“My rich brother told me to make a list of all the things that I need. Knowing how short my imagination is, he knew he could fulfill all of them.
And I believed him.
So I gave him an ice cream on a stick. A kiss on the cheek. And nothing else.”
Understandably, Ben gave me a crazy look when I told him that story.
“Don’t you need a new laptop?” he started. “Isn’t your scoliosis worsening every time you have carry that damned Tofuckba? And, girl, god knows how bad you need a new pair of shoes! ASK FOR SOMETHING!”
“But I was too scared to ask,” I said, “I’m afraid of easy come easy go.”
Ben yelled, “And easy come again!”
“No, Ben,” I said, “a laptop is a moral responsibility that goes hundreds of years back. A laptop took the love and labor of dozens of generations. It’s more complicated than a matchbox.”
“So? They’re all paid for by now. Or dead. Or don’t know you! Why would they care what you do with YOUR laptop?”
I sighed. “Because as soon as it comes under my watch, I’ll be accounted for it. I’ll have to answer to every hand that took part in sending it to my care. Imagine all those people one day ask what I’ve done with their invention? I’d like say that it served me very well. And a thank you.”
“But your bad back needs a smaller, better and more convenient laptop.”
I laughed. Then shuddered. “You’re making it sound like marriage for the wrong reasons. Does loyalty ring a bell in your head?”
“I’m afraid of abundance,” I said, “because I’m afraid of losing track of appreciation for things. Because, in this time of age, everything is heavy with that moral responsibility. The more convenient the gadget is the more love and labor have been assembled into it. The more people to answer to.”
“IT’S JUST A FREAKING LAPTOP!!”
Yet, when the bells in my ears stopped ringing that night, I remember seeing Ben fall in love again with his ultra-modern mobile phone.