Return of the Mac

Lidya smashed her head against the floor of the attic, hardly flinching at the pain. This had often been her escape from the life she’d led since could remember. God! She couldn’t wait to turn 18 and go off to college! Somewhere where she could be herself. Somewhere where she could possibly find people who thought like her, spoke like her, and cherished the things she did!

“Stupid, overbearing parents,” she ground out angrily. Why couldn’t they get with the times! All she wanted was an Apple iPhone like all her friends had. She was so far behind on the times and it was all her parents’ fault. The couple worked in the information technology field, often boasting that was how they met. The 14-year-old had grown up with the warnings of the dangers of cyberspace and the internet and giving out too much information and blah, blah, blah. What utter crap! The truth was that Maurice and Carrie Sullivan simply did not want to shell out the money to usher in her teenage years with style. If she showed up on her birthday tomorrow with an iPhone 15 Pro, she’d officially be at the top of the food chain in her school. Friends and popularity would be showered on her from above and her place in the top click would be assured. No longer would she be known as ‘that creepy kid’ that was violently sick in her homeroom after tasting cow’s milk for the first time. She’d command respect and-

“’Dya, I’m going out for a bit. Was there anything you needed from the store?” her dull mother called up the steps, using their nickname for her. She knew where she was; there was no mistaking the squealing shriek of the drop-down stairs one had to use to get to the attic. In fact, Lidya often wondered why neither of her parents bothered to throw some WD40 on the gears to eliminate the sound. Was it their way of keeping tabs on her? Damn, manipulative parents.  Her friends had told her about the many ways their parents controlled them using their phones. Apps that couldn’t be removed tracking location, unexpected calls throughout the day, and all manner of things to keep track of their little ones. The problem was they weren’t so little, and Google could answer just about any question… As long as the child settings weren’t on. 

And unfortunately, Lydia’s Mom and Dad were dedicated to keeping the parents ahead of the children regarding child-safe features and applications.

Walking over to a desk, she pounded her fist on it to relieve her stress. She knew that a big part of her unpopularity was the direct result of her parents’ meddling in the online lives of the children at Lincoln Memorial Middle School. It was like they didn’t trust us kids to know our own minds. We’d been raised in this world of advancing technology, dammit, and we knew how to protect ourselves from pedophiles and predators! And those that didn’t – like Leslie Carr – well that was just natural selection at work. Leslie was rather dim and trusting for a girl her age anyway. The jury would decide that man’s fate, even though the girl had sworn up and down that what happened was not the janitor’s fault. The last I heard; the Carr family had moved to avoid the media attention. Mr. Carr had accepted a position at a law firm in that city, and Mrs. Carr had a teaching position lined up in a middle school there.

Shaking off the melancholy thought of losing a girl who used to be one of her closest friends, she slammed her fist down on the desk again. The action felt cathartic for her. But just before she could do it again; thinking that she might be excused from school tomorrow if she showed up to dinner with a bruised hand; she noticed something under the dust cover beside her. She pulled up the cover to see a monstrosity. The ugly thing took up most of the desk, and it looked suspiciously like an ancient computer, something that likely wouldn’t process even a tenth of the bandwidth of her home computer downstairs.

“I see you stumbled upon my old Macintosh computer,” her dad chuckled. Lydia turned with a yelp. 

“Jesus, Dad,” the girl spun around, holding her hand to her heart to stop its frantic beating. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!”

“Sorry, honey,” the rugged man said, holding a hand to the back of his head. “I saw the attic stairs were down and figured you were up here moping. I thought for sure you’d hear the door open, but you were a million miles away in your own little world.”

“I wasn’t moping,” Lydia protested angrily. “I just… I don’t understand why I can’t have an iPhone. All my friends have them! How am I supposed to keep in touch with them if I can’t have one?”

“Leslie is only going to be a couple of hours away by car,” her father shrugged. “And it’s not like we don’t have a landline. You can call her that way. Or even better, writer her a letter and we can mail it.”

