Love and Miss Communication

For Mom, my biggest cheerleader

Technology is nothing. What’s important is that you have a faith in people, that they’re basically good and smart, and if you give them tools, they’ll do wonderful things with them.

—
STEVE JOBS

Evie scooped up the glossy black-and-silver invitation perched on her vanity. In tiny cursive, she read the words “festive chic attire.” What the hell did that mean? Whatever it was intended to convey, it felt like a tall order after a ten-hour workday on a Saturday. She pulled open the bifold doors of her overstuffed closet, filled mostly with conservative work suits that blocked the view of her formal-wear options. From the back, she pried out the navy blue crepe dress that she had last worn to her great-aunt’s memorial service. By substituting sensible pumps with strappy sandals and adding
dangly earrings, the dress could likely make the transition from funereal to celebratory. After struggling with stubborn jewelry clasps and nearly throwing out her back trying to force a side zipper, it appeared that “festive chic” might be achieved after all. She couldn’t help smiling to herself as she took a glance in her full-length mirror before heading out the door. True a blowout and an eyebrow wax would have gone a long way, but the reflection staring back wasn’t that bad, considering her rush. Fortunately the humidity had given her amber hair a nice wave. Clear olive skin made foundation and blush almost unnecessary, which was a good thing because she had no time for either.

Her BlackBerry screeched like a rattlesnake from its perch on her bookshelf as she hastened to throw on lipstick and apply eyeliner. She forced herself to ignore its mating call. Instead she snapped up the phone and tried to fit it into her matching evening bag, a tiny sequined rectangle that she hadn’t used in months. No such luck.

Shit
. She didn’t know what to do. No feat of physics or geometry would get her BlackBerry into the purse. Carrying her phone all night was out of the question. Her friends would be merciless about her “Crackberry” addiction. Leaving it home was also a nonstarter. A corporate attorney without a BlackBerry at arm’s length might as well not bother showing up for work on Monday. Quickly, and trying as best she could not to consider the implications for the rest of her evening, she hiked her dress over her waist and slipped the bulky PDA into her cotton panties. The plastic hit her flesh like a cool breeze. She could feel the tiny buttons digging crannies into her skin. Evie checked her BlackBerry so often that it was actually fitting it should take on the role of a bodily appendage. Someday, a more evolved version of her would emerge from the womb with a smartphone already implanted. Evie 2.0. She reached back down to lock the keys so
she wouldn’t accidentally call anyone from down there. When her phone was safely secured between the grooves of her body and the fabric of her underwear, she actually felt satisfied with her solution and took a deep breath, sucked the air to the pit of her belly, and released. Everything would be okay. Just some minor discomfort. No big deal, really. She was late, as usual, and there was no time for reconsideration.