by Holly Goldberg Sloan
He moved briskly for me from The Huffington Post to Drudge to Andrew Sullivan. He checked my mail at least thirty times a day. He brought me electoral maps. Recipes from Italy. Photos of my youngest son in Argentina. He made music. He made phone calls. He made files and he knew how to organize them by date. And he could find anything in those files. It was all about how you asked. He brought the world to my fingers tips.
Breakfast was our favorite meal. I had tea. Usually yogurt. Always fruit. Sometimes poached eggs. Bacon-extra-crisp twice a week. Good bread with butter from Ireland if I could get it and jam thick with whole berries. He wasn’t a breakfast person. Mac liked to watch me eat. It made him happy. He worried about spills but he didn’t show it.
We got paid for our time together. Together we wrote screenplays. A young adult novel. And twenty-two thousand emails according to the server. We shared…our life. I wept. He was gone, only green herring-bone disk pattern where there once was so much information.
How do you prepare?
You know all things must end, especially all things electronic. But you can’t really back everything up — can you? You can’t keep a spare in your closet, locked and loaded, ready with bookmarks and addresses, files and operating systems right there at your disposal. You have to trust to be in a good relationship. You have to believe in tomorrow. You have to ignore the fading of the keys and the slowing of the turn on. That’s what love is, dammit!
Yes, he could have had more thorough check-ups. I know that now. I blame myself for my part in the whole thing. I took him for granted. I probably could have handled him with more care. I admit that. We traveled and I know he didn’t like that much. The x-ray machine probably scared him. He never mentioned it, but I don’t think he liked having a low battery on the long flights. Who does?
The new one came today.
He’s black. He’s clean and fast – so much faster it’s thrilling. He has better keys. A better memory. He finds things with an ease that is disturbing. He’s quiet and of course, he weighs less.
I miss my old Mac.
But…I’m going to be honest here now—not so much.