I look once more at the dentist's number in the phone book, checking – for what is literally the twentieth time – to make sure that I have it right. I take my time, stalling. Inhale, hold my breath, exhale in a gust. Check the phone book once again, just one more time, to be absolutely certain. Yes; that's the correct number. No more grounds for hesitation here.

I turn and walk slowly to my cell phone, which I deliberately left on the opposite side of the room. More time to prepare; that's my justification. I move at such a slow pace that the eight steps to the kitchen counter require over thirty seconds. Inhale. Exhale. I rub my palms on the legs of my jeans, trying to ignore the slick feeling of sweat. Nausea curls my stomach. My chest feels tight, and I realize that my heart is racing at an unhealthy rate. I eye the cell phone on the countertop, struggling to breathe normally.

I reach the counter and stand for a moment, looking down at the phone number written on the piece of paper in my hand. I reread the digits again, memorizing them. I will know them by heart before I reach for my phone.

That done, I take another deep breath, hating the now audible sound of my heart hammering in my ears. I swallow, and it's as if someone has stuffed cotton down my throat. Maybe I should get a drink of water first. Yes; I'll do that.

I move to the refrigerator, taking twice as long as necessary to pull out the water pitcher. I dig through the cabinet to find the perfect glass, but; oh, yes, there it is, sitting in the sink, dirty. Well, I suppose I could use any other glass; but, no, I really want that particular one.

The strange feeling of cotton in my throat vanishes and my anxiety eases as I use dish soap and a clean rag to meticulously scrub my preferred glass. Looking at it, I realize that it is no different than any of the other glasses in the cabinet. I experience a brief feeling of shame; it occurs to me that I'm stalling again. No matter; my glass is now clean, and I can go and do what I've been putting off all along.

The cotton feeling comes back stronger than ever before as I glimpse my cell phone out of the corner of my eye. Really, I should just go ahead and have that drink of water.

I do exactly that, cringing as the cool water aggravates the toothache that has been bothering me for the past three months, but my throat still feels closed off. Experimentally I speak aloud into the empty room. There is no one there to hear me. My voice does not shake. I swallow, wondering when, exactly, someone had imbedded sandpaper between my tonsils. I clear my throat, taking another sip of water. My throat is fine. My voice still does not crack when I once again speak aloud into the emptiness.

I realize that I am being completely ridiculous. It's only a phone call; what harm could possibly come from it?

Gritting my teeth, I resolutely walk over to the cell phone that still has not been moved from its place on the kitchen countertop. It seems to glare back at me menacingly. I reach out a hand, hesitant to touch the device – as soon as I touch it, I know that I will have reached the mental point of no return.

Halfway expecting an electric shock, I close my eyes and grasp the cell phone in my right hand. Nothing happens.

Far from making me feel better, this simply serves to send me into another panic. My heart shoots into my throat and the butterflies in my stomach become almost painful. For a moment, I almost hyperventilate. My hands are not the only thing sweating, now; perspiration appears on my forehead and drips down the back of my neck. My legs no longer support my weight, and I am forced to sit on a kitchen chair.

Somehow, sitting seems to make the nausea worse. My heart races even faster. I stand, pacing back and forth, cell phone in hand, clutched tightly.

I unlock my phone, needing to try three times to get the password right. Pacing becomes too difficult, but I cannot stand still, either; I bounce on the balls of my feet, swallowing thickly.

The piece of paper with the needed phone number has fallen to the floor – must have happened while I was washing my glass – and I bend to pick it up, shaking. How ridiculous, I muse, that of all the things to be afraid of, the one that gets to me the most is a telephone call.

I enter the number into my phone and then read it aloud, twice, checking it against the number written on the paper. They match. This time, I promise myself; this time will be the time that I manage to get the call through.

My heart skips a beat. My palms are now so sweaty that I can hardly hold my phone; I place it on the kitchen counter again, ready to just use speaker phone.

No; I can't do that. It might be true that no one is home, but then again, I am too embarrassed to let even the empty air hear the impending conversation. Maybe if I could keep it all inside my head – detached voice speaking to me from an electronic box placed against my ear - it wouldn't be so awkward. I figure it must be like listening to an unpopular song through headphones; as long as I'm the only one to hear it, and as long as I never play it out loud, no one ever needs to know that it happened.

Maybe if I tell myself that it will be okay, it really will.

I look at my phone, checking the number one more time. Yes; it still matches. It's now or never.

Raising the phone up to my ear, I hesitate to press send. I swallow a few times; I need to be able to speak when the receptionist answers.

Before I can change my mind, I've pressed the button and the phone is plastered to my ear. My hand is clenched so tightly that I know my knuckles are bright white.

The line begins ringing on the other end.

Suddenly, I know I can't do it. I can't.

Before the phone has completed its first ring, I hang up, ripping the battery out of my cell phone, causing it to immediately turn off.

Legs shaking, palms sweating, heart racing, stomach cramping, hyperventilating, I pace through the house, trying to calm down.

My tooth isn't bothering me that badly; the call to the dentist can surely wait another day or two. I'll try again tomorrow.

The End.

Author's note: Telephobia, or fear of talking on the telephone, is a real thing. It can cause different reactions in different people; for some, it is quite severe, and for others it is milder. It has other names as well… telephone phobia, phone phobia, you get the picture.

Thanks for reading. Please feel free to review! The only thing I ask is that reviews are respectful to other readers who may be suffering from telephobia.