Dear Steve,

You probably don't know me. To be honest, I don't quite know you either. From what I can gather, you're a middle-aged, real estate agent who enjoys drinking beer with your buddies from time to time and leads a pretty normal life. At least, that's what I can gauge from the smatterings of texts, voicemails and phone calls I've received over the past seven years that have asked for "Steve", but instead have somehow reached a teenage girl who is just trying to live her life as normally as God allows.

Let me paint you a picture: imagine yourself, if you will, as a pubescent thirteen year old girl receiving her very first cell phone-- in this case, it's a Verizon Blackberry. You are, of course, elated. You feel as though the whole world has opened up to you, begging to be explored. A new way of communicating with friends has presented itself, and you couldn't be happier. You begin to add your friends and family's contact information into your brand new Blackberry, excitement making your hair stand on end every time your phone buzzes with a new notification. People are talking to you! You feel as though you have finally entered the realm of the living, cell phone in hand and a sparkle in your eye.

Then, one day, just like any other day, your phone buzzes. A text message! Who could it be? Your mom? One of your petty middle school friends who aren't actually your friends? Possibly even that cute guy in your science class (who isn't actually cute, nor would he have any reason to have your phone number)??? Excitedly, you pull out your phone from your coat pocket and glance at the screen, which reads this message:

"Hey Steve. Got a couple logs 2 chop up in the back, theres a couple beers with your name on it if youd like 2 help. LOL"

Wait. What the hell?! Who the hell is this Steve guy? And, more importantly, why are you getting this text? Being young and naïve, you shoot back:

"Um, this is not Steve. This is a 14 year old middle school student."

(In retrospect you probably should not have given a complete stranger that kind of information, but thankfully nothing happens and you never hear from that number again.)

From ages thirteen to twenty, I've gotten a multitude of these sort of calls looking for a man forty years my senior, most of which being telemarketers and scammers but also calls regarding doctor's appointments, sale inquiries and just general "hey, how's it goin's". At first it was confusing and aggravating, but... at this point, it's pretty normal. I used to get calls almost every other week, but as I started high school and went on to college, the frequency of the calls dwindled. Now, I only get a call maybe every two or three months. And whenever I see a number I don't recognize calling my phone, I've trained myself to let it go to voicemail. I could be daring and create some sort of charade in which I answer said callers and tell them that yes, I am Steve, but due to the fact that I'm not clever enough to talk sales or have the capability to lower my voice to a convincing baritone, I simply cannot.

And you know what? In a weird way, I kind of miss getting them. I mean, I'm kind of pissed over the fact that I get way more scam calls than the average twenty year old, but who knows? Maybe Steve has taken a bullet for me, too. Maybe he diverted some grubby teenage boys from actually getting ahold of my number and saved me from weird and awkward confrontations. If that's the case, thanks, dude. You're a real G. And besides, the types of calls I could be getting could be way worse than just telemarketers and appointment confirmations. At least he's not a serial killer or involved in a drug ring.

In hindsight, when you think about it this Steve guy has sort of played a role during the entirety of my adolescence. When I was discovering more and more about myself and who I am as a person, the presence of Steve was there, in the background.

Wait, that sounds really weird. Let's just forget I said that.

My point being, there's probably a man out there confused out of his mind over why he's getting text messages from college students and young adults, using vernacular he doesn't understand and sending inexplicable photos that the youths call "me-me's".

In conclusion: Steve, if you're out there reading this, I appreciate you. Thanks for not being a complete weirdo.

Many thanks,

Caroline,

or, the girl who has your same number