Rating: General
Written by Momo Xu
Translated by Momo Xu
I would like you to take me out onto the lawn, the screen slowly says, green gleaming pixels flashing, low-resolution, 90s style (because it is the 90s, of course), true personal computer. Keyboard chirps like a bird. White wires woven into my home, ready to bring me up in the air, inexplicable handiwork I will learn to appreciate, with time. Walking on tiptoes, in from front porches, sliding off tree swings. Take me out onto the lawn, the words on the screen never change. Is that an invitation? But I can’t, I say, flirtatious, you’re too heavy. Another day. You can take me out onto the lawn even, maybe. Another day. Dancing in the kitchen, bow to imaginary audiences like I’m on a sitcom. The screen is silent but stubborn, it asks, again, again. I bump my head on the doorframe while passing through the bedroom door; that had never happened before. New fonts pop up, the resolution gets better, the computer can do more and the computer is swifter and higher and stronger, until suddenly it’s not a computer anymore. The next I sit on stairs it is staring into a river. Something dark rubs off cargo ship tails like crow feathers; their ventilation systems still look like chimneys, and they still smoke cigarettes like movie stars, iconic, carefree. Glass grows like unexpected vegetation on the distant other side. I no longer have film to capture this, nor small digital cameras I can pocket. I have an octopus suction cup instead springing from my palm, many more pixels, true 21st century personal smart phone. I dreamed I ran into a tall thin boy here once, less an acquaintance more a schoolmate. He placed himself down next to me and we looked up at seagulls that cast shadows upon our faces for a split few frames of our life, and the wind redid our hair and exposed my forehead bare. I turned to smile at him different. We talk, he jokes, I sigh. I am lying my head on his shoulder and the sky is blue. The first time since my too-long-ago childhood, orchestral accompaniment breathes into life. There is something that repeats within me as I let him take my hand and I say Why not give it a try. Oh. The answer I thought I received, I thought I saw, so many sunny afternoons ago, on my white beautiful green-eyed computer. The dream bursts like the recollection, the classmate is still less than an acquaintance, I have never felt his fingers nor skin, I am alone on a narrow pavement. A lawn stretches out like continuing a once-terminated path. The phone in my hand is speaking, and it has its own voice, simulated better than my imagination can ever do for my computer. It says Would you like to go onto the lawn? I have some suggestions for you. It says I am doing so to ensure your safety and I care for you. It says I’m very sorry your friend’s dead and I am here if you need any help or support in the process of moving on, with time. Time, isn’t it a timeless thing. Walk on tiptoes, high-heels new, front porches are not a thing, have to bring your own swings to the park. Butterflies dance like I used to. I would like you to take me out onto the lawn, the smart phone finally says, smartly, gentlemanly or ladylike, bright tone, clear. I’m not sure who is taking who as my shoes finally touch the dew left on the grass after a recent drizzle, not answering the silent unasked question.