Last night at 2 am my cell phone rang from an unknown local number. I picked it up and heard some noises but no voice.  Cell reception is awful at my house and this often happens, yet I figured it was a pocket-dial and hung up.  They called back right away. Twice.  Now fully awake and sitting up with the lights on, I sent it to voice mail. They left no message and called right back again. My heart was beating and my mind was whirring — I was certain something terrible had happened, a friend was in trouble, someone has died.  Since they were calling every 30 seconds, I sent a text to the number asking them to call the landline.  

The landline rang right away, and I stood barefoot in the cold kitchen looking at the phone on the counter, doing an inventory of the people in my life, getting ready for the middle of the night call that changes everything. I’ve had those calls before, and here it comes again. There’s nothing to do but step towards it, bring it to your ear, and begin. 

I pick it up and say Hello?  A casual, deep, smoke-heavy, female voice says “Itsjade.”  Pardon me?  “It’s JADE!” she barks.  Um, Hi, your phone just called me several times.  “I didn’t fucking call you.”  Well, actually you did, and if you don’t need to speak to Eaddy then there’s been a mistake.

“Don’t be texting me at two o'clock in the morning asking me to call you! Who the fuck are you?” and on she went, yelling, as I hung up the phone and bumped my way back to my room.  

The landline rings a minute later, I pick it up and hear the same causal “Itsjade.” Smoothly, she says, “Look, I don’t mean to be an asshole, but why the hell did you text me asking me to call you?”  I calmly explain that her phone called me multiple times, I have bad cell reception, and I thought there was an emergency.  

Jade doesn’t buy it. “I didn’t fucking call you. Are you sleeping with my wife? Why the hell else would you be texting my wife’s phone, asking her to call you? Are you sleeping with my wife?” Trying to stay mellow,  I replied, Nope, I don’t think so.  She roars back, “Oh you don’t THINK so?!? Where do you live? Where do you work? You’re fucking sleeping with my wife, just tell me. . . .” 

I hang up the phone, turn out the lights and get back into bed, relieved and amused.  A text arrives a few minutes later: “Yes don’t ask the wife to call you on the landline and get pissed at her! Slut!”  

Being called a slut in the middle of the night by an angry stranger was much better than the alternative — it was like waking up into a David Sedaris essay. I’m glad that everyone I love is safe, but it looks like I wasn't the only one afraid of losing someone that night. Cheaters beware, she’s checking your phone, she’s on to you, and she's ready to fight for what she loves.