The CrackBerry

            by Evan Hughes

 

I can’t remember when the word addict first occurred to me, but I think it was that Saturday afternoon when my 12-year-old nephew called me for help. I had just come back from the gym and was about to take a shower when my cell phone rang.

“Aunt Kate.”

I recognized Jake’s voice with a mixture of pleasure and surprise. He rarely calls me, and when he does, it is usually because he has been told to thank me for a gift or invite me to one of his games.  His tone sounded irritated and angry.

“Hi Jake, what’s up?”

“Mom told me to call you.  She wants you over here now.”

“Why?  Is everything okay?”

He hung up.  The strain in his voice made me instantly tense as a hundred horrible scenarios flashed through my mind.  I grabbed my keys and headed for the door.

*          *          *          *

My sister Molly lives about 20 minutes from me, across town and up in the hills with a beautiful view of the San Francisco Bay.  She has always been an overachiever, and even as a child she seemed brighter and more driven than the rest of us.  She had finished Harvard in three years, worked on Wall Street, and then met her husband Dan in business school.  It seemed to me that they had both worked non-stop since the day they returned from their honeymoon.  Everyone was delighted when Jake was born, thinking their lives would be more balanced with a family.  Molly had even taken a year long maternity leave to stay home and be a full time mother.  It was during that time that they bought the house and started the never ending project of fixing it up.  She went back to work after that.  Dan, an investment banker, made lots of money, but traveled frequently. That was the trade off.  He was away for a month now, in Singapore on business.

*          *          *          *

I pulled into the driveway next to Molly’s silver BMW.  All four doors were open, as if someone had been detailing the car.  I took the steps two at a time and rang the doorbell insistently. I heard Jake’s footsteps slowly approach the door.  He opened it, and instantly turned his back and started to walk away.  But as I looked past him, I could see the house was in shambles.  The cushions from the couch were thrown everywhere, books and papers littered the floor, the closet doors were opened and jackets lay in a heap.  From the entryway, I could see into the kitchen, where drawers and cabinet doors were opened, and the recycling bins were emptied on the floor.  A trail of dirty laundry covered the stairs and I could see the contents of Molly’s purse dumped on the dining room table, next to her opened laptop case.

“Jesus Christ! What happened here? Jake, are you okay?”

He turned around as if irritated, and pointed to the study.

“Mom’s in there.  She lost her BlackBerry.”

*          *          *          *

The first time I saw Molly use the BlackBerry was at one of Jake’s soccer games. Dan was away, as usual, and I often filled in during those times, spending weekend time with them.  Jake loved soccer, and had taken to playing goalie since no one else on the team wanted that position.  Jake was big and stocky for his age, showing a prepubescent maturity that few kids his age had reached.  But because he was not as agile as the other players, the position fit him well, and he loved it – watching the action approach, anticipating the shot, blocking it with his body, and drop kicking the ball back onto the field.  The kids had fun, but the parents enjoyed it more.  They yelled and coached from the sidelines and clapped for their kids.  All except Molly.  She was seated on the sidelines, intently scrutinizing the screen of her BlackBerry as her thumbs typed out a series of messages.

“Moll.  Put that damn thing away.  You’re missing the action.  Jake has made four great plays and you’ve missed every one.”

“Yeah, one second, I’m almost done.  I’m planning for this big meeting on Monday, but I didn’t want to go to work this weekend with Dan gone and all.  Don’t worry, I’ll be done in a minute.”

But she wasn’t done in a minute.  She had used it on the way home at a stoplight.  She had used it while she prepared dinner, and she kept it with her during the meal.  She was distracted, tuning in and out of our conversations.  Molly had recently gotten a large promotion, and she was occupied by work so much, that a co-worker recommended she get a BlackBerry so she could work at home.  But now she could not be without it.  Jake had seemed to take it in stride, and I remember feeling annoyed on his behalf, but I figured that I was just a dinosaur in the age of technology.  Before I left that night, I had seen the BlackBerry in the bathroom.  I had chuckled to myself, remembering how my father had kept the Wall Street Journal in the bathroom, and now Molly had the BlackBerry there.  I had even considered taking it, as a joke, but dismissed the idea.

*          *          *          *

I opened the study door and surveyed the room.  Molly was on the floor, rocking, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees.  It was clear she was trying to calm herself, but with little success.  Her breathing was rapid and she looked like she would explode at any moment.  The condition of the room resembled the rest of the house - chaotic.  The usually meticulous desk was covered with the contents of empty drawers.  Cushions and pillows were strewn about the room; the trashcan was lying sideways, emptied.

“Moll, I’ve never seen you like this.  Are you okay?”

Molly continued to rock in place.

“Is this all because of your BlackBerry? Because if it is, then you…”

“It’s gone.  Shit! Everything is gone!  I don’t know what I’m going to do now, I have appointments and meetings.  Shit!  I’m going to lose my job!  Katie, you have to help me find it!”

            I went over to give her a comforting hug as her house phone began to ring.

            “JAKE! ANSWER THE PHONE!”  She screamed to him in a distressed tone.

            He had locked himself in his room and refused to reply.  I walked over to the receiver and picked up the phone.

            “Hello?...No, this is her sister…Oh, hello…You did!...Oh wonderful.  I’ll be sure to tell her.”

            I walked back into the room.  “Moll, the janitor from work just called.  He found your BlackBerry on the floor of your office.”

            Molly’s face slowly rose, as if in disbelief at the words that had just come out of my mouth.  Her eyes gleamed with a craving satisfaction.  Without a word, she grabbed her keys and ran out of the house.

*          *          *          *

            A few weeks later during an ordinary day at the art museum where I worked, I got a phone call from Molly.

            “Katie, I need a huge favor.”

            “Sure, what is it?”

