Sometimes you know very well who it is, and it's fun to be asked. Perhaps an old friend, a former lover, a brother or sister or cousin you haven't heard from in years.
Other times, you don't recognize the voice, and you have to let them tell you they are. That's okay, too, depending on who it is.
But sometimes it's pretty clear that not only don't you know who it is, they don't either.
The elderly-sounding woman who called a couple of weeks ago didn't seem to know who she was—or who I was; she seemed to have called a wrong number.
It has continued to haunt me until today that I could not help her. Or maybe it has haunted me more that I didn't try to help her. Maybe I could have asked her questions to help her get her bearings. Maybe I could have....
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