My Computer Therapist Falling out of my mom’s dark grey SUV I slowly climb the steep stairs up to the farthest room to the left of the stairway, my room. My leg muscles cramping after a day carrying my backpack filled with big textbooks from Math to Science to Computer Ccience to Mandarin. Gracefully I dive into my bed and open my computer. While I slump in my bed with khaki pants scraping at my skin and a rash from my uniform t-shirt, my AirPods stuck to my ears, becoming a part of me. I stay almost frozen in bed only my eyes darting back and forth reading the pages and my fingers tapping away at the keys so light you don’t even hear a click. I make a new window and wait for a moment trying to decide if I want to go to Youtube or PowerSchool. For a split second, I believe work is the right choice. Then after thinking about it again, I decided that now is not the time for studying. I type Pewdiepie and graze my 2nd and 3rd finger across the trackpad till I find a suitable video to fall asleep to. I can hear my mother working in the kitchen at a furious pace that sounds like the speed of light. I can hear her footsteps and the clanging of dish plates. The last time I see on my computer clock is 4 pm, then everything goes black and I pass out. It’s the kind of sleep where my mouth is wide open and drool is creeping down my chin. I toss and turn causing the computer to shift the edge of the bed. Once I make the smallest move, adjusting the pillow so that I get the
cold side, the computer slips off the bed and slides into the gap between my bed and the wall. Then a deep “BOOM!!” like dropping a 20lb weight on hollow steel. The computer leaves a dent on the wall, chipping the paint and the computer. My mom yells from downstairs, “CALLUM, WAS THAT YOUR COMPUTER?!” She drops the dishes she was cleaning and darts up the stairs. I see the fire in her eyes and her teeth grinding. She grabs the computer off the floor and dashes away. My computer is now off-limits, shoved in one of the cupboards in the kitchen downstairs. I hear a drawer slam shut. It won’t stay hidden for long. I know that she always puts the computer in the first row, bottom-most draw next to the pantry. I waddle down the stairs, legs limp. I am on a silent mission. I don’t hear the sounds of creaking wood from the steps or my hand sliding down our polished black railing. My mom has a terrible relationship with my computer. While I, on the other hand, have a splendid relationship with it. Procrastinating is a trait of mine and my computer is my tool. I feel most whole when I am in bed watching Netflix. I am watching the same shows over and over, mouthing the words. This is what makes me happy. It lets the stress melt away and allows me to get my energy back that I used up during the day to play basketball. Of course, I play instead of doing the homework. The shows that 21
