258-3729 That was my phone number in high school. I had at least a dozen numbers memorized, and not a one of them included the area code in my head. I could dial up any number of friends, family members, boyfriends (old and new), the beauty shop, the dog wash, the record store, and even Time and Temperature ("At Arkansas Valley State Bank, we don't wrap our green money in red tape!") without even thinking about it.​

I lived with my Mom and Sister in the 90s, and we all had equal claim over the one phone line we shared. Mom was a busy executive, president of two local businesses, my Sister had just entered the dating world in a big way, and I had friends I liked to chat with late into the night. Whenever the phone ran, we all three would dive for it, like synchronized swimmers. My kitchen phone.