Losing a loved one is never easy—especially when it’s unexpected. But really, looking back, I guess I should’ve seen it coming. I mean, the warning signs were all there.
I’d ask her to do something and she wouldn’t respond. I’d go to touch her and she’d be cold, practically lifeless. Even my fail-safe method of turning her on was pointless, leaving me with nothing more than a bad headache and tired fingers.
And then, one day, it happened. She was resting in my lap, just like old times, when all of a sudden...she died. After five beautiful years and one helluva fight for survival, my beloved laptop was gone. And I never saw it coming. Or maybe I just didn’t want to. After all, it’s much easier to focus on the good times. Like the day I won seven FreeCell games in a row. Or the night I downloaded the entire Beatles catalog from LimeWire. And of course, the time she displayed her first-ever pop-up, a banner ad inviting me to squash Saddam with a scud. (sigh) Good times.
But more than anything, when I reflect back on our life together, it’s her free-spirited nature that stands out. The spunky way she traveled with me to coffee shops, bookstores, and hotels; how she fit perfectly into whatever carrying case I had handy; her graceful slide through the airport X-ray machine. It was just so damn easy with her, you know? Regardless of how crazy my life got, I could always depend on her strength, stability, and the way she'd maintain a battery charge for a surprisingly long period of time.
Now I may be a one-laptop guy, but c'mon, I’m only human. As the years went by, I saw the newer models on the scene. Their bodies were lighter, sleeker, more compact. They were sexy beauts all right, and everyone wanted to get a piece of the action. Everyone but me, that is. Naturally my unwavering devotion led to some uncomfortable situations, like ribbing from the guys in the locker room who took one look at my equipment and laughed, saying things like “Are you still using that ancient thing?” and “When was the last time that did you any good?”
Even my own father tried to get me to explore other options.
“Listen son,” he reasoned. “Don’t you think you’re a little young to be so attached to one laptop?”
Hell, maybe I was too young. Maybe I was just naďve. Or maybe I had shelled out a bunch of cash for a computer and the last thing I wanted to hear was the word “ancient.” Whatever; my mind was made up: I was a one-laptop man. And that's why I did everything possible to keep her system strong. Like back in November of ‘02. They said it was just a little virus, nothing serious, but I wasn’t taking any chances. I held her in my lap for hours that night, installing software to clean out the infection. Sure enough, the next morning, the virus was gone. Yeah, she was so strong in those days. Unfortunately though, as the years went by, her system weakened and she couldn’t fend off viruses as easily. Truth is, it wasn’t long before a mass e-mail forward, usually beginning along the lines of "Hello Sirr or Madam, I seek youur asistance in klaiming my fortune!," would put her out of commission for days at a time.
Her trademark quickness was also affected with age and, at times, even the simplest of tasks seemed too overwhelming. A few viewings of a Jib Jab video and she'd shut down, unable to do anything. She'd need several hours of “alone time” before she could face me again. Also gone was her legendary stamina. While in the past, she’d be able to go-go-go for hours on end, now two minutes without an outlet and she’d start to fade.
But like I said, I never gave much thought to these things. I always believed my baby would just bounce back. Sadly, she never bounced. The end came a week ago when I tried opening two windows in Internet Explorer. She went into shock, completely frozen. With every passing second more critical than the one before it, I rushed to Best Buy where I begged a gangly teenage clerk for help.
“Dude, this thing’s ancient,” he laughed.
And then, he said the words that a freelance writer never wants to hear.
“You need to buy a new computer.”
It took a few minutes for the reality of his message to sink in. Finally, it hit me: after five years of typing, surfing, and deleting messages for male enhancers, my baby was gone.
So now I have a new computer. And yes, she’s faster, sleeker, and lighter than my ex, but it doesn’t matter. You see, I know it’s only a matter of time before I’ll be begging another pimply teenager to keep her alive. Go on, call me Jaded. Call me Cynical. Call me--
Hold on; this baby’s got FreeCell Deluxe!
© 2006 robbloom.com.
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