The contacts on my phone in order of appearance:

1. My Wife
2. My son’s school
3. Bert’s Pizza & Subs. Some pizza place I swore was the next big thing but have only ever ordered from once.
4. Joe, my old friend from high school that I haven’t called in seven years
5. Carla, my son’s favorite baby sitter
6. Carla, my former mistress. I only got those two mixed up once.
7. My handyman
8. The marriage counselor, whom my wife hired, and seems to agree that all the problems in my marriage are my fault.
9. My secretary
10. My lawyer who helped the judge understand my mistake when I mixed up the Carlas. Charges of soliciting a minor were dropped, but that only fixed one set of problems.
11. My boss (when I had a job)
12. The undertaker who buried my father
13. The preschool where my wife and Carla work
14. Georgo’s Pizza a place whose pizza I hate, but my wife and son love.
15. John, my friend since kindergarten. Best man at my wedding. Brother of my wife. Won’t take my calls, even with Caller ID blocked.
16. The pastor whose church I grew up in. When I call him, he always picks up on the second ring, even at 3am. I sit there preparing to tell him everything, like a confession would fix it. I end up breathing into the phone, too scared to speak, too desperate to hang up. He never reacts, never complains, never let’s me go. My parents moved when I was thirteen. I’m certain he doesn’t remember me, doesn’t know who’s on the other end, but he speaks to me, reads psalms, tells jokes that aren’t funny, or just talks about life until he falls asleep, praying prayers for a man who cannot get up the nerve to speak, a man who sobs into the other end of the phone and prays for forgiveness.