“Hi, is this so & so?” Like everyone else in the free world, I get texts like this constantly. Most recently the sender was my “broker”, but of course it comes from an unknown number. “He” always tells me who it is and asks if I’m busy. He is in a meeting and needs me to pick up gift cards because he can’t leave. After dragging out the conversation with questions about his pending foot amputation and if his twin sister has recovered from Covid, I finally scold them and then block the number. So, I assume this is the same ruse but because I’m a realtor, and my number is everywhere, I respond “Yes.”

The response surprised me. “Hi, I’m not sure if you’ll remember or not, but I met your wife at Savers in Draper. We were looking at the records? I had a question for you regarding real estate if you have a minute.” I did remember her. The three of us had talked about collecting records and other odds and ends while peering into the glass fronted display cases in front of the store. I also remember thinking her face looked sad. I handed her my business card when she asked if I was interested in buying parts of her modest record collection. Exchanging pleasantries, we went our separate ways. This was months ago and I had forgotten about it.

Her real estate question started with asking about her soon-to-be-sold grandmother’s house. She continued by asking if there was anything she could do to postpone the sale, and hopefully allow her one last walk-through for memories sake. She continued with her sadness over the life decisions she made that brought her to this place in her life that had kept her removed from her grandmas final days. Her description of events and the damage caused was heartbreaking. At this point I reminded her I wasn’t an attorney and couldn’t offer advice. That said, I asked if the property was in probate, was there a will or if there was any family involved. This text conversation continued for hours. I could feel the pain but also hear the hope in her text voice. I decided to offer an opinion. I opined that she should have this same conversation with her family, primarily her dad. She “❤️” that comment. There was a pause of an hour, so I thought she had moved on.

She wasn’t finished and asked if I’d like to see the records. I had forgotten all about that but was excited to see what she had. There was another short pause while she took pictures of the albums. The total was a dozen or more, one was Ziggy Stardust which caught my attention. I asked how much, and reminded her that the Bowie was valuable. Her answer was humbling. “You don’t have to pay me anything, you already helped me today.” I thanked her but told her that was unexceptable, I would pay her. We then considered a variety of options including a trade-her records for a very modest turntable and speakers, but I laughed saying that seemed unfair to get equipment and having no records to play. It was late and waited to respond until the next day.

I started with “Good Morning! I realize I don’t even know your name!” I then enquired when was a convenient time to meet and pick up the records. “Amanda” was the answer. She then offered a preferred option for the trade. She asked if an Ancestry DNA kit would be ok. She said they were on sale for Father’s Day. That made me smile! I responded by saying absolutely and explained that is how I discovered who my father was. She wanted to discover her family too she said.

The next day the texts started again and began with her surprise of not seeing my comment about finding my father through DNA. She then asked if it were too personal a question to ask about my father. She continued telling me about her grandmother’s Native American heritage and her desire to find family. She hadn’t been interested until her grandmother passed away and hoped the DNA test would help her connect. “Not at all, I brought it up” I responded. “My mother was very private and had basically disowned me. I had committed two unforgivable sins; not going on a LDS mission and marrying my wife”. I followed with I sometimes share that info if I think it will make the person I’m “talking” too feel better by showing they aren’t the only one coming from a dysfunctional family. I then explained it is too long a story to tell via text. We could chat about it when we meet.

Another day passed before her next text arrived. I was in a meeting, listening intently to the presenter when my phone “blew up”. When I glanced at the sender and saw Amanda I knew it wasn’t an emergency. When I was able to see what she sent, there were dozens of pictures of albums and 8-track tapes. Some were 78’s and of no interest, and while the 8-tracks were nostalgic, I had no player. Some albums were Disney soundtracks, again nostalgic but not what I listen to. We finally set a day for the three of us to meet. Well, that day came and went and so did most of the week with not a word. This had been an already odd exchange so no harm, no foul.