            “Jake has an appointment with the principal today at school.  I was going to go, but it turns out I have this important conference that I just can’t miss.  Can you fill in for me?”

            I silently cursed Molly, Dan, and their jobs.  Didn’t she realize that I worked too?  But I could never say no to Molly, and the image of Jake sitting in the principal’s office by himself kept coming into my mind, so with a long sigh, I accepted.

            “Thank you so much Katie, I owe you one.  Love you.  Bye-bye.”

*          *          *          *

            When I arrived at the principal’s office, I entered to find Jake sulking in his chair facing the principal on the other side of a dark mahogany table.  The principal was a small man, with a suit too big for his frail body, and a shaggy beard.  The enormous leather chair in which he was seated seemed more appropriate for an executive office than a middle school, and it made him look even smaller.  I glanced at the name placard on his desk.  It read “Mr. Burman.”

            “Hello Mr. Burman, my name is Kate Stevens.  I’m Jake’s aunt.”

            Jake looked at me with surprise.  “What happened to mom?”

            “She had an important meeting and asked me if I could fill in.”  Jake sank back into his chair.  “So what are we here to talk about?”

            Mr. Burman removed a file and started leafing through some paperwork.  “Usually the parents attend disciplinary meetings, Ms. Stevens.  But I see here that you are listed as a relative, so I suppose we can continue.  I have been trying to schedule this meeting for some months now, and I am disappointed Jake’s parents could not be here.  Please make sure you convey to them just how serious this is.”  He paused.  “Jake’s behavior at school has become a serious problem.  You see, he seems to be getting into quite a lot of trouble these days.  He has been in detention every day for the last week, and unless he can get his behavior together, we will have to consider harsher punishment.”

            “Well, what has he done?”

            “Frankly, he tends to bully the smaller kids, and provoke them with teasing and name calling.  On occasion he has been spotted using physical abuse.  He also refuses to go to his Computer Lab class, which is encouraging other kids to miss their classes.”

            I was stunned.  This seemed so unlike the Jake I knew.  I pictured him on the soccer field, encouraging his team from the goal, and couldn’t possibly imagine him hurting other kids.  Jake was staring out the window, rhythmically banging one foot against the chair, wearing a frown.  He wouldn’t look at either of us.

“Jake.  Why did you do those things?  That’s not like you.”  Jake was silent.  The continued banging of his foot was his only response.

Mr. Burman began to speak again.  “Jake used to be one of our model students.  I know he is an intelligent and kind boy, but over the last six months he has changed.  I just want you or his parents to talk to him, because if he continues this behavior there will be more serious consequences.”

            “Okay Mr. Burman.  Thank you.”  I exited the room with Jake by my side.  The car ride home was silent.

*          *          *          *

A few weeks had passed, and I found myself thinking about that visit to the principal, wondering how school was going for Jake.  I had given Molly a verbatim account of the meeting, and she had casually dismissed the concerns of the school.  “They’re overreacting.  Jake has never hurt a thing in his life.  I’m sure he has a good explanation.  When my proposal is done for next week’s meeting, and Dan comes back, we’ll have a talk about it.”

I was growing increasingly concerned about Molly’s tendency toward overworking, and her denial of anything not as important.  It was so reminiscent of how she had conducted her whole life.  Driven, consumed with her projects.  Wanting to be the best, no matter what.  She had never made time for friends or relationships, and I was feeling the familiar twinge of anger at being used by her when she needed a stand in.  This time it was a stand in mother.

 I decided to drop in at Molly’s house to see how things were going.  It was a foggy San Francisco day, but as I started to ascend the hill, I noticed that the air was particularly pungent, and that the familiar fog was thickened by a heavy gray and black cloud just dissipating along the skyline above the trees. I recognized the smell of smoke and looked toward the deadened eucalyptus grove and surrounding brown meadow grasses for signs of smoldering fire.  As I got closer, my heart dropped as I realized that the smoke was coming from Molly’s house.  There were three fire trucks, ladders and hoses deployed, a police car with lights flashing, and an ambulance.  Neighbors were congregated in twos and threes, watching the action from the safety of their driveways. The fire appeared to be out, but the scene was still chaotic.  In a panic, I jumped out of my car and ran over to a fireman.  My heart was racing.

            “What happened here?  Is everyone okay?  I’m Molly’s sister.  Is anyone still inside?”

            “We just got the boy out.  He’s being treated in the ambulance right now.  He inhaled a lot of smoke, but I think he’s going to be alright.”

            I saw Molly frantically yelling at a fireman.  I ran over to her.

            “Molly.  Oh my God, Molly, I’m so glad you’re okay.”

            “OKAY?!  I’M NOT OKAY!  DO I LOOK OKAY?”

            A fireman approached her.  “Ma’am, is there anyone still inside?”

            “YES! YES!  PLEASE.  MY BLACKBERRY IS IN THERE!”

            “Blackberry?  Is that a pet, ma’am?”

“NO, YOU IDIOT.  IT’S MY BLACKBERRY! JESUS CHRIST.  MY BLACKBERRY!  DON’T JUST STAND THERE.  IF YOU’RE NOT GOING TO GET IT, THEN I WILL!”  She started to push past the fireman, but she was stopped by two others physically restraining her.

            I wrapped my arms around her.  “Molly, calm down.  Do you know how this started?  Is Jake alright?”

            “Yea I just checked on him, he’s fine.  But that doesn’t matter!  All that matters is my BlackBerry is in there!  It’s gone, Kate.  What am I going to do?”  She started to break down in tears.

            I had no patience for her, and her priorities sickened me.  Going over to the ambulance, I saw Jake lying down with his eyes closed.  An oxygen mask, connected to a large tank, covered his mouth.  The sight of him made me tremble, as my eyes started to water.  How