Out With The Old

17 years, 228 days, 3 hours, 11 minutes, and 52 seconds ago.

That was the last time AJ held me in her hands.

I’m a Game Boy Advance named Pixie. Technically, a Game Girl Advance.

How can I tell time as a Game Boy Advance? I don’t. That’s what Tick, the wristwatch that AJ’s dad used to wear is for. 

I used to be AJ’s favorite thing. Now I sit forgotten and unused in a shabby cardboard box in the back of the garage with Tick and all the other electronic rejects, nestled between a box of old toys and a box of magazines.

The toys don’t talk. I already tried talking to them. And neither do the magazines. So, I’m grateful for the friends I have. Even Groove, the iPod previously owned by AJ’s older brother Mike. Groove hardly talks to anyone. He’s always been a bit of a loner.

AJ and I had some good times together. Pokémon Ruby, Metroid Fusion, The Legend of Zelda: Minish Cap, Golden Sun, to name a few. Then she tossed me aside in favor of the Nintendo DS she received for her 13^th birthday, Dua.

I took it hard when AJ put me in this box. Mrs. Brick, the flip phone AJ’s mom used to own before she upgraded to a newer model, was the first to console me. It was just her and her husband Mr. Brick in this box for a long time. AJ’s dad threw Tick into the box the year before I arrived.

“It’ll be okay, dear,” she told me. “You have us now.”

“But I thought she liked me…”

“Join the club,” Mr. Brick muttered.

“Honey,” Mrs. Brick said in a warning tone.

AJ’s dad threw the floppy disks Flip, Flexi, and Zip into the box months after I got here. Mike threw Groove in the year after that. And, as luck would have it, AJ tossed Dua in a couple years after that when she got a shiny new Nintendo 3DS.

It’s funny. I used to dislike Dua after she replaced me. Now she’s my best friend. Another outcast in the junk bin.

And that’s what worried us.

A few weeks ago, AJ’s mom was poking around our little corner in the garage. Her face loomed over us as she stared down into our box and moved some of us around. Then she walked off, talking about “getting rid of some of this old junk.”

“Maybe it won’t be so bad,” Dua said, ever the optimist. “Maybe we’ll get turned into smartphones! They’ll never phase out smartphones!”

“Who wants to be a smartphone?” Mr. Brick said. “All you need to do on a phone is call and text. Maybe take a photo. All these newfangled smartphones with their games and apps and ‘oh look! I have a touch screen!’” He starts grumbling to himself angrily. He’s been grumbling to himself a lot lately.

“I don’t think I’m getting turned into a smartphone,” Flip said. The white label on his exterior is ripped in three different places and the ink that reads Mike’s Computer Projects is mostly faded. “They’re just going to nuke me.” He sighed. “I miss Laney...” Laney was the desktop computer AJ’s family used to have. No one had the heart to tell Flip that AJ’s mom threw Laney out in the garbage almost ten years ago. Zip witnessed the whole thing.

“Maybe she’ll sell us,” Rome said. Rome was the latest addition to our group of outcasts. AJ’s dad tossed him in the box a few years ago when the family upgraded to a Blu-ray player. “You know, like at the end of Toy Story 3 when—-“

“She ain’t selling us, you bozo!” Mr. Brick exclaimed. “It’s a one-way trip to the trash heap. If they cared about so much, we wouldn’t be sitting in the back of the garage like a bunch of junk!”

“But they didn’t throw us out immediately,” Dua said. “I mean, they tossed Lan—uh, I mean, they tossed other devices in the trash immediately, but they kept us around. Shouldn’t that mean something?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Mr. Brick said bitterly. “They don’t care about us. They don’t know that we have thoughts, that we have feelings, that we have emotions like they do. Oh, they’re real excited when they get us. Then once a new shiny toy comes around, it’s like we never existed, and we end up getting discarded. You know how many times they threw junk in this garage just to toss it out later? They were just delaying the inevitable with us. Let’s face it. We’re obsolete.”

Everyone was silent after that for several moments.

“I don’t want us to get trashed or sold,” I whispered. “I don’t want us to be separated at all.”

Mr. Brick sighed. “I don’t want us to be separated either. It was a good ride while it lasted. But the ride is over now, and we have no choice but to get off.”

“Any chance AJ’s mom was talking about trashing the toys instead of us?” I asked.

“Nah, she’ll probably sell the toys,” Rome said. “Like at the end of Toy Story 3 when—”

“Will you quit talking about that movie?!” Mr. Brick yelled.

“That was only the second time I talked about it!”

“Yeah, the second time today! You’re always talking about that dang movie!”

“Because it’s a great movie!”

“Okay, so what about the magazines?” I asked, attempting to diffuse the argument.

“Nah, I think the magazines are staying,” Flexi said. “I saw a Sports Illustrated collector's edition with Michael Jordan on the cover when I first got here. No way that’s getting tossed.”

“Maybe he’ll keep the Michael Jordan magazine and toss the rest,” Flip said.

“Wait a minute!” Zip piped up. “What if AJ’s mom decides to keep some of us and tosses out the rest?!”

Everyone started talking at once.

“Enough!” Mrs. Brick thundered. Everyone quieted down, including Mr. Brick. “All this arguing about whether we’re getting sold or not won’t do us any good. We’re just going to have to wait and see what happens. We still have each other, so let’s focus on that.”

No one said anything at first.

Then Rome said, “Toy Story 3 turns 15 this year.”

“It’s true!” Tick said.

“Will you give it a rest already?” Mr. Brick snapped.

“Honey,” Mrs. Brick said.

“Sorry.”

Nothing happened to us for the rest of the day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. Dua started thinking that AJ’s mom wasn’t being serious about cleaning the garage out. After all, the whole garage was filled with all kinds of stuff; boxes of old school projects, clothes, shoes, more toys and magazines, a whole bookshelf of books, two dressers, two office chairs, an office table, a treadmill, a bunch of gardening equipment—it would be a huge task to go through all that.

The days went by, and our corner in the garage was left untouched again. One by one, we all started believing Dua. Even Mr. Brick.

Until just now. AJ’s mom looked down at us again while holding a trash bag and said she was going to get rid of “this junk first.” She left the trash bag next to our box before leaving the garage again.

“It’s happening! It’s happening!” Flexi is yelling. “We’re getting tossed!”

“You know, in Toy Story 3—”

“Will you give a rest already?!”

“Honey, what did I say about—”

“I’d be fine with getting tossed if it gets me away from you losers.”

“Now, Groove, how could you—"

“Pixie, what are we going to do?” Dua asks me.

I don’t say anything. I don’t know what to do. Even if we don’t get tossed today, what’s to stop us from getting tossed tomorrow? Or the day after that?

t’s just like Mr. Brick said. What use do we have anymore? I’m a Game Boy. They don’t make Game Boy games anymore. AJ doesn’t play with me anymore. I’m unwanted. Forgotten. Obsolete. What reason do I have to stay here? What reason do they have to keep—

AJ’s face pops into view.

It’s been 17 years since I last saw her face. 17 years, and she looks just as beautiful as the last day I saw her. Older, with a lot less baby fat in her cheeks, but still beautiful.

She’s reaching into the box…and she’s picking me up! She’s holding me! She’s holding me in her hands again!

“Hmmm…” She frowns as she turns me over a couple times then flips the switch on. My display screen flashes to life.

Her eyes widen. “Oh wow, it still turns on!”

Yes, this is it! AJ is going to play me again! I still have Kirby’s Nightmare in Dream Land in my cartridge slot, locked and loaded! It’ll be just like the old days when—

“Hey, Mike, how much did you say I could sell a working Game Boy Advance for?”