Read Online Goodbye for Now by Laurie Frankel - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Laurie Frankel
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stupid. No amount of explanation on the part of his father could convince him that it didn’t. He knew it was inanimate, had no feelings, no opinions, no real knowledge at all, but knowing that didn’t help him know it, didn’t change his mind. So his dad rewrote the program with super easy problems—all wrong.
“What’s 2 +3?” the computer would ask.
“5,” Sam would type.
“Nope, it’s 4,” the computer would say. “How about 8 – 2?”
“6,” Sam would type.
“Nope,” said the computer. “It’s 7.”
So Sam got to feel superior to the computer. And thus gained the confidence—clout really—to do more practice math. On the other hand, that was his first computer. And he was seven. Meredith knew better. But even Sam wasn’t sure. It wasn’t her grandmother, but maybe something—someone?—was awaiting her reply.
Meredith was sure she couldn’t just ignore her grandmother’s invitation. But she also didn’t want to tell her she was dead. She thought that would upset her, whoever she was. Sam thought it might make the program implode. Eventually Meredith replied:
Dear Grandma,
Sam is beautiful, really. He has dark, wavy hair, like his dad’s, evidently. He has these deep, green eyes that watch everything closely and look vaguely bemused, that redden up when he gets sad or tired. He wears jeans and T-shirts. He has glasses for reading. He smiles all the time. He hardly ever shaves. When he wakes up, his hair stands up in all directions, and he goes around patting it down all morning until he showers.
I would love to visit you. I wish so much that I could. You can’t imagine. But it’s not possible right now. I’m so, so sorry.
I think about you every day. I miss you so much. You are so much in my heart.
Sam wondered what the program would do with this but said nothing. Whereas the computer had so far replied exactly right, Meredith had now replied exactly wrong. The program had correctly assessed the situation: unremarkable, everyday, warm but not overwrought, ordinary mortal missing rather than the extraordinary eternal kind. Whereas the granddaughter’s reply rang with tragedy, pathos, and brave-fronted despair.
It noticed the change. And was worried.
Oh honey,
You seem so sad. Are you getting enough sleep? Do you feel okay? Maybe you’re really working too hard. I miss you too, but don’t worry, I’ll see you very soon. Can’t wait!! If I can help in the meantime, just yell.
Love you and see you soon!!! Summer’s coming!!
xoxoxo,
Grandma
P.S. Sam sounds like a total hottie! Send me a pic!
VIDEO KILLED THE RADIO STAR
S am said let’s be done now. He did. He said enough is enough. He whispered while he held her naked against his naked that this wasn’t healthy or good for her or revealing, and no one was awaiting her reply, and no one had written her, and all it was was ones and zeroes, so much data, a clever computer program, and bouncing electrons. She said that was all his algorithm had been, and it had brought them together. Nothing more real than that. All that miracle. All that light. All that life that came from nowhere, from nothing, from where there had been none before. Sam said it was hurting her, not healing her. She said she was hurting anyway, and this way she got e-mails from her grandma to make her feel better. Sam said he was worried she was becoming obsessed. She said do you think you can do video.
Don’t be ridiculous, said Sam. The answer was unequivocally no, God no, don’t be absurd no, no way in hell, aren’t you cute to even ask, no. E-mail was a trick, a curiosity, an amusement. It took repeating elements, rearranged them for variety, and plugged in Meredith’s keywords. Basically, it was glorified Mad Libs. Video, on the other hand, would require the solving of problems that had puzzled computer programmers from the dawn of computer programmers, plus a miracle. The answer would therefore have stayed you-must-be-on-drugs-no except for one thing
“What’s 2 +3?” the computer would ask.
“5,” Sam would type.
“Nope, it’s 4,” the computer would say. “How about 8 – 2?”
“6,” Sam would type.
“Nope,” said the computer. “It’s 7.”
So Sam got to feel superior to the computer. And thus gained the confidence—clout really—to do more practice math. On the other hand, that was his first computer. And he was seven. Meredith knew better. But even Sam wasn’t sure. It wasn’t her grandmother, but maybe something—someone?—was awaiting her reply.
Meredith was sure she couldn’t just ignore her grandmother’s invitation. But she also didn’t want to tell her she was dead. She thought that would upset her, whoever she was. Sam thought it might make the program implode. Eventually Meredith replied:
Dear Grandma,
Sam is beautiful, really. He has dark, wavy hair, like his dad’s, evidently. He has these deep, green eyes that watch everything closely and look vaguely bemused, that redden up when he gets sad or tired. He wears jeans and T-shirts. He has glasses for reading. He smiles all the time. He hardly ever shaves. When he wakes up, his hair stands up in all directions, and he goes around patting it down all morning until he showers.
I would love to visit you. I wish so much that I could. You can’t imagine. But it’s not possible right now. I’m so, so sorry.
I think about you every day. I miss you so much. You are so much in my heart.
Sam wondered what the program would do with this but said nothing. Whereas the computer had so far replied exactly right, Meredith had now replied exactly wrong. The program had correctly assessed the situation: unremarkable, everyday, warm but not overwrought, ordinary mortal missing rather than the extraordinary eternal kind. Whereas the granddaughter’s reply rang with tragedy, pathos, and brave-fronted despair.
It noticed the change. And was worried.
Oh honey,
You seem so sad. Are you getting enough sleep? Do you feel okay? Maybe you’re really working too hard. I miss you too, but don’t worry, I’ll see you very soon. Can’t wait!! If I can help in the meantime, just yell.
Love you and see you soon!!! Summer’s coming!!
xoxoxo,
Grandma
P.S. Sam sounds like a total hottie! Send me a pic!
VIDEO KILLED THE RADIO STAR
S am said let’s be done now. He did. He said enough is enough. He whispered while he held her naked against his naked that this wasn’t healthy or good for her or revealing, and no one was awaiting her reply, and no one had written her, and all it was was ones and zeroes, so much data, a clever computer program, and bouncing electrons. She said that was all his algorithm had been, and it had brought them together. Nothing more real than that. All that miracle. All that light. All that life that came from nowhere, from nothing, from where there had been none before. Sam said it was hurting her, not healing her. She said she was hurting anyway, and this way she got e-mails from her grandma to make her feel better. Sam said he was worried she was becoming obsessed. She said do you think you can do video.
Don’t be ridiculous, said Sam. The answer was unequivocally no, God no, don’t be absurd no, no way in hell, aren’t you cute to even ask, no. E-mail was a trick, a curiosity, an amusement. It took repeating elements, rearranged them for variety, and plugged in Meredith’s keywords. Basically, it was glorified Mad Libs. Video, on the other hand, would require the solving of problems that had puzzled computer programmers from the dawn of computer programmers, plus a miracle. The answer would therefore have stayed you-must-be-on-drugs-no except for one thing
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