“My handwriting is horrible, Dad. I’d rather type up a letter or something. Can this monster even do that?” she asked curiously. The keyboard looked like it might work, but how would she print it?

“Well, lucky for you, I’ve kept this ‘monster’ up to date, despite the years. There are a lot of computer geeks in the area willing to dive into the innards of these beasts to keep them functional. And even more geeks that remember the old games and ways. If you wanted to type a letter up, I promise you that I could print it. It might make Leslie’s day to see something so retro.” The man laughed at that, picking up a floppy disk to insert in the B drive while Lydia gawked at it.

“What the heck is that thing, Dad? It looks like a square CD!”

“It’s a floppy disk and it stores 1.44 megabytes of memory. Just enough for the old Word program to store your letter. And this is the printer,” he continued, showing her a box of Dot Matrix paper. She looked at it warily, trying to imagine how it worked with the ancient printer that occupied the rest of the desk space. “I promise that it’ll work, pumpkin. Just work on typing up your letter and I’ll show you how to print it up. Deal?” He powered up this dinosaur of a machine before she could agree. The sounds belching forth from the monster as it came to life made me doubt if I could produce a single document on it. 

But her dad was one of the top technologists in the business. There was no way he’d steer her wrong, especially when it was so important to me. After going through a very thorough tutorial with him on how to access programs and the like, he left her to type her letter. This was so stupid! She could go right to her room and produce a letter, have the Wi-Fi pick it up and print it from the LaserJet printer and be done with it. Or better yet, sent her an email with the same information. But something about the monster of a computer fascinated her. Siting in the high-backed chair in front of the thing, she felt a bit like a pioneer. This was the way they used to do thing almost 50 years ago. She figured trying it wouldn’t hurt anything.

Hey Leslie,

You would not believe where I’m typing this from. My dad has me typing on his old computer. This thing is ancient, girl! I’ll have to take a picture and enclose it with this letter when I finish. The paper is actually fed through the printer, it’s wild. And he’s got these old-fashioned games, I couldn’t resist playing some. I really liked the ones about Carmen Sandiago. I started playing something called Oregon Trail and it was SO frustrating. Dad had to hold me back after the tenth time I lost my entire party to dysentery and wild animals. I was so angry! The Crystal Caves game was so much fun that I went through it twice.

I just wanted to find out how you were, Les. Things got really wild there and then you were suddenly gone. The rumors are outrageous and ongoing, but I KNOW that you aren’t like that, so I want to listen to your side of the story. Please write back. I miss you, Les. How’s Indianapolis?

Lydia

“Dad! I’m done with my letter. Could you teach me how to print on this monster?” she yelled from her place at the desk.

“Sure thing, pumpkin! Wow, you’ve been up here all afternoon. You must have had a lot to say!” Her dad skimmed over the letter before leaning over to turn on the printer. She covered the screen. “Dad,” she whined, “that’s private!”

“I’m sorry, pumpkin,” he said, shaking his head. After setting everything up, he quickly got it printed for her and even agreed to take a picture of this ancient technology for her friend.

“You know, if I had a phone, I could have taken the picture myself.”

“You know, you have a hard time keeping track of your keys to the house,” her dad answered in kind. “And how many times have you forgotten your password for-“

“Okay, fine,” Lydia cut him off as they powered down the machinery and left the attic. The girl was amazed that it was already dark out. Her mother was calling them to the table for dinner already, but it felt like she’d only been using the computer for a few minutes. “I might have gone into your games files and played a few before I got around to writing my letter.” Maurice gawked at her until she felt uncomfortable.

“I don’t remember teaching you how to get into the different folders, Lydia.”

“Well, yeah. But I figured it out.”

“That’s my girl,” her mother laughed, giving her a hug. “Go wash up for dinner, you two. I’ll get an envelope for your letter, and you can mail it after we eat. It’s taco night!”

The girl smiled, looking forward to both food and using the monster computer again tomorrow.