Taking back control

“You know what? I quit!” Jenny appeared at the kitchen door.

“Quit what lovey? What is it exactly that you’re quitting?” The woman at the sink knew not to rise to her daughter’s sudden outbursts.

Jenny stared at the back of her mother as though she was completely stupid.

“You know. Life. This thing. The system. It’s what they say… I quit.”

“Well, I suppose I might have said that a few times over the years but it’s not often that I’ve actually quit…“ Jenny’s mother paused, considering the scrambled egg encrusted saucepan that she’d been vigorously scrubbing. “In fact, come to think of it… never.”

“You never quit anything?” Jenny pushed a bit of fluff around the lino with the toe of her Doc Marten boot.

“No love. Not even this bloody pan. Scrambled eggs have to be the worst thing ever to clean off. Let me tell you. They reckon to make non-stick pans, but not for scrambled eggs.”

“If you do them in the microwave, it’s not as messy apparently.”

“Yes well, perhaps, but they don’t taste the same.” Jenny’s mother turned from the sink and regarded her eighteen year old daughter with the eyes of a woman who’d seen enough in her life to know what was important, and whether eggs should be cooked in a saucepan or zapped to death in a microwave. “So tell me, what is it you want to quit.”

Jenny looked over her mother’s head to the garden beyond the kitchen window. Her harsh edge began to fall away and eyes began to well. Tears threatening to splurge over heavy eyeliner.

“Hey, come on, what is it?” Jenny’s mother put down the dishcloth and stepped towards the girl in front of her. The girl who just a few years ago was still all pink and candyfloss, addicted to the Disney channel and wanted to rule the world according to the teachings of Barbie the Movie. Now, a pale faced and dark haired young woman, in her final year of college and planning to go on to study literature, stood in the kitchen, as though she were teetering on the edge of something.

“You’ll just think I’m stupid.” Jenny wiped her eye on the sleeve of her oversized black and grey striped jumper. Her mother paused for a moment. She knew when to give Jenny space. Ever since the incident a couple of months ago. It had been swept over, not dwelled on. Nothing like that had ever happened before or since. Jenny was a good kid.

“You’re not stupid. I’d never think that.”

Jenny’s eyes drifted back to the kitchen and towards her mother. She had always been there. Always tried her hardest but now… Jenny didn’t know.

“I just want it all to stop. The scrolling, the alerts. All of it.”

“All of what love?”

“This!” Jenny pulled her phone out of her back jeans pocket and flung it on the table. “Everything! I just want to live. I want it all to go away so it can be like it was when you were a kid…” Jenny glared at the phone for a moment. “It’s like I want to smash it to pieces. Never look at it again. But it’s like a trap that you can’t get out of. If I don’t use that, or my laptop, everyone will forget who I am. I’ll never be able to go to uni, get a job… or anything. But I just hate it all so much…”

Jenny’s mother smiled. “That’s not stupid love. That’s just being human.” She put a hand on her daughter’s shoulder, waiting to see if she would lean in to be consoled with a hug. Jenny relented and allowed herself to feel the warmth of her mother for a few moments. Cherishing the human contact.

“Come on,” said the older woman after a minute. Let’s take some tea and go and sit in the garden. I’ll just put the kettle on.”

Outside, early summer was green and glossy. Blackbirds scuttled beneath the shrubs and butterflies tapped and flurried around the scented rose bushes. Birdsong drifted on the breeze and the air was alive, full of life as small insects buzzed and flitted, and something droned above.

Jenny took a deep breath as she sat down on the wooden bench at the edge of the lawn. She tugged off her boots and socks and wiggled her white toes in the lush green of the grass, the coolness of the blades flowing up through her soles. Across the lawn she could see bees bobbing in and out of red poppies, their murmuring audible, filling the garden as they joined in with the rest of the buzzing and chirping. Jenny felt the scents and sounds glide over her senses, the glorious melody, gently bringing her back to a place where she felt safe.

“Here you go love.” Jenny’s mother handed her daughter her favourite Jack Skellington mug full of tea. “Lovely day. We’ve so lucky to have this garden.”

“Hmmm?” Jenny looked up, returning to familiarity. She took the mug, blowing on it gently before taking a sip.

“So then… Do you want to chat about it?” Her mother sat down beside her. Close enough to be there. Just apart enough to give Jenny space.

“I just wish we didn’t have to live with all this tech stuff. It’s been there all my life and I know I should be used to it, but it’s not right. It’s sinister. I want to live, well, more naturally I guess.”

“I know. It must be hard. When I was your age we’d just got computers. Great big things with clunky graphics. No internet or anything. That came along when I was in my twenties.”

“But you were lucky mum. You grew up with none of it. It must have been amazing to just have to deal with what was in front of you. Like, the ‘there and then’. Not connected to millions of people and things and information all the time… so you couldn’t escape from any of it.”

