It’s the damnedest thing. One moment I pick it up after a night’s rest to recharge, push the button at the bottom, the screen of my hand-me-down cell phone refused to jump into action. My constant companion. Dead. Gone without a whimper.
Maybe ‘trusted warrior’ is somewhat misplaced. I took it for granted. It had started out as our son’s first cell phone. He learns fast. Give him something like this, and he’s soon the one to be asked for help.
When he bought a new version of the iphone, he passed the old one on to his mother. She got the jist of how it worked, and bought a new phone for herself. That’s when I inherited the passed-down iphone 4. Or was it iphone 5? Whatever.
The learning curve for me was long and frustrating. When I’d asked Nathaniel or his mother for help; I got stuck in finding the text icon. They sighed, clicked something at the speed of light, and handed it back.” That’s all you have to do,” they’d say in unison.
Once you pick up your first cell phone, life abruptly brings you into a new era. That old cell and I became attached at the hip. I wasn’t into social media; nor did I pull up games when bored. It took some time to ask those closest to me not to take out their cells during meals.
“I can text while you talk, so don’t worry,” one of them would say. Maybe they can, but when having a conversation and someone pulls out a cell, the true moment is lost, gone forever.
Author’s comment: I picked my cell up the other morning, unplugged it, and pushed the little button at the bottom to let it know a new day dawns. The screen didn’t respond in its happy little way. Its screen lay there, black. Dead, as in no pulse.
It’s time for a proper burial: a mental letting go. It struck me in all the years I’ve been using a hand-me down cell phone, tomorrow I’ll go out and buy myself my first brand new one.