A rotary phone, pink, the same colour as the one I used as a child. Mum used to spend hours, with the handset to her ear. A flurry of sisters, she could be on the phone for hours.
There is something about the way the numbers revolve around the centre, clicking and whirring into position. The sunlight searching her face, as it became animated. Family, friends, and laughter.
That’s what the the phone meant.
To show her own daughter, a little bit of her childhood. A time when people talked to each other, rather than typing behind a keyboard. It was a different time, where you weren’t worried for their safety when they were at home.
It was the reason she didn’t want her daughter to have a mobile. It was like a mini computer, and shouldn’t be in the hands of her ten year old daughter. She hated not being like her friends, but that didn’t matter, as long as she was safe.
With this phone in the front room, she could still be in contact with her friends, but only when she was supervised. It’s not that she didn’t trust her little girl, more like she was scared of the power of the internet.
Real friends wouldn’t care if she didn’t have a mobile, and real friends would always stick by her.