a moment in the day: wrong number

When the phone rings, my heart kicks me in the throat, even though I'm pretty much resigned to the fact that my layoff from work is going to be permanent and they'll be calling to tell me any day now. I've been staring at the computer all morning, trying to understand the ins and outs of my future health care options and everything's vague and my head hurts. The name on the phone is not my work; it's some man's name, but I'm afraid to not answer it.

"Hello"? Trying to sound cheery.

He's quiet so I have to strain to make it out: "—services?"

"Excuse me?" I ask.

His voice is low and a little timid, a little ragged. "Is this Financial Aid Services?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, it's not."

"Oh, OK," he says. A little pause. "Sorry. Wrong number."

I don't know how it can be so easy to hear, not only sadness or worry, but particularly some kind of tired despair, in the voice of someone you don't know.

"Oh, no problem!" Trying to sound cheery.

The air sound on the line is gone. "Good luck," I say to the dead receiver before I hang up the phone.