In the late spring of 2020, as I did what I could to keep my surviving brain cells from succumbing to the pandemic, I got a call from Austin Abbott, a filmmaker and my great friend, for help with a project. He’d written a book’s worth of short stories by way of voicemail transcripts and he needed an editor. We worked on the stories together over the course of the following year, and the resulting book, I Tried Calling, will be available in early March. It’s accompanied by a full-length audio component, produced and mastered by our friend Mike Nevin.
Form is the greatest unifier of I Tried Calling’s stories. There are no repeat callers, no story throughlines, no easter eggs. Still, themes emerge. These stories vibrate between lurid voyeurism and an intimate loneliness; callers are desperate, joyous, grieving, angry, some are funny, others are revolting. Liminality has suffered its recent inclusion in the internet’s lexicon, but the messages we’d leave on answering machines offer a protozoic glimpse into what makes liminal spaces so alluring. I Tried Calling speaks deftly to these strange and solitary moments.
Today’s Blood Jump tries something different: Please enjoy three stories from I Tried Calling. If you like what you read, you can preorder the book here and the audio project here. I’m extremely proud of Austin and the work I was able to contribute, and I hope the stories below resonate. Let’s begin.
Artist’s Statement
After a few years of thinking, writing, editing, ignoring, drinking, designing, and everything in between, I have a completed this book of short stories. These stories started as little notes on a post it, in my phone, in my head, that were too small to turn into a full script but too big to ignore. So they evolved from character descriptions to bullet points to short films and finally to what they are today: short stories in the format of transcripts of messages left on answering machines. Some are funny, some are sad, some are just informing a person a shipment is ready for pickup. My friend Christian graciously edited and helped give them the coherent shape you can find them in now. Several performers contributed to an amazing audio version of the book, which my friend Mike produced and mixed. I'm really proud of the work myself and everyone else did, and I hope you enjoy it.
—Austin Abbott
3:15 A.M., TUESDAY, AUGUST 20, 2019
[VOICEMAIL BEEPS]
MACHINE: One new message from Tuesday, August 20, 3:15 A.M.
[BEEP]
ALI: Hey.
[EXTENDED PAUSE]
ALI: It’s me. I’m assuming you’re asleep, or just didn’t want to pick up, which makes sense, ‘cause it’s what? 2:30...
[MUFFLED NOISES]
ALI: ... 3:13 A.M. You’re probably asleep. I’m just leaving this message ‘cause I called a bunch of times, and you’re gonna see a bunch of missed calls, so—
[PAUSE]
The apartment burned down. Or, like, was on fire. I guess we don’t know the total damage yet. But it’s, like, fucked. Nancy, from next door? She knocked over a candle and didn’t realize, or something. I’m fine, I guess I should say. I was alone. Of course. I mean—I was alone. I’m at my sister’s place now. I guess I didn’t really need to call, but, I don’t know. I called. Fuck. I mean, you texted me when your fish died. I didn’t know who to call. Also, I’m like, drunk, ish, now? But whatever. I called you.
[SIPPING]
ALI: You know how people ask what you’d grab in a fire? Like, as an icebreaker? I grabbed my laptop, and I grabbed Ralphie Bear, and then I looked around and I didn’t know what else to grab. I should have, like, ran out right then, but...
I left the cassette you made me, the one where you added fake DJ lines between the songs. I left the painting of the clowns with the dogs from Prospect Park. It was still hanging up, but I left it.
I went to the kitchen, looked into the sink, and I know I should have just ran out, but... But I looked down into the sink and I saw that mug from that thrift store we found when we went upstate. I remember that you bought a Tom Petty CD but didn’t realize you were wearing a Tom Petty shirt, so when you were ringing up you were all embarrassed and were like, "This is a coincidence," to the old lady who was working there and she was just like, “What?” and we had to run out ‘cause we were cracking up—
[MUFFLED SOUNDS]
ALI: No, sorry, I’m—Okay. Okay, goodnight, Em.
[MUFFLED SOUNDS]
ALI: Sorry, I’m at Emily’s. I told you that, I think. But anyway, after that we went to that little ceramic painting class I had the Groupon for. I was trying really, really hard. I could tell you didn’t want to be there, even though you were really trying, too, which I think is what makes it even more fucking sad. It was like when you’re on a first date with someone and you know it’s not going anywhere, except you’re already engaged. Whatever. But that mug we painted that day, when we were in the car back home, you said, "this is the first new mug we got since we’ve been together. All the others were inherited.” Which I hated—that you said “inherited,” it sounds so dramatic, even though I think it’s the right word. So I saw this mug sitting in the sink and I left that, too. Anyway, you don’t have to call me back. But I needed to tell you how gone everything is.
[PHONE CLICKS]
10:54 P.M., SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 13, 2008
[VOICEMAIL BEEPS]
MACHINE: One new message from Saturday, September 13, 10:54 P.M.
