“The world gets weirder all the time,” she noted, as she walked down the aisle of the supermarket, the darkened frozen foods compartments blinking and then lighting up at her approach. “Some new motion-sensor idea to save energy,” she speculated. Yet, instead of feeling ecologically responsible, she felt like she should break out into a tap dance or—at the very least—curtsey to some non-existent crowd. She smiled; once again, she was the only audience for her joke.
She tried—she really did—to embrace the new technology. She had lots of gadgets at home. The only innovations she refused to embrace were ones that smacked too much of Big Brother—GPS devices that could tell people where she went and when, and Twitters (whatever they were) that sounded like they would let everyone know too much about her life too often. Secretly, she still harbored a fantasy where she would have that one affair—lasting just one day, one liaison, that no one would ever find out about because, after all, they would be totally shocked. Her? An affair? Not her …
She approached the checkout line, unlike other shoppers, choosing the longest one. Maybe there would be someone to chat with, someone who wouldn’t look at her strangely or—worse—ignore her weak overtures at small talk. There, in front of her, loading groceries onto the belt was a young woman of maybe twenty-five or thirty, with a squirming toddler in the child’s seat. Usually these were easy. Young parents always smiled when someone—almost anyone- complimented their babies. This time, however, her efforts went flat as the mother responded in monosyllables and then, after paying, whisked the cart away like a mother afraid that her child was about to be kidnapped right then and there. Embarrassed, she paid the clerk and quickly left the store.
At the car, she checked her cell phone. No messages. No surprise. Maybe - she suddenly thought - her daughter had called the house instead and left a message there. Yes, that was it! She drove quickly, anticipating the breathless voice of her daughter apologizing for not calling sooner and telling her that, of course, she would be over for dinner tomorrow but—even better—maybe she would like to go out for dinner? And a movie, too? Convinced that this message must be waiting, she drove quickly but carefully, eager to hear her daughter’s voice.
At home, the unblinking stare of the answering machine mocked her once again. Then she remembered something else. The caller ID—of course! That was it! Her daughter had called but had not left a message, intending instead to call again later! She wouldn’t want to leave an impersonal message! She would want to talk to her mother in person! Surely she had raised her that way. She was so glad that she had bought the phone that would record all calls that would show that her daughter had indeed called. But—no—there were no calls at all today.
She put away the few groceries—bread, milk and cereal don’t take long—and decided she wasn’t really hungry. Reaching for a glass in the kitchen cupboard, she considered the iced tea and decided on the vodka instead. Maybe that would help her sleep. As she swirled vodka and cranberry juice into ice in the glass, she walked to the window and looked out at the cars passing below. Everyone, it seemed, had somewhere to go, someone to see, and something to do. Blinking back tears, she told herself how silly she was being and turned on the television, relieved to see the introductory credits for a comedy. She needed to laugh, even if it was a laugh that she couldn’t share with anyone else.
