Across a Wire

I emailed my cousin Rebecca the other day to check in and see how she was doing, and was amazed that right as I sent my message, a response from her popped up in my inbox. I opened it, thoroughly impressed by her attention and obvious speed-typing prowess…only to see that her email actually predated mine by about four minutes.

Meaning that she had sent it while I was still in draft mode.

Meaning that we had just emailed each other at exactly the same time.

This would be weird enough if we were sitting in the same office, or even lived in the same state. But Rebecca isn’t even on the same continent as I am.

She’s currently studying abroad. In Sweden.

Let’s ignore for a moment the fact that Rebecca and I are essentially the same person. Four years my junior, she goes to Colby, drives my old car, wears my old clothes, and spent this past summer living in my old room in my parents’ house (are we seeing a pattern, here?). Again, ignore the fact that she is more bubbly, brilliant, and blond than I am. The truth is, for my family (or, “the London clan,” a term of endearment that I’m sure was once self-described but now is basically a pronoun) this exchange isn’t weird at all.

Me and Rebecca being...me and Rebecca

Nearly every time I call home my mom answers it with “your ears must be burning,” Mainer-speak for “we were just talking about you, but all good things, I promise.” Sometimes I take out my phone to call her only to find it vibrating in my hand with her name on the screen.

There was a time when we were all in Maine, the whole clan, with no one farther away than a two-hour drive (and that’s Sugarloaf, our second home anyway). Calling at all was almost frivolous; we’d just drive over and “take off our coats, stay awhile” (also Mainer-speak, for making yourself comfortable). 

But as we’ve grown up (four of the eight grandchildren are now out of college, the rest in it or close behind), some of us have moved away, and the others are constantly traveling (including two sets of grandparents who “snowbird” in Florida). Still, we find a way to keep in touch with check-in calls, Facebook messages, and (when we can get it) time at home to visit.

Family news is telegraphed this way, across states and even continents. A recent call home to my dad disclosed that my uncle was at the house on his way to the airport to visit my cousin in Sweden. This was followed by a call to my aunt, who told me what day she would be home at Christmas and asked how my mom’s road race was earlier that morning. Which turned into a call with my mom, telling me she was just arriving home from a road race (yep, already knew that) and that she was pulling into the driveway and my uncle’s car was there (yep, knew that too) and had I heard that he was going to Sweden to visit Rebecca?

“Yep, mum, I heard.” I knew.

I always know.