As I do on occasion, I was helping to prep for an estate sale in Draper, a large suburb south of Salt Lake City. It was a massive undertaking. The house was 3-levels and 7,000 + sq ft filled with unsupervised shopping. On Thursday, I decided to shoot her a text. She seemed to live or be staying in the Draper area so I thought it might work well to see if she was ready to meet yet. I hadn’t heard from her for awhile so I had no idea if I would here back. About 30-minutes later she texted back. She was going back and forth on moving and storage and family struggles but showed some interest in getting together. Great I thought so I offered a time frame. While in Draper, I was 20 miles from my condo and really didn’t want to get home and then turn-around and go back, especially in rush hour. My “soft” deadline came and went with no reply. I tried again Friday and Saturday with the same timing prod and with the exception of a couple of ok’s, nothing. Lisa and I talked later and agreed she had a lot going on and her state of mind was not happy or steady. I had become fascinated with her small collection and appreciated her diligence in collecting, purely through thrifting, but needed to accept we would not meet. June finished as did July and I forgot about it.

On Tuesday, August 2, I received a text. “Hi Corey, Still interested in buying the records?” Again a random text with the vinyl hook. Now I solicit for records all the time and actually have an ad running on a online classified platform so I was very curious. I had saved Amanda in my contacts and this was an anonymous icloud message so I did not really know. Back and forth we went without a clue so I finally asked, “Is this Amanda?” “Yes” came back. I was glad to hear from hear and let her know we had hoped she was ok. The next few messages were upbeat and letting me know she was back in town and doing much better. “Great” I answered. I thought we would “meet” tomorrow (wink-wink-nod-nod) but she and her girlfriend wanted to meet tonight. It is vinyl and I was hooked months ago-but-I would only go if Lisa came with me. A man does not meet two woman for a transaction alone. Frankly, if I didn’t have the history with Amanda I wouldn’t have gone at all. 7:45 pm was the agreement, and a location in the middle from where we both were was chosen. A grocery store parking lot. On our way, another text came. “Closer to 8”. Lisa responded “Ok”. We got there early and went into the store to buy something and break a $100 bill because I knew the total would not be close. I mentioned to Lisa if it was the collection she showed I would give her $50. I also knew they probably wouldn’t have change. Back in the car I texted her letting her know we were there and what I was driving. 7:50-7:58-8:02- I texted to see if she was close. A text saying they had the same car as me only a different color. At this point, I moved my car to the furthest parking area closest to the main road. I had no other vehicles around me and would be easy to spot. 8:05-8:07 Still nothing. 8:09-I’m close! Phone died sorry! Don’t leave! 8:11-8:15. At this point I looked at Lisa and laughed and said I wasn’t even mad. We both secretly expected this to happen. Everything had been so curious and cryptic but also emotional and enlightening. If it didn’t happen tonight, I knew we would hear from her again.

8:18. A dark silver Mazda CX-5 parked in front of me. I’ll be damned! A young lady exited the passenger side and sure enough, it was Amanda. She looked different though-bright eyes and a smile. I considered a hug but it is still Covid time and besides, I didn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, so we shook hands. Chatting, we walked around to the other side to meet her girlfriend. I don’t recall her name but we shook hands too. Walking back around to the now open back cargo area, I noticed a milk crate 3/4 filled with albums. “Help yourself” Amanda said. We chatted a little about our previous texts and she was doing. Much better thank you. As I continued thumbing through them, we chatted mostly small talk. Most of the collection wasn’t interesting but did find eight that were keepers. Amanda started apologizing for the lack of selection and said she would get back to me with more another time. “That’s great but don’t worry about it-really”. The girlfriend explained that every one of those records held a story for them. She pointed out Stevie Wonder in particular and explained it came from a lady who had recently moved from Tennessee. Times had been difficult but this album got her through those tough times. It was her favorite but she never listened anymore and would they take it home. It was her favorite and it needed the right home. At that I looked at them both and asked sincerely if they were sure they didn’t want to keep it. “No, they’re yours”. It was then I realized maybe the most important aspect of collecting vinyl my way was that each one came with a story if I looked. It may be faded or have been lost through the years, but occasionally I get to see or experience it in person. Don’t get me wrong-I buy new music and I buy from records stores and don’t see that changing, but in this case, I was the next caretaker of a memory. That made me happy.

When I started this post in mid-June, it was me wondering out loud if texting is a form of listening, and if it is, does the longer the text mean the better the “listener”? To those who use texting as their primary source of communication, that might seem a stupid question. But unlike a voice or face-to-face conversation, there is no inflection to gage emotion, so I am forced to be better at understanding the insinuation of the topic and or decipher the limited number of words used for brevity’s sake. This was a journey that taught me that everyone has a voice and all they need-or want-is someone to listen to them in whatever form they feel most comfortable.