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Authors: Laurie Frankel
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faster?”
“Did your grandmother stay up e-mailing in the middle of the night?” It was four o’clock in the morning in Florida.
“No.”
“Then I can’t.”
She sat up all night anyway. At seven thirty-five in the morning, finally, it was there:
You should take some time off work and come visit me—get some sun for a few weeks. You work too hard!! They’ll get by without you. Send me the soup recipe. You still haven’t told me what Sam looks like!
Hugs and kisses, sweetie,
Grandma
Meredith shook Sam awake.
“She wants our soup recipe!”
“We made it up as we went along,” Sam mumbled from under a pillow.
“That took long enough,” Meredith griped. “And it’s so short. I want more.”
“It e-mails when and how she did. It’s her. She e-mailed midmorning, so it e-mails midmorning. Her e-mails were pretty brief and to the point, so it e-mails briefly and to the point.”
“I waited for hours. I want more than a paragraph! Doesn’t she miss me?”
“Only like she’s in Florida.”
“Can you speed it up? Can you make it write more?”
“It’s being your grandmother, Merde. It’s scientifically, logically, brilliantly, analytically modeling your grandmother. I’m not doing anything anymore. You have to take it up with her.”
Meredith’s next e-mail went through several drafts and ended up being a six-page missive on the nature of love and family, childhood and grandparents, memory, life, and the passage of time. It ended with the plea, “I miss you so much! Write more and longer, please. Tell me everything!”
To which Livvie chirpily replied:
Wow. Someone had a lot of time on her hands this week. Must be crummy weather there—here it’s gorgeous so I’ll have to write more later! Off to the beach!! Love you!!
P.S. Come visit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
P.P.S. Is he hideous, or why won’t you tell me what this boy looks like???
Sam was impressed with himself—especially that it was still curious, not having yet been told, about what he looked like—but Meredith was in a bit of a state. She didn’t care that her grandmother would never have sent her long, mushy e-mails in life. She didn’t care that if she received long, mushy e-mails, they wouldn’t seem like they were from her grandmother. And, of course, she couldn’t go visit her in Florida. Sam thought maybe they’d come to the end. The past had run up against the present. They had reached the limits of what they could overcome with memory, habit, and the way things had always been. Livvie couldn’t keep up. Her relationship with her granddaughter had changed since she’d died, but she didn’t know it, and there were things she could not thus account for.
“I need a believable reason I can’t visit. What do I tell her?” said Meredith.
“Nothing. Let’s call it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Be done with this now. Let’s call this an interesting experiment and stop here.”
“You mean not answer the e-mail?”
“Sure. Just leave it.”
“I can’t ignore her. She’ll wonder what’s up. She’ll be totally pissed.”
“No she won’t,” Sam said as gently as he could. “She’s dead.”
“No, she’s been e-mailing me.”
“Not her. The software.”
“Are you sure?”
“Totally.”
“I’m not.”
“Merde …”
“Someone’s e-mailing me. And it’s worried that I’m working too hard. It wonders what my boyfriend looks like. It wishes I’d come visit. I don’t want to disappoint it. Her. I don’t want to leave it hanging.”
When Sam was a kid, his dad whipped up a program so he could practice math on the computer. When he got a question right, it said, “Way to go, Sam,” or, “What a smartie,” or something like that. When he got one wrong, it said, “Sorry, not quite,” or, “Oops, try another.” It was incredibly simple programming, but it still didn’t work because after an hour’s worth of mistakes, Sam refused to use it again. He was sure the computer thought he was
“Did your grandmother stay up e-mailing in the middle of the night?” It was four o’clock in the morning in Florida.
“No.”
“Then I can’t.”
She sat up all night anyway. At seven thirty-five in the morning, finally, it was there:
You should take some time off work and come visit me—get some sun for a few weeks. You work too hard!! They’ll get by without you. Send me the soup recipe. You still haven’t told me what Sam looks like!
Hugs and kisses, sweetie,
Grandma
Meredith shook Sam awake.
“She wants our soup recipe!”
“We made it up as we went along,” Sam mumbled from under a pillow.
“That took long enough,” Meredith griped. “And it’s so short. I want more.”
“It e-mails when and how she did. It’s her. She e-mailed midmorning, so it e-mails midmorning. Her e-mails were pretty brief and to the point, so it e-mails briefly and to the point.”
“I waited for hours. I want more than a paragraph! Doesn’t she miss me?”
“Only like she’s in Florida.”
“Can you speed it up? Can you make it write more?”
“It’s being your grandmother, Merde. It’s scientifically, logically, brilliantly, analytically modeling your grandmother. I’m not doing anything anymore. You have to take it up with her.”
Meredith’s next e-mail went through several drafts and ended up being a six-page missive on the nature of love and family, childhood and grandparents, memory, life, and the passage of time. It ended with the plea, “I miss you so much! Write more and longer, please. Tell me everything!”
To which Livvie chirpily replied:
Wow. Someone had a lot of time on her hands this week. Must be crummy weather there—here it’s gorgeous so I’ll have to write more later! Off to the beach!! Love you!!
P.S. Come visit!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
P.P.S. Is he hideous, or why won’t you tell me what this boy looks like???
Sam was impressed with himself—especially that it was still curious, not having yet been told, about what he looked like—but Meredith was in a bit of a state. She didn’t care that her grandmother would never have sent her long, mushy e-mails in life. She didn’t care that if she received long, mushy e-mails, they wouldn’t seem like they were from her grandmother. And, of course, she couldn’t go visit her in Florida. Sam thought maybe they’d come to the end. The past had run up against the present. They had reached the limits of what they could overcome with memory, habit, and the way things had always been. Livvie couldn’t keep up. Her relationship with her granddaughter had changed since she’d died, but she didn’t know it, and there were things she could not thus account for.
“I need a believable reason I can’t visit. What do I tell her?” said Meredith.
“Nothing. Let’s call it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Be done with this now. Let’s call this an interesting experiment and stop here.”
“You mean not answer the e-mail?”
“Sure. Just leave it.”
“I can’t ignore her. She’ll wonder what’s up. She’ll be totally pissed.”
“No she won’t,” Sam said as gently as he could. “She’s dead.”
“No, she’s been e-mailing me.”
“Not her. The software.”
“Are you sure?”
“Totally.”
“I’m not.”
“Merde …”
“Someone’s e-mailing me. And it’s worried that I’m working too hard. It wonders what my boyfriend looks like. It wishes I’d come visit. I don’t want to disappoint it. Her. I don’t want to leave it hanging.”
When Sam was a kid, his dad whipped up a program so he could practice math on the computer. When he got a question right, it said, “Way to go, Sam,” or, “What a smartie,” or something like that. When he got one wrong, it said, “Sorry, not quite,” or, “Oops, try another.” It was incredibly simple programming, but it still didn’t work because after an hour’s worth of mistakes, Sam refused to use it again. He was sure the computer thought he was
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