The Life of a Keyboard
By Riley Chen | Grade 7 | Scholastic 2024 | Short Story | Gold Key
I came to life in a loud factory. My skin was as dark as the endless rubber conveyor belt, as if I were a hardened tumor of the machinery destined to be taken away and disposed of in a cardboard box. Squeezed between other keyboards that looked exactly like me, I wondered who would pick me up and make me something unique, much more than a black outgrowth of my factory. Who would use me to craft worlds? Will the words inspire dreams?
Eventually, two calloused hands picked me up and landed me on a desk. Next to me was a huge glowing monitor that displayed a bright aesthetic background. A man sat before me, his eyes a gleaming blue.
Our eyes locked, and he picked me up with his hands — the start of our dance. “W” “h” “e” “n”, he typed, allowing me to utter my first word to the world. Slowly tapping on my keys, the letters formed sentences forming paragraphs forming an essay, which he would name “The Fate ofMarvel.”
I picked up the basic rules of English from eavesdropping on the factory workers’ conversations. His English was nowhere near perfect — he spelled ‘should have’ as ‘should of,’ and he did not remember to capitalize ‘Captain America’. But that told me he was vulnerable. I knew he poured his soul into me, even though we had known each other for only a day. and I think I had discovered the mission of my life — to translate the deepest thoughts and secrets he entrusted me into words, with the utmost loyalty and accuracy. He continued to show me everything about him, allowing me to learn a lot about him from his writing.
I knew his favorite keys, S, A, M, and TAB — his name was SAM, and perhaps he needed to write a lot of essays. I knew his typing rhythm — always hitting ENTER the hardest after wrapping up the final paragraph of his essays. I knew his mood swings — when he was sad, his pinkies always hit “SHIFT + !” and DELETE as if his heart was beating to escape his chest.
We faced many challenges together. One afternoon, I witnessed him cry his eyes out–his teardrops fell into the gaps between my keys. Another evening, I stayed up with him until past midnight and finished his summer school application. He was munching on a box of McNuggets, and his fingers dubbed peanut oil onto my surface as if he was giving me a massage. Sometimes, he had to meet tight deadlines, or deal with technical issues. But no matter what adversities, he never let out his temper on me. Since the first day we met, he had never smashed his fists at me out of anger or despair — I knew he saw me not just as a keyboard, but also a confidant and a friend.
But nothing lasts forever. One day, I noticed that some of my once shimmering keys were getting stuck, and some of my letters were fading. He seemed to have noticed it too — I saw a flash of annoyance in his eyes.
Things were no longer the same since then. He began to click open ads of newer, fancier, more state-of-the-art keyboards that promised better performance. One day while scrolling through Amazon, he stared at a shiny Wooting 60HE, the most state-of-the-art keyboard.
I felt a pang of sadness. I couldn’t imagine what my life would be like without him. I was depressed, and more of my keys began to break down., That doesn’t feel right, I thought. I still cared for him, and I did not let him down. Eventually, I came to terms with the fact that he would eventually abandon me. As I reflected on so many secrets he had confessed to me, I was overcome with a sense of gratitude. He had given me a purpose, and I had given him a voice.
The day he replaced me with a new keyboard was the hardest day of my life. He said goodbye to me and packed me in a small, cramped box, the same box that had brought the new keyboard home. The box evoked in my mind a familiar feeling of smallness and crampedness — I suddenly realized that this box came from the same factory in which I was born! I knew from the factory that sometimes, returned keyboards were fixed or customized into new ones. With a sudden realization, I understood what the big, gray letters on the wall of the factory meant. Wooting.