[BEEP]
DENNIS: Um, yeah, hi there. I believe I've reached the executive manager's line, here—to be frank, there were a few too many options the phone-robot menu gave me, so I'm not positive I picked the right one. Anyway, Dennis Travioli. I'm calling with H&B Elevators here in Minneapolis. I was at the show tonight here at the Guthrie Theater. First time in the new space, and it looks wonderful, I must say. And for my maiden voyage to be an Arthur Miller show, well that's just too sweet. I myself love Arthur Miller. I actually have a, well, a pretty funny Arthur Miller story for ya. In 1992, I—oh, well, ya know I should probably get to business first.
Like I said, my name is Dennis Travioli, I'm with H&B Elevators and wanted to talk to you about the elevators you got here in the theater. You went with the Kone Ecodiscs, which is a great choice, you're seeing that all up and down town nowadays. So I took myself on a little tour to check out these two sets of elevators you have during intermission. I figured I might as well, since with those bathroom lines and all, there’s no way I’m making it back to my seat in time if I had tried to use the men’s room. What can you do to fix that? I'm sure you don't want to put another bathroom in since you just finished construction on the new place, but, I don't know. Could be an idea. If you weren't satisfied with the bathroom job the first time around, I have a connection over at Saint Paul Plumbing, Heating & Air. I did make my way to the latrine before the show and I noticed a few of the toilets in the men's room had slow flush cycles. Suzanne told me the women's room toilets seemed good, but I can't always trust her to do a proper inspection, and, you know, couldn’t go in there myself.
Anyway, the elevators: the first one, southeast wall, the one that goes from floors one to five, really flies. I mean, that baby is smooth. No notes. But the second one, going from, uh, sorry, let me check—
[SHUFFLING PAPERS]
DENNIS: —okay, yeah, goes from floors five to nine, that one has a lag. It should not be that much slower than the first one. Extremely disorienting. You get yourself an elderly old lady in there, she could get knocked clear out. You must get that fixed as soon as possible. A-S-A-P. I can get my team in there to look at that, or you can call me directly at 612-873-9212.
[PAUSE. EXHALE.]
DENNIS: Anyways, I’d love to talk some Arthur Miller now that I got the ol' ups and downs out of the way! Just about always been a fan of the man. I read Death of a Salesman in high school. Actually played Biff in a performance when I was in college!
In 2002, I don't know if you were working here at the time, but Arthur Miller himself was in town here because he’d picked the Guthrie Theater to premiere his play, Resurrection Blues. I was so excited, even took off work to go to his conference. I have to be honest, don't remember too much about the play itself, because meeting him was so much more exciting! Whoops, spoiled my own damn story.
So I went to the conference, actually left my copy of Salesman on my table at home. But I did have my copy of A View From the Bridge, must have left it in my bag. Wasn't anything special, the Penguin Plays print from, uh, let me see here, 1983 or thereabouts. After the conference, I got to meet Mr. Miller—got him to sign my book! Very nice man. A bit distracted, but I understood, of course. I told him how honored I was to play Biff back in college and how I'd love to be in the play again one day, maybe even in this here theater. He nodded and said, "Best of luck!” Best of luck, from Arthur Miller to ol' Dennis.
I don't know if you know this or not, but the Guthrie Theater did a production of Salesman in 2004. Two years later and I was still riding high off of Mr. Miller's kind words, just had to audition. I was, well, I was a little bit too old, 'round 40 years old at that point, but I really gave it my all. My wife, Suzanne, always tells me I have a little baby face—and that's now, so a few years ago I bet I looked even younger. But I didn't get the part, as the tragedy goes.
You can see why it was a laugh for me, that View From the Bridge was being performed here now. The very play I had signed by Arthur Miller himself in this—well, the former version of—this very theater. After I got done with the elevators, I tried to find the director to show him my signed play. Thought that'd be exciting, maybe inspirational. I must say, if I'm being completely honest, that this play was the worst Arthur Miller adaptation I've ever seen here at the Guthrie Theater. It was just horrible. I'm sorry if you specifically had anything to do with that. I actually didn't try out for this one, and I have to say that I believe I made the right decision. I wish you best of luck with the rest of this play's run, but...
Anyway, please contact me about the elevator speed discrepancies. I want the best for the stage, of course, but I'm even more concerned with safety. Again, my number is 612-873-9212. Just say you're calling about the Kone Ecodiscs at the Guthrie Theater, I'll know exactly what you mean. Alrighty there, have a good night, or whenever you get this message. And if this message is being left on the wrong machine, please direct this information to the proper person. My name is Dennis Travioli. Thanks.
[PHONE CLICKS]
1:30 P.M., WEDNESDAY, MARCH 11, 1998
[CASSETTE TAPE CLICKS, REWINDS, CLICKS AGAIN. ANSWERING MACHINE BEEPS.]
MACHINE: One new message from Wednesday, March 11, 1:30 P.M.
