Jonathan, don’t mess this up. It’s true that you’ve imagined the two of you cuddling on the couch whilst listening to records, but don’t be all dopey when you do hear her voice. Please don’t prattle on and scare her.

...7...

Oh goodness, all that time was wasted going out on fruitless dates with women who only gave you the constant refrain of “It’s not you; it’s me”--- translation: Jonathan, you are not my type --- or, worse, a very blunt “No thanks, I don’t date dweebs.” All that time, you sat through blank stares and chilly conversations, only for your dates to sneak off into the loo or badly pretend to receive an important call and then, abruptly end your rendez-vous. Why? Oh, it’s just because you thought that mesmerising brunette you’ve switched to shopping at Waitrose for would never be interested in you. No, it can’t be that the angel of the Islington record stores would ever have the time of day to notice you, right.

Here’s proof of the contrary, Jonathan. Oh my!

...05...

Did my little ploy of “accidentally” dropping a calling card on the floor of Rhodri’s so that the gorgeous grey-eyed bar regular may pick it up…. actually work? I remember that June night very clearly and how I was kicking myself mentally on the Tube home in regret for pulling what I thought was a very ridiculous move once the realisation of what I did at the bar came over me.

“How embarrassing was that,” I thought to myself. “God, Jonathan, that was so daft of you.”

Well, it turns out it wasn’t such a stupid idea, after all. Wow! I think the only caveat is that I didn’t notice I dropped two cards, so one time in August, I had to make a dash back to the office before going to another meeting on the other side of London. Oh well.

...67...

Oh, how beautiful was she in that salmon dress a couple of days ago! I think the colour brought out just how lustrous her chestnut waves are, how soulful her grey eyes are….and I get to admire them from nearer if I manage to ask her out on a date. That is definitely progress for you, mate. Oh my goodness!

Hmmmm….blue eyes with grey eyes make what eye colour? Our children will be…oh stop, Jonathan.

...08

After two rings, I hear a click. Gulp! It’s now or never.

“Hello,” says the melodious voice on the other side. My goodness, why does it sound like music? God, her voice may be my new favourite sound now.

“Hello, uhm, is this Alicia?”

“Y-yes, it’s me speaking. May I know who’s calling?”

“Hi, uhm, I’m Jonathan. Uhm, it’s Jonathan Williams.”

"Oh my goodness! You saw my Missed Connections London post! I can’t believe it!”

“Yes, Post Number 1978, up on the page on Valentine’s Day.”

“Gosh! You actually remember the post number. I….I just can’t believe I’m talking to you. You actually gave me a call!”

“But of course! To be honest, well, I was about to post on the group because, well, I wanted you to call me up.”

“Oh wow! Really? That’s incredible! I, uhm, was actually afraid when I made that open letter to you that you’d be into the other brunette at the bar that night. ”

“Wait, there was another one? Well, I didn’t even notice, to be honest. It has always been you I’ve wanted to talk to. Very badly too.”

"Oh, that’s great news for me. And you wanted to ring me up. Wow!”

“Well, if I had my way, I’d eventually give you another kind of ring….oh crap, that’s….Oh, I’m so sorry for that terrible line.”

I sigh as I realise my mouth has, once again, run too fast for my brain to catch up. That’s it. She won’t give you a chance now, just like the women you went on dates with. Just….

“To be honest, that is everything I’ve ever dreamt about since I first saw you, Jonathan. Really! Look, uhm, I know this may be a bit too forward, but, uhm, would you like to go out with me some time?”