Reconnecting
In the summer of 1983
Rob Miller, 13, was the only customer at the Radio Shack in Prairie View mall. But calling him a customer was a stretch, as he spent almost the entire morning standing in front a TRS-80 minicomputer, typing BASIC commands into it. The store’s only employee stared daggers at him from behind the counter for most of that time.
1000 FOR X=1 TO 40
1010 FOR Y=5 TO 25
1020 SET(X,Y)
1030 NEXT Y
1040 NEXT X
A chime sounded, and out of the corner of his eye, Rob saw someone large and officious—probably the manager —enter the store. The employee immediately straightened up.
“If you’re not going to buy something then you have to leave,” he suddenly demanded, then looked to his boss for approval. Rob ignored him as he was almost done. He tuned out the two as they discussed sales and how slow of a day it was. Then the manager approached and stood behind the kid, looking over his shoulder at the glowing monitor.
“Done!” Rob announced as he smashed the enter key. An animated Tie Fighter bounced around the screen while making static-y whoosh sounds. He stared at the animation with a huge grin, basking in the glow of his accomplishment.
“Not bad, kid,” the manager said. “But Star Wars is copyrighted.” He pulled the plug and the screen went blank.
Deflated, Rob trudged back towards the store entrance. On his way, he noticed a bin of discounted items so stopped to rummage.
“No way,” he whispered, and pulled out a small flat box with a keyboard on one side. A Timex Sinclair! But this didn’t look the same as the ones advertised in the computer magazines he poured over. This one was flat black, its keys stenciled and outlined in red. In disbelief, he turned it all around to inspect it. He would love to have a computer of his own instead of spending summer break squatting at stores to code. But his Dad refused, and he was a long way from being able to pay for one himself.
There was no price on the item. “How much is this?” Rob asked, dreading the answer.
“How did that get in there?” the employee wondered aloud and approached the bin. He roughly took and examined the device, then shrugged to his boss.
“Hmm…how ‘bout twenty bucks?” the manager offered.
Rob resisted the urge to say “no way” again, as that’s exactly how much he had on him.
Rob rarely saw daylight since racing his bike home from the mall that day. Every possible minute was spent in the basement, hunched over a neglected ping pong table on which he had set up the Sinclair and a small TV. He coded examples from well-worn issues of Compute! magazine while his chrome Soundesign boombox played a cassette of Thomas Dolby’s The Golden Age of Wireless on repeat. The radio was also connected to the computer to load and save programs to tape whenever needed.
“Dinner!” his dad called from upstairs. Rob groaned, finished typing a line then leaned back, rubbing his eyes. It seemed like morning was just a second ago. He turned off the radio and stomped upstairs.
Rob quickly realized he should have stayed in the basement. Before he sat at the kitchen table his dad lit into him about not going out, not hanging out with friends (what friends?) and spending too much time with that damned box. “And why’s it called a sin-clair?” he challenged, mimicking the delivery of preachers that were constantly bellowing from the living room TV.
“It’s named after the guy who started the company,” Rob informed. “He’s successful.”
“Don’t you back sass me!” his dad shouted. Rob roughly pushed away from the kitchen table and stomped back to the basement, slamming the door behind him.
Rob cut his father some slack since Mom died, but he could still be a dick. He imagined his dad upstairs, grabbing a bottle of scotch and parking himself in his recliner to watch sermons until passing out. Just another Tuesday. Rob didn’t care as long as he was left alone.
His dream consisted of fragments of time spent with his mother, projected onto sheets billowing in the wind. He was with her in the back yard, helping hang laundry on a sunny Fall day. Robbie would hand her items from the basket, and she would carefully drape them over a taught rope and secure them with a pair of clothespins. Once the hamper was empty they stood back to admire the flowing copse they created. Then she headed back to the house with him alongside, dutifully carrying the giant empty basket in his tiny arms.
Rob awoke with a start, finding himself hunched over the table and hugging his computer. He wiped away the drool that had pooled in the corner of his mouth, and stretched his back with a loud groan. It was a morning ritual he unconsciously inherited from his father.
“Robbie?”
It was a soft female voice, the source unknown. He looked around the shadowy basement, wondering if he had imagined it. Maybe a vestige from his dream.
“Sweetie?”
Rob spun left, trying to pinpoint the origin. He was alone but still felt like someone else was there. Was the voice coming from the radio? He slowly reached over and flipped down the power switch.
“Are you there?” an unseen but familiar-sounding woman asked.
“Hello?” Rob called back. He waited for a response but none came. Then out of the corner of his eye he saw a new prompt on the TV monitor. The symbol was red and unfamiliar. He aligned himself with the computer and typed.
MOM?
“Robbie!” The excited voice issued from the radio speakers. Though he knew it shouldn’t be possible, somehow the computer and boombox served as a two-way radio. Maybe he had to type his side of the conversation so she could respond verbally.
I’M HERE
“Oh my god,” she answered. “I can’t see you, but I feel you near me. I just wish I could hear your voice.”
I CAN HEAR YOU
“And I can see your words,” she said. “Somehow. This place is…strange.”
WHERE ARE YOU?
“I don’t know, but I know I’m just visiting. And I don’t know how much time we have. How are you? You’re not little anymore, are you? Oh god how I wish I could just see you.”
With heart racing, Rob assessed the situation. His mother had returned as a disembodied voice. Neither could see each other, but she could see the characters he typed. As he stared at the radio an idea occurred to him.
HOLD ON
Rob jumped off the stool and ran to the corner where several cardboard boxes were stacked. He searched one after another, tossing each aside until he finally found a bulky video camera. He took it and a few cables back to the table, hastily connected the camera to the Sinclair, and typed with more urgency than anything he had coded before. He then pointed the camera at himself.
CAPTURE IMAGE
He hit enter and a red light on the camera glowed. On the screen, an image was drawn in ASCII characters, one line at a time. After an eternity the picture was complete. It was Rob’s face, drawn completely in glowing letters, numbers and symbols.
“I see you now,” she said, joy in her voice. He could tell his mother was struggling not to cry, and Rob fought back doing the same. “My beautiful Robbie.”
I LOVE YOU MOM
“I love you, too.”
Sparks crackled from computer and boombox, and the TV went dark. The stench of burnt copper filled the air. Rob typed frantically — he had so much more to say — but nothing appeared on the screen. The computer’s power light was off. It was dead.
Rob stared for a long time at the defunct equipment, remembering the voice, then laid a hand on the radio. He silently said goodbye to his mother a second time.
Rob lumbered up the stairs. It was morning and his dad was at the kitchen counter, dressed for the office. He stood holding a cup of coffee while reading the newspaper in the light of the window over the sink. The living room TV was off, and the only sounds were of chirping birds and a distant lawnmower. He folded the paper on seeing Rob emerge from the basement.
“Hey,” his dad said cautiously.
“Hey.”
“You OK?”
Rob shrugged and dropped into a chair at the dinette.
“What’s wrong?”
“Computer’s fried.”
“You sure do like that thing, don’t ya? Well, who knows? Maybe you can make money with those things some day.” His dad put down the coffee and paper, and retrieved a box of Fruit Loops and a bowl from the cabinet. He set them in front of Rob.
“We should probably see about getting you a new one, then.” Rob looked up, mouth agape. “On one condition: you get outside once a day. No buts! I could probably stand for more sunlight too. Deal?”
Rob nodded enthusiastically and answered, “Yes, sir.” Then he suddenly stood and hugged his father. This caught both of them by surprise.
Thanks for reading, and to Fictions for the nostalgic writing prompt.
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