[TAPE CLICKS]
[LOUD ROCK MUSIC]
MARTY: Hey! This is Marty. I, uh, got your number from Jack.
[EXTENDED PAUSE]
MARTY: I just... this is kinda weird. I just wanted to call, well, because you were actually in my dream last night.
[NERVOUS LAUGH]
MARTY: Kind, of dumb, right? People hate hearing about someone else’s “crazy little dream.” But I felt like I should tell you, it’s... We were together in kind of an “elephant graveyard” situation. Like, you know, from The Lion King? Like the place with the hyenas, where the light doesn’t touch. Anyway, we were walking together, and it’s all dusty and gray, and then, like, all of a sudden, I look over at you and you’re wearing—and again, I know how dumb this sounds—but you’re wearing this cream colored lace dress. It reminded me of this nightstand cloth my mom kept by her bed, actually.
So you’re wearing this dress, and out of nowhere, you drop to the ground and start screaming. Like, really screaming. Like the kind of scream you hear from someone who just lost someone, the kind that sticks with you for a while afterward. You just start screaming, until you go, “I will... I WILL BE ALONE.” And then... your eyes start bleeding. Like, really bleeding. Blood gushing from your eyes. Not in a cartoonish way, either, in a really violent and just, um, visceral way. It was so...
[EXTENDED PAUSE]
MARTY: ...horrifying. But not in the way you’d think it would be. Like, yeah, of course, the bleeding eyes and the desolate wastelands are scary. And there’s some weird stuff that happens after with bones, but the thing that really got me, what I found really disturbing about the whole thing, was that it was like, completely erotic.
And don’t get me wrong, I’m not some kind of creep who’s into that sort of thing. I wouldn’t even bring up the “E” word if I didn’t feel it was completely necessary. And, I mean, it’s not like I’m getting off on eye-gouging or whatever, I’m not into smut or anything like that. Can’t stand that stuff, really. I’ve known people who are into that, so I’ve seen it, and it’s absolutely not for me. But I can’t get this dream out of my head, I really can’t. It’s just lingering there, I’ve been picturing you in that lace dress all day! It’s having this profound physiological effect on me that I can’t explain or understand. Even just talking about it now, I’m...
You ever have a dream, just a benign, regular dream, and you end up, like, subconsciously pinning an inappropriate emotional reaction to it? Like, I used to have this dream when I was a kid that I was going out for ice cream with my stepdad. I’d have it all the time, it was like one of those dreams where you’re stuck in high school even though you know you’re in your 30s.
But anyway, I would have this dream about getting ice cream with my stepdad. It would be at this spot, Mr. Ice’s, a place a lot of us went to in the summer. We get up to the register, and he pays, and the second they hand me the cone, I’m hit with the deepest bolt of panic I’ve ever felt. Pure terror. I’d wake up screaming, sweating, there were times I even peed the bed—just a little bit—and whenever my mom would come to my room, I’d be so wound up and confused I could never tell her what was wrong. I really didn’t know, I haven’t suffered any ice cream-related trauma. So when she asked what was wrong, I just wouldn’t say anything.
And then for weeks afterward, my mom gets on the phone with her friends, telling them Marty woke up screaming again and won’t tell me why, and sometimes she’d blame my stepdad, and then they fight, and then everybody’s as screwed up as I am just because I don’t understand what’s happening in my dreams, only they don’t know that because I can’t put it in words. So I think that’s what’s going with this dream and the elephant graveyard and the screaming and the bleeding eyes and me getting so hot about all of it. At least I hope so...
[SIGHS]
MARTY: Anyway, feels good to get this off my chest. Wish I’d been able to do that as a kid. Kind of a silly story. I can hear you just cracking up at this as I speak. Call me back if you get this, but if not, I’m super excited to start working together next week!
[PHONE CLICKS. TAPE CLICKS.]
Sample Draws
Wim Wenders’s Perfect Days might be the movie of the decade. I haven’t been so impressed with a new release since Todd Fields’s Tár; there’s a sort of easy mastery about which I don’t feel equipped to write but could read about forever.
I wrote in the last Thanksgiving issue about the blessings of reevaluation. I didn’t have a taste for slow-burn Western when I’d first seen Andrew Dominik’s The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford but was fortunate to watch Roger Deakins present it at the Music Box Theatre this past weekend. It’s a remarkable film from every direction, and a true pleasure to listen to its cinematographer talk process (he built his own damn lenses for the movie!).
Last night, my girlfriend and I saw André 3000 perform at Chicago’s Thalia Hall. The No Bars, Just Flute formula is well publicized, but I was shocked at the energy in the room for an ambient jazz show. It’s easy to pin that to 3 Stack’s celebrity, but more accurate to point to his showmanship and the pedigree of his band. If you have the opportunity to see this tour, take it.
Thank you for reading Blood Jump. If you enjoyed this issue, please encourage a friend to subscribe. I will see you again soon for the next issue.