“I know it’s been hard for your generation. But you have to remember how much easier it’s made things too. When I was at school, if I needed to know anything, I had to go to the library and find the information in a book, and sometimes they even had to order a book in - so it could take ages to get what you needed.” Jenny’s mother blew on her tea, remembering the days when things had been simpler and slower. “Now you just click on the internet and bang, there you have it.”

Jenny’s mother felt the vibration of her phone in her pocket. A text message. She ignored it and smiled at her daughter.

“Yeah, but now AI gives you answers and it’s not even right half the time. The scary thing is that some people don’t even question it.” Jenny pushed her feet into the grass, flexing her toes in agitation.

“But you’re smarter than that. I know you are. The fact that we’re having this conversation shows that.”

“And then there’s things like writing… You learned to write properly with a pen and paper. You have lovely flowing writing. Mine’s not like that. They never taught us how.”

“I suppose. I never thought of it that way. But what are we going to do to help you? I don’t think we’re going to escape from technology. We have to remember that we are the ones in control, not it.”

“But that’s the point mum,” Jenny clung onto her mug of tea, “it IS in control. Everything has to use technology. I can’t even get a bus ticket without using my phone. All my coursework has to be submitted on-line. I’m pressured to have a presence on social media. I don’t want one. But people say I won’t get a job or be successful if I’m not.” Jenny looked into her mug, as if the answer might be hidden there. “I just hate it.”

“You have lovely handwriting anyway. Maybe you should just write for pleasure sometimes.”

“Maybe.” Jenny pondered her mothers words.

“You have to take control. Think outside the box a bit. Question if using technology is absolutely necessary. A bit like re-learning how to live again, if you know what I mean. I know it might sound silly but even something as simple as switching your phone off… so you’re controlling it. It can’t turn itself on, can it?”

“Not yet it can’t…” Jenny dreaded the day that the device that she carried round with her twenty-four seven would be aware of her every living moment.

“I know you’ll think I’m old and daft, but you could think of it as a challenge… a way to take control of things without the tech controlling you. Maybe even see if your friends are up for it?” Jenny’s mother looked at Jenny, feeling a little silly for her suggestions, but trying them anyway. “You could do things like writing letters instead of texting all the time. I don’t know. I’m just thinking out loud. But you could make it something exciting. Taking back control.”

“Yeah,” Jenny smiled. “Hashtag - taking back control!”

Just then, the sound of the phone inside the house broke into the garden through the open kitchen window, ringing its old fashioned land-line ring. Jenny’s mother jumped up. “I’d better go and get that. Back in a minute.”

The girl closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the garden. Those bees were so noisy today. Their humming filled the air, like a drone with all the other creature’s songs playing over the top of it. Nature’s breath passed gently over Jenny’s ears, sending a ripple down her spine.

‘I’m still here’, she felt it say quietly, ’despite everything that man creates and desires, I’ll always be here…’

She felt glad she’d spoken to her mother. She liked the idea of taking back control and felt a small sense of excitement in her stomach, as if she’d suddenly found a solution. Maybe not a solution, but a way to feel less manipulated by the world.

Jenny’s mother returned with a packet of biscuits. “Just someone trying to scam me out of my bank balance. I might be old but I’m not stupid. Got to be on the ball these days.” She handed the biscuits to her daughter.

The two sat quietly for a moment. Jenny looked out across the lawn again. The bees were still working, unaware of hashtags, emails and algorithms. Maybe that was part of the answer. Simplicity. Rhythm. The earth and the air around them was warm and gentle. It caressed them with an embrace that no machine, digital server, blockchain, or quantum computer ever could. Above them, a black object in the sky watched.

“Mum?” said Jenny after a little while, taking a biscuit from the packet

“Yes love?”

“I think I’m going to write all my essays on paper next term. Hand write them first then scan them. Or even better, get someone else to scan them. Just to remind myself I’m real.”

Her mother smiled. “That’s a good idea. Worth giving it a try. We can get you some nice pens and writing paper.”

“And I’m deleting Instagram, and all my other accounts. I’m going to see if my mates fancy trying the letter writing thing. We could write in the evenings and give them to each other at college in the morning. We can pretend we’re the Bronte sisters or something!”

“That sounds like it could be fun. Are you sure about deleting your accounts though?”

“For now, yes.” Jenny looked over at the bees in the poppies, admiring how they consistently went about their business, just doing what nature intended. “Maybe when I feel better, I’ll dip my toe back in. But not until I’ve proved that I can take control. I’m not quitting everything. Just the stuff that doesn’t matter.”

“I’m glad your old mum could be of some help!”

“You have been. Thanks mum.” Jenny placed her hand on her mother’s shoulder, warm in the sunshine. “And you know what?”

“What?”

“Scrambled eggs are much nicer done in a pan!”

The camera pulls out of focus away from the lush green lawn and the two women sitting on the bench below. It hums as it pans out across houses and gardens, over the river and away towards the verdant hillside where a young man gently glides the drone back to the ground at his feet.