Welcome: NEGLECTED

I’m sitting at my desk in the spare room that has become my office, just pretending I don’t see the double bed and bureau. It’s where I keep my check book, trying to balance it to the penny monthly. It’s where my due and paid bills, doctor reports wait their daily meals. This is my inner, private sanctorum.

 

Nightly I aim for six hours of sleep but achieving two, a miracle of three, is a victory.  My friends wait in the dark for the sound of my floppy slippers to come paddling down the hall. Wearing my slippery, white kimono, the one with green lotus leaves and tadpoles around the hem line and a fiery dragon clawing at my back, I switch on the light in my hideaway from problems, bow and say politely, ‘Good morning, Mr. Toshiba.’  Don’t laugh. It’s just a little game I play to start my day without hurting anyone. The lord of the mountain pass feels my presence and lights up with joy the moment I hit the ‘on’ key.

 

My excitement rises. This morning there are sixteen emails waiting for me since I shut down and put Mr. Toshiba, a former Samurai warrior, to bed a mere five hours ago. A quick glance at the senders and my delete finger springs into action, deleting six unopened pieces of garbage. Left are five personal messages, two invitations that require my answers by June 1, an offer of a cruise so inexpensive it has to be a come-on and should have been deleted with the first six. And the last two are ‘thank yous for gifts I had sent. Separately are 5 Spams that are erased by touching one delete key.  

 

I am set, ready to enjoy my morning when I hear an odd single click. Looking around the room all I see is the room. My agenda calls for searching the web today, aiming to see if my bio appears. I type my name on Google, Selma Sassoon, and hit ‘go.’ Wow! I am totally surprised, shocked, bewildered when at least ten URLs give my bio, my family’s history and include an old but still flattering photo of me in my first formal gown. How, why, who ‘dun it’,gave Google my life? This unexpected thrill changed my morning ritual. I had to send this fantasy to all of my friends and definitely to those who have never thought too highly of me. They’ll crawl with jealousy.

 

A double click makes me pause. The sound is so close I could touch it if it were visible. A blue light appears on my printer. Printing sounds grow louder. Three sheets of paper roll out. I start to read the words I didn’t type. ‘Hello, Honey. I’m the one who gave you the Google spot on the web, even though you have not been nice to me. Every morning you bow and give Mr. Toshiba a twinkling hello, don’t even glance at me. It’s okay and I forgive you because I’m new here in your sanctorum. Do you miss my father, HP? He was here a long time and was good to you until he got too old. His bladder broke and his ink filled the hole and he died. If you just call me HP and say good morning every day, I’ll do as good a  job for you as my Dad did.’ That is the last letter. The blue light goes off by itself. My private place is perfectly still.

 

This was not my imagination, a dream. I finger the printed pages, read them again and go back to my bedroom to find in my night table two
small American flags on wooden sticks, mementos from a fourth of July years ago and return to my office. The sun is just beginning to peep thru my window. I seat myself in front of Mr. Toshiba, his face bright and eager to begin, reach across him and tape my two American flags to HP’s sides.

 

There is a double click and the little blue light goes on and blinks to me.