Emily's Plight

Emily's Plight

A Story by Chiquita
"

My dear friend is ill.

"

Sleep had founds it’s end.  Static mingled with country music filled my ears.  I had developed a habit of waking to country music even though I dreaded it fiercely.  I could sleep through any offensive screeching of an alarm tone.  The whine of country music motivated me to get up just to make the incessant howling cease.

My hand searched for the snooze button.  When silence was found, I rolled onto my right side and there she was.  I had given my beloved little girl the name of Emily.   It was a perfectly old-fashioned and dependable name.  That is why I chose it for my dear one. 

She was perfect.  Her petite shape was elegant.  Her four rounded corners were not fancy but simple and beautiful.

Emily is my iBook.  She is my very first Macintosh,  costing me a mere forty eight dollars.  An educational model, she found herself for sale when my son was ending his seventh grade school year.   I had a blessed opportunity to acquire her.  Our relationship blossomed after a time.

She sat idle for a while as I knew nothing about laptops never mind the brilliance of Macintosh.  At last, I was given a wireless router.   The relationship known as Emily and I set out on a journey to change my life.

I could now chat via instant messaging in the nude form the comfort of my own bed.  Emily turned a blind eye and allowed me to be me.  She hummed quietly along and took in every detail of every chat.  Mum was the word.  I trusted her with every secret. 

I journaled at her keyboard.  A whirl, a whiz, and a hum was all she had to say about it.  She had an ever faithful ear, while recording my deepest and sometimes darkest secrets. 

I returned to my passion for writing.  Stories, poetry, ranting, and expressions of every sort flowed out of my imagination and found their way onto her hard drive. 

I know she should not have been allowed to sleep on the bed next to me but it just happened without conscious thought.  She was the last thing I would see at night and the first thing that my gaze would  grasp in the morning.  She was always perched upon two books, one to either side allowing a space beneath her for a current of air to cool her as we would sleep.

She had a sweet light near her closure clasp.  It would grow in brilliance and then fade.   It’s repetitive pattern resembled that of a heart beat.  Being a writer, I often thought of this silent beat as the visual counterpart to Poe’s auditory remembrance of the heart that beat beneath the floorboards of his conscience.  It was less eerie than that.  It actually provided comfort to me when I would wake at night  and see it intensify then dim.  It some how ascribed life to her. 

My morning routine was quite simple:  a blaring offensive strike by the twang of some poor saps broken heart saga, a tap on the snooze button, and then I would roll towards my Emily.  My ever faithful friend would usher me through cyberspace to the writer’s cafe.  Then we would stop by Yahoo to leave a message for the man in  my life.  We both knew that he still slumbered as we trekked through the vast spance of the world wide web.



On this particular morning, country music broken by static had halted the sandman in his tracks.  My eyes opened to that which was familiar, cream colored walls, burgundy sheets and window dressings, an old-fashioned love seat and wing back chair both clad in a flowery print fabric.  Emily rested to my right on the bed.  My world seemed in order.  I suppose every tragic day begins in a fashion that appears normal and familiar.

I was s startled to find that Emily was not quiet well.  My outstretched hand found her hot and feverish.  I opened her up and she sputtered a whirl and a whiz yet there was no light  to illuminate her screen.

My heart raced, skipped a beat and then raced again.  My baby girl was ill.  I placed my ear close to her keyboard to listen.  My hope was to hear a muted hum of any sort.  Perhaps she slept.  My hopes lie dashed and broken when my ears were filled with only silence.  No whiz, no whirl, not even a muted or stifled hum.   

My ear held fast to the keys in anticipation.  My minds eye reflected my training in child and infant CPR.  Look. Listen.  Feel.   No light from the monitor was seen.  No auditory indication of life was heard.  The only thing felt was a cascading tear as it caressed my cheek and fell to an un-witnessed destination.

Then the beat, not heard, but a light intensifying and then subsiding was seen.  There was still no whirl.  Her voice was not found.  Her monitor remained dark.  My finger found the power button and held it for a count of five.  One-one thousand;  Two-one thousand; Three-one thousand; Four-one thousand; Five-one thousand.  The vaguest click reverberated off my tempanic membrane.

My breath came deliberately, in through my nose and out through pursed lips.  This repeated until the respiration numbered ten fold.  A quick wish and a prayer, “Dear God, Let her start.”.  The button was pressed and released.  A familiar chime sounded.  An encouraging whirl danced on the air.  Yet, there was no light.  Darkness had settled claiming it’s prey.

