A Computer for Practice

What would you do if you were born the son of a brilliant scientist? I’ll tell you what I would do, what I am. I’d always be curious. Though I can’t remember much from when I was younger, my father told me I was always a curious kid. While other kids played outside, I observed what was around me. One day, my father was too busy to answer my questions, so he gave me access to his library to look up the answers independently. Looking back, that was probably when I stopped going outside as much. At the time, I thought there was no point in exploring the world when I already had it at my fingertips. I read quicker than most kids in my class and could understand what I was reading even better. Every year in school, I was at the top of my grade, and the gap between my classmates and myself grew larger with each year. Once I reached middle school, my father gave me my own computer so that I could access even more of the world’s knowledge. I would spend any free moment reading from any book or online documentation I could access.

Eventually, my high school life began with me having more professional contacts rather than friends. One such person contacted me to help them conduct a study abroad, and I couldn’t have been more excited. With still a week leading up to the trip, I started packing immediately. My clothing, toiletries, spare clothes, and laptop. All I needed to finish up was some containers for sample gathering. I went to grab some from my father’s lab, but they were all being used or cleaned, so I went down to the basement to see if there were any spares. Opening the door to the basement revealed the dark and damp staircase going into an impenetrable darkness. I felt around for a light switch but to no avail. So I turned on my phone’s flashlight and took my first step onto the wooden stairs. The step let out a wicked creek that echoed through the house behind me. As if instinctively, I looked around, but with my father in the lab, nobody could be seen. I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding and descended the steps.

The basement was uncomfortably dreadful, whereas the rest of the house had a more modern look. Unpainted walls and a noticeably colder temperature than the rest of the house followed me down each creaking step. I reached the cold concrete floor and began to scan the room for a light switch, only finding the splintering wooden walls and the beginning of many shelves. I let my hand guide me as I started to look wherever my flashlight landed. The metal shelves held boxes of different shapes and sizes: shoe boxes with scribbled messages on the side, clear plastic bins with countless wires inside, and what I was looking for in the corner, a wooden crate with varying amounts of lab equipment. As I bent down to pick up the box, I noticed something odd on one of the lower shelves; a square shape covered by some sort of furniture blanket. Letting my curiosity get the better of me, I went over and carefully lifted the blanket to reveal an old square computer monitor. I say old because I had never heard of it, even with all of the research I had done in the past while looking for my most current computer monitor. I glanced at the frame of the fossil and wiped off a shocking amount of dust but couldn’t find any brand name. Before I could even consider if I recognized it based on looks alone, I was snapped out of my thinking by the violent creaking of wood from the top step. 

“Son, what are you doing down here?” My father’s cold and analyzing voice filled the room. “I was looking for some spare lab equipment for my trip on Friday when I found this old computer. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this brand before.” Before I could finish what I was saying, he was already heading down the stairs. 

“That is because it isn’t a branded computer. I made it for fun back when I was your age.” He walked to the center of the room, and with a clicking noise, a dim light illuminated the room. I turned to face him to see a pull-string light seemingly hanging in the middle of the room.

“Oh, there it is.” I murmured under my breath.

“I can teach you how to make one like it, but the one you have upstairs is much more efficient. Cover it back up and I’ll help you get the supplies upstairs.” He pushed his glasses up and walked over to me.

“What do you have on it? Did you practice any of your research papers on it?” I asked. He knelt down and covered up the computer before looking back at me. “I used it for practice, but it had nothing to do with my career now. Don’t look into it again.” I was shocked. The dry way of delivering his demands wasn’t new, but this was the only time he gave a demand without explaining his reasonings. Stuck thinking about the computer's possibilities, I couldn’t think of which question to ask first. Before I could decide, he had picked up the crate of supplies and started heading to the stairs, “Turn off the light for me?” He said, never once looking back at me. I couldn’t help but look back at the covered computer as I got up, though I eventually followed him out.

The days leading up to the trip were spent thinking about anything but that. What was on that computer? I thought to myself day and night but couldn’t find an answer. Whenever I tried to bring it up to him, he would effortlessly brush it off. With how loud the stairs were, my only chance to go down them without him coming by would be when he was out of the house; with him working from home, this was not often. The day before my trip, he had to walk away from the house for roughly half an hour. It wasn’t enough time to set the computer up, but it was enough time to get the information I needed. Once his car left the driveway, I rushed downstairs and uncovered the computer. I studied it harder than any book I had ever read, taking photos of every side. I then rushed over to the bin of cables to locate any cords that may work to power it. After much searching and even more untangling, I placed the needed cords on top of the pile to get to them quickly when the time came. Finally, I used the last moments before he returned to find a mouse and keyboard that could connect to it. A box on the shelf held precisely what I was looking for. The pieces were set, and so was the plan. I covered everything back up, placed them where they once were, and went back upstairs.

