One step beyond — Losing it
She felt like she was losing her mind. Well, that wasmost likely too harsh. But she was treading water here. How was she supposed to remember all of this? Her camera only broke down two days ago, but so much stuff already happened. She had nearly convinces her parents that she NEEDED, yes, NEEDED a new one, but it might take another day until they finally got off their asses and got her one. She was so tired of their excuses, the “We do not have the cash right now.”, “Daddy has a long day at work and cannot make it to the shops before the weekend.”…
But it was Saturday tomorrow and she would just make them. A well trained mix of tears and threats should make it. But that was still a whole day away. A whole day! And she was forgetting so much. She filled list after list with things about her life that she was likely to forget. But she had already narrowed it down. In the beginning she had written far too much. Made logs of calls and visits until she realised that her phone was tagging times and places and she could use that to remember. Even the people she met were archived in those logs. Whenever she was close to someone she knew, her phone would notice and save that info. That was really helpful now. It had gotten her into trouble before when her parents found out she was still seeing her friend she was forbidden to, but now it came in really handy. It had not been that big a deal for her before. She always knew where anyone was and had been because they were all constantly updating their timelines. It was not really necessary because the phones knew anyway, but who cared? She did not. Telling all the others was just so important. Personal. Private. It was info just for those who knew her. But for now she could use the logs the phone provided. This was an emergency after all.
So she focussed on the things her phone could not tell her: the way people looked. The mic was still working, so she at least had audio of her surroundings. It was a lifesaver. She told everyone she was doing an artsy project and only pushed funny sounds and text online, but if there would not be a video soon, people might get suspicious. And it was so hard to remember all the details: The colour of her friend’s dress that clashed so horribly with her shoes; the secret look between her friends that no one was supposed to see, how bloody cute those two cats snuggling up on a labtop looked. Instead of setting a marker on the stream she now had to find the words to remember all of this.
She kind of liked finding the words. Playing with them, shuffling them until they were just right. It was different from writing for school. Different from desperately trying to find something to write about. Different for finding the least offensive, the words that no one else would worry about. Words that did not get her into trouble. Words that did not get her watched, did not get her into trouble, did not get her send to social services. These were her words. For now no one should find them, that they were hers alone. But she liked them. They might get her into trouble but she secretly hoped others would see them too. Maybe, some day, somehow. For now it was important that she remembered. That she could keep up with the stories her friends shared, with the jokes they made. She could only hope that they did not notice her change. She’d be laughed at. She had seen it before. With the kids who did not have the money to keep up. The ones who did not want to fit in. It was hard to come back once you had been out. Friends turned around very quickly. You had hundreds anyway. One did not matter anymore. So easy to make fun of those not around for a while. But as much as she tried her parents did not get it. They kept on going on about the old times: “In our time, we did not even have this technology. Life happens without.” Yes, life happened without. But what a life. Tomorrow was Saturday. Tomorrow she would make her father drive her to the mall.
