She had been introduced to computers just this year in school. Of course, knowing the work her father did, computers were not frightening to her as they seemed to be to many of her girlfriends. She had become most proficient on the word processor in the typing room.
Why did her parents leave such a valuable piece of equipment up in this dingy attic? she wondered. Especially now, when she could make good use of it for her own schoolwork? Perhaps they had forgotten about it. It was certainly foolish to leave it up here.
She thought about it awhile and then made an impulsive decision. Actually, she felt influenced. She knew it was only her overworked imagination again, but she could clearly hear all the arguments her dead brother might put forward to get her to use this computer. “It will help you with your schoolwork. It’s a waste of money to leave it here. You have the room in your room. Why not?”
Indeed, why not? She knelt down and embraced the carton, surprised at the light weight of the contents as she stood up with it in her arms. Looking around a moment, she nodded with confidence. She had beaten back all the childhood fears and, in a sense, reached through time, in order to have some contact with her dead brother. At least she knew some thing about him now.
She carried the computer down to her room carefully. No one heard her. Her mother was in the kitchen, and her father wasn’t home from work yet. Slowly, handling the monitor and cables like sacred objects, she unpacked the carton and set the computer up on her desk. When she finished, she stepped back and looked at the blank screen. She had to dust it off some, but basically the computer looked brand-new.
She sat down before it, pulled herself up to the desk, and turned on the computer and monitor. The amber screen came to life with a single beep. She looked down at the keys a moment and then, recalling the instructions she had gotten in school, began to explore.
As if it had a mind of itself, the computer took her to its files, buried in its electronic memory. When the words appeared, she sat and read them slowly. Then, fascinated with what they suggested they would reveal, she pressed the keys to draw up the text. Paragraphs flashed onto the screen. It was as if she could hear his voice.
And suddenly, it all began again.
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Surrogate Child Page 29
