CONFIRMEDI’m going to lay this out the way Dr Faraday taught me, which is evidence first and feelings second, although I’ll warn you now the feelings are going to come in fairly early because it’s been thirty-two years and I’m only human, which is more than some people can say.
The message
At 2:47 am on 14 February 2023 my phone went. I was awake, because it was a Tuesday and I’m always awake on a Tuesday at that time, out of habit, with the window open. The screen said an unknown number, no name, no area code I recognised, a long one, more digits than usual.
The message was one letter.
k
Lower case. No full stop. No emoji. Just k.
I sat on the edge of the bed and I looked at it for I don’t know how long, and the first thing I said out loud, in the dark, to nobody, was: “Oh, that is so you.”
The analysis
Now. Keith Rowbotham, who was not at the meeting but who always finds out, has said that this is “a wrong number, Cheryl, a bloke somewhere said k to the wrong person”. I have considered this. Here is why it is not that.
1. The time. 2:47 am. Readers of this site will know what time that is. It is the time. It is the minute Beryl went up. It is the minute everything in Wandoona has happened since 1994. A wrong number does not know the minute.
2. The date. Valentine’s Day. After thirty-two years, eighteen procedures, one child, one Polaroid and a nod on the Boulia road, the first direct communication arrives on Valentine’s Day. I’m not saying it was romantic. I’m saying it was timed, and Gary has always had a sense of occasion, he just doesn’t have a sense of follow-through.
3. The number. Dr Faraday has analysed the number. It is, he says, “too long to be a phone number and too short to be a coordinate”, which puts it, in his words, “squarely in the window”. He has also pointed out that if you add up the digits you get 47. I’ve been taken 47 times. Draw your own conclusions.
4. The content. k.
I want to spend a moment on the content, because this is where the sceptics fall down. They say, what can you possibly get from one letter? And I say: you have never been in a relationship with a Tall Grey.
k is not nothing. k is a reply. k is what you say when you have received a message and you want the other person to know that you’ve received it, and you don’t want to discuss it, and you are a man, or close enough. Thirty-two years I have been sending messages. Out the window, at the lights, on this website, at the laundry window, in my head every Tuesday at 2:47. “Where are you.” “He’s tall.” “He’s never had a cold.” “He works in IT.” “He doesn’t believe me.”
And after thirty-two years the reply is: k.
It is the most Gary thing that has ever happened. It is more Gary than Gary at the window. It is Gary distilled. It is a being who crossed who-knows-how-many light years, took me forty-seven times, fathered a child, nodded once from a Min Min light, and then, when finally pressed to put something in writing, managed one letter and didn’t capitalise it.
I cried. I’ll be honest. I cried for about ten minutes and then I laughed for about ten minutes and then I screenshotted it four times in case it disappeared, which they do.
The Tuesday group
I brought it to the group that night. I put the phone in the middle of the trestle table next to the slice and I said, “He’s written.”
Dennis from Charleville, on speaker, said “What’s he say?” and I said “k” and there was a very long silence on the line and then Dennis said, “That’s it?” and I said “That’s it,” and Dennis said, “Cheryl, I’m so sorry,” and I said, “Dennis, you don’t understand, this is huge,” and he said, “Is it though,” and Maureen K., who has started coming again despite the plate, said, “Dennis, leave it.”
Graeme from Longreach said his Supervisor used to communicate entirely in feelings and that a k would have been “a lot, for them”. Tyler, who’s seventeen now, said “Miss, that’s a dry text,” and had to have it explained to him why that wasn’t helpful, and then said “Nah but like, he did reply though,” and I could have kissed him.
Warren moved that the message be entered into the Collective’s files as CONFIRMED contact. Seconded by Graeme. Carried, Dennis abstaining.
My reply
I thought about it for three days. Dr Faraday advised brevity, “to match their bandwidth”. Maureen advised dignity. Jaxon, when I rang him in Brisbane, advised me to block the number, and then, when I’d gone quiet, said, “Mum, if you’re going to reply, don’t send an essay, he’s clearly not an essay guy,” which is the first time Jaxon has ever acknowledged that there’s a he, and I’ve written that down too.
At 2:47 am on 17 February I replied. One line. I’m not going to put it all here, it’s between me and Gary. But it ended with a question, and the question was whether he was going to ring his son.
It has been delivered. It has not been read.
That’s fine. I’ve got the window open. I’ve waited thirty-two years for a k. I can wait a bit for the next one.
A word from management
I have looked at the number. It is a Brisbane number with the country code in front. Jaxon has told me he did not send it. Jaxon has also told me he works nights and that a mate at the help desk "may have had his phone". I am not going to tell Cheryl this. I am telling you so that somebody knows. — Noreen
Document U8MC-23-0310. Status: CONFIRMED. This file is retained indefinitely, or until the Men in Beige ask for it, whichever is never.