“Emily, my beloved, come back to me.  This can not be the end.  We have novels to write.  I have secrets yet to be told.  Whom shall I trust?  Who will vault the innermost contents of my heart?”.

Again I depressed the power source that fueled her incomplete state.  Click.  Like an Automatic Electronic Defibrillator  stops a heart beat in hopes that CPR can start a rhythm capable of sustaining life, I cut her vital force.  The bright to dim light was gone.

In my imagination, an auditory declaration of “CLEAR!” resounded.  Life saving maneuvers were necessary.

The power button was compressed.  Before releasing it, my prayer was this, “Dear God, would you not be happier to claim my first borne child?  Of what value  can this apple be to you?”.

A whirl and  a whiz sounded, but no light was to be had.

Thus my time was spent attempting to resurrect my dear friend and confidant.

My beloved man offered comfort and support during my ordeal.  Then he sat before  a large screen and googled a likely cure.   It seems that Emily may be suffering from a soldering malfunction of her video chip.  I hold hope for  a recovery.  Until those hopes are realized she sleeps.  Occasionally, I hit the power button, listen for  a whirl, a whiz,  a hum, and watch for her heart beat.


Update:  Emily has undergone her first operation.  It was a success in the short term.  This is evidence that we are on the right track.  I am thankful for that.  It would appear that she will require at least one more procedure.  The next one will require a more aggressive approach.   Still, hope is mine.  I type upon her delicate keys at this very moment.  Her beauty is unsurpassable. 

© 2008 Chiquita


My Review

Would you like to review this Story?
Login | Register




Reviews

I am fast becoming a big fan of your prose, Chiquita. This was such a sad and funny story. Thank god she is allright!
Also, as I read this and the subsequent reviews I am enlightened. No wonder the companies who make digital tools and toys are so successful! In the case of modern writing tools, they have replaced both the typewriter and the dog!

Posted 13 Years Ago


What a delightful journey......so descriptive and vivid.......Sheer emotional passion shared in honor of your beloved Emily......May she always live and prosper my friend.

Peace,

Bill :-)

Posted 13 Years Ago


I see you too ascribe human qualities to inanimate objects. You name them too. Emily, your sort of virtual therapist is wounded and for that I will say prayers of recovery. Perhaps I will send you a new pen and a journal. I know it's not the same, but at least writing will help to ease the pain. You are a wonderful writer and I look forward to reading all of your work.

Posted 13 Years Ago


oh yes. I remember when my first computer died. I sat there, arms around the tower....bawling and rocking back and forth. It wouldn't even boot up...It was heart wrenching.

Posted 13 Years Ago


What a tragedy! Poor, poor Emily. A fine name for any friend entrusted with your secret hopes and most precious words. A beautiful story.

Posted 13 Years Ago


I lost a beloved laptop once.....it is quite tragic. I am praying for you that Emily pulls through....

Posted 13 Years Ago


awwwe......this was so cute....it was very well written, held my attention, and my imagination.....I love this personalization made with an inanimate object....very interesting concept....this was a great read!

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

This was such an amazing write, you have filled my own screen with your anxiety over the health of your "Emily" as well as the deep sadness at the news of her illness. I loved the way "Emily" was never a cold plastic and metal work station for you, yet rather a friend and comfort as well. "Emily" had given you an outlet, and peace from your troubled thoughts, and you have given "Emily" life... a fair trade. I do hope that the second procedure goes well and you and "Emily" will once again type into the sunset. Wonderful!

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

I am speechless. I love the personification of your laptop here. I still sit wishing for one of my own and I am sure it will be a most treasured family member when I receive it. Written so wonderfully here, there were times I was near to tears, forgetting that the object here was indeed a laptop, and not a child lol. Which speaks to how wonderful this piece truly is.

laura

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Get well soon, Emily! This was a very cute and imaginative piece...well done ;)

Posted 13 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.


First Page first
Previous Page prev
1
Request Read Request
Add to Library My Library
Subscribe Subscribe


Stats

379 Views
11 Reviews
Rating
Added on March 3, 2008

Author

Chiquita
Chiquita

About
My 40th year has begun. I have started my life over many times. I find myself in a place where I am starting over yet again. I hope that my writing will find a place in my new life. I have fancied.. more..

Writing
Contemplation Contemplation

A Story by Chiquita



Related Writing

People who liked this story also liked..