ABC Crimes

I picked up the receiver and dialed the four-digit numerical pattern on the number pad. When the person on the other end answered, I burped, “A, B, C, D, E, F, G, H, I, J, K, L.” A different letter with each burp.

I was eleven.

Normally, by the time I hit L or M, I was out of air and manufactured burps. Those last few were lackluster. After the last belched letter, I’d slam the phone down, and my entire body would be overcome with pure cortisol. I’d run and jump around the house, enjoying the rush, hoping the feeling wouldn’t decline.

In my small village in the 90s, you only had to dial the Line Number, the last four digits, to reach other telephone numbers in town. You could exclude the country, area codes, and prefix. If you wanted to call within the county, you had to include the area code, otherwise, it was considered long-distance.

I stayed within the town, knowing that local calls were free and were not tracked on the monthly phone bill.

I don’t recall the number, but it was the same every time: a pattern. All I had to do was key in the four numbers, take a deep breath, and as soon as the person answered, I’d begin with, “A (burp), B (burp), C (burp)…”

The majority of the time, an elderly woman would answer and would hang up on me before I could reach the D. Other times, the phone would continue ringing several times, and I’d eventually hang up in disappointment.

I did other phone pranks too, but the ABCs burping bit was specific to this particular numerical pattern.

One time, I dialed a random number, pretending to be the local radio station, and offered free concert tickets if the caller could answer a question live on the air. The old man who picked up was onto my trick, likely because it was clear that a pre-pubescent kid was pranking him, and indeed, was not a DJ from WTAY calling.

He said, “Boy, I know what you’re pulling.”

”Don’t you want the concert tickets, or what?” I replied.

”Go suck a lemon!”

The burping of the ABCs continued on for weeks, practically every day. Any opportunity I had, I’d take it.

Eventually, the lady stopped answering, and I noticed she had a new addition: an answering machine. I'd just leave long-winded burping sessions on it instead.

On a Saturday afternoon, while riding Go-karts at my friend Travis’ house, his mom came outside to let me know my mom was on the phone and wanted to speak to me.

”What does she want?”

”I don’t know, but she doesn’t sound happy,” Travis’ mom said.

Oh no.

I picked up the phone, ”Yeah mom?”

”Your ass is grass, kid. What’s this shit you’ve been pulling on the phone?”

For five seconds, I didn’t know what she was referring to, and then it hit me.

She said, “Guess who just called me? The county sheriff!”

”What did he want?”

”He said that you’ve been pranking some little old lady in town. Calling daily and annoying her.”

”Well, it wasn’t me, I promise.”

”She was so upset by the non-stop pranks that she called the police, and they put a tracker on her phone, and it led right back to our house! You little shit. I’m coming to get you.”

When I got home, my dad was sitting at the dining room table. His head was down, and his right foot was tapping on the linoleum floor. I could see the steam rolling out from his head under his hat.

”Do you want to explain yourself?” he said.

The first thing that came to mind was to claim that the calls were actually meant for Aaron. Or for Todd, or Tanner, and that I was pranking them — there was a mix-up.

”Tanner’s number is XXXX, Todd’s XXXX…”

He listed their numbers on a sheet of paper. Then, he wrote four other numbers down beneath those.

”Christopher, it is physically impossible that you accidentally dialed this number instead of Todd or Tanner’s dozens of times. The numbers don’t even come close to matching. Their numbers both start with a 4, this one starts with a 3, like ours.”

”But I swear, it was an accident, I was just goofing around.”

My dad then said, “Of all things, why the ABCs? Why would you burp the alphabet into that poor old lady’s ear? On a daily basis!”

It was a valid question. I didn’t have an answer, but he was right.

My mom was pacing around the house in near-hysteria. Finding things to clean and tidy up, washing the same cup over and over. She even tried dusting her ting tings, which were dried, flexible plants in the corner for decoration. I used to use them to tickle my brother’s face when he slept.

”Christopher, the sheriff wants to speak with you. He left his number and said to call once you’re back home. I’m sorry to say, but we can’t help you with this one. You dug yourself in deep this time,” my dad said.

I went to my bedroom and tried to close the door behind me.

”Ut, ut, ut. Keep the door open!” my mom said.

I picked up the same phone I'd used for all my pranks and dialed the sheriff. It was a long-distance call.

I was hoping he wouldn’t answer, but he picked up on the first ring.

”Hello, Crawford County Sheriff’s Department. This is Officer Windy.”

”Hi, my name is Chris Lewis. My parents told me I needed to call you.”

”Yes! Hello, Chris. How are you doing today?”

My entire body was trembling, but I replied, “I’m good.”

”Say, Chris, there is a Miss Goodwin who lives right there in Oblong. Do you know a Miss Goodwin?”

“No.”

”You wouldn’t have any reason to call Miss Goodwin then if you don’t know her, right?”

”No.”

”Then, Chris, I am going to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me.”

I gulped and replied, “OKAY.”

”If you don’t know Miss Goodwin, there in Oblong, why did you call her house phone thirty-seven times over the last five weeks?” Officer Windy asked.

I started to tear up. I always tear up in these situations, I still do.

”I don’t have a good reason to call her.”

”Well, Chris, are you willing to admit that you did call Miss Goodwin over thirty times, reciting the alphabet while belching?”

”It must have been an accident. I was trying to call my friend Tanner.”

”Chris, Chris, Chris. I thought I was clear. I asked you to be honest with me. I know you’re only eleven, but listen, in Illinois, prank calling isn't just annoying - it's illegal! Under the Telephone Harassment statute, 720 ILCS 5/26-5, you can't use a phone to make obscene comments or repeatedly call someone with the intent to harass. That includes making someone's phone ring over and over. These are misdemeanor offenses, and if you're convicted, you're looking at fines up to $500 and up to six months in jail.”

I was sobbing at this point. I didn’t think they’d arrest me, but I didn’t have five-hundred-bucks.

”Miss Goodwin just wants the calls to stop.”

I was unable to muster up words. There were too many tears streaming down my face and too much slobber bubbling from my mouth.

I noticed my mom standing in my doorway, arms crossed and shaking her head in disgust.

”Chris, are you there?” Officer Windy asked.

”Yeah, I’m here.”

”The calls have to stop, and if they stop, Miss Goodwin doesn’t want to escalate the issue any further. Can I trust that the calls and the burping will end?”

”Yes.”

”You know,” the sheriff said, “I spoke to your parents for a good while this afternoon, and I believe you’re a good kid. They said you’re a good brother and you like playing baseball. Can you focus your attention on baseball or elsewhere?”

”Yes.”

I never called Miss Goodwin again.