My teenager is never separated from his cell phone. Never. Yet, sometimes when I dial his number, he doesn’t answer. I envision his phone, buzzing merrily in his right front pocket. I imagine him fishing the phone from his pocket, seeing that it’s me, then going back to whatever it was that I’ve interrupted.
So then I send him a text message and, if I word it carefully, without too many direct questions, he might respond. It’s a mother-son dance we do.