The trip was extraordinary. Spending a month in another country and learning from new people was incredible. However, the back of my mind was always on that computer. It could hold anything and everything. It was Pandora’s hard drive. It could have the blueprints for the White House. It could have the chemical formula for a poison, as well as the formula for its antidote. It could even have nuclear launch codes! Even if they were unlikely, my mind couldn’t help wandering from one idea to the next. Finally, the trip came to an end, and I was able to get back home. While he was fixing lunch for us on my first day back, I snuck into his office and looked at his calendar. Nothing. There wasn’t a single day he would be out of the house. I couldn’t wait that long, so I looked at the nearest date with something marked on it and waited.

The day finally came, only three days, but it felt like an eternity. I sat in my room with the door open and listened carefully. “Hello everyone.” He said to the recipients of a conference call. He would be stuck in that meeting for at least an hour, plenty of time to get a taste. Even when he hears the creaking staircase, he won’t be able to come to stop me until after the meeting finishes. I carefully rushed to the basement door, swung it open, and went down the steps as quietly as possible. The slowest descent wouldn’t have been enough to stop the steps from alerting everyone in each corner of the house, so I threw caution to the wind and ran down. Pulling down the light’s cord, I put my plan in motion. I grabbed each cord and connected them where they could be connected. I gripped the keyboard and mouse and attempted to plug them in. With only a spot remaining for the keyboard, I slid the mouse away and readied myself. I sat on the ground and took a deep breath as I looked behind me to ensure he wasn’t there. I looked forward and slowly exhaled, pressing the power button. At first, nothing happened, sending panic throughout my body. After a minute of looking around to ensure everything was plugged in, the screen lit a dim green. 

The options on the screen read “Files, Help, Back”. I tried to use the arrow keys to navigate the options but to no avail. After thinking a bit, I pressed the keyboard and noticed it let me type at the bottom. I started by typing “Back” to see if there was anything. Still, it seems he never made whatever would have been before this screen as if nothing had happened. I next typed “Help,” which caused the screen to fill with text. Quickly skimming through it, it looked like this option was meant to help anyone other than him navigate many possibilities that he never got around to adding. I typed “Back” to return to the original set of options. With excitement shooting through every corner of my body, I typed in the word “Files” and pressed enter. Six vertically listed dates appeared on the screen, dating back to when my father would have been in high school. Without a second thought, I typed the first date and pressed enter. I thought I had conceived every possible option, but this wasn’t any of them. I continued to read quicker and quicker, swapping from one file to the next. I could have been in there reading for moments. It could have been hours. I have no idea.

After I read the final file, I slowly said aloud, “He was right; this didn’t have research. He was practicing, but for what? I mean, for who?” 

“Your mother.” I whipped my head around to see my father sitting on the bottom step, his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose with an ever so slightly blushing face. “Why did you deliberately disobey and look?” How had he snuck up on me? I thought to myself, but then I realized something; there is no way he did. This means I was so enthralled with what I was reading he was able to come down, and I didn’t even hear him coming closer.

“How could I not?” Both of us were at a loss for words. It seemed like he wasn’t as mad as he was embarrassed. I finally formulated something to break the silence, “You were quite the poet, huh?”

“Go to your room!” He let out in a stern yet flustered tone. I shot up and hurried up the stairs back to my room. Maybe I should try finding someone to write to like that, I thought to myself.

He’s right, I thought to myself. If I were him, I would have gone crazy with curiosity. I looked at the stairs my son ran up and back to the computer. I sauntered over while rubbing my neck before sitting on the ground by it. I read the final entry on the page to myself before snickering with sheer embarrassment. My son found my love letters to my wife and his mother. He didn’t seem too fazed by it, though. Standing up, I went over to where the computer was plugged into the wall and chuckled. I had created an entire computer just to practice making love letters. I should have just used a pencil. With a grin on my face, I swiftly unplugged the computer. Now I need to get it all packed back up, I thought to myself. My wife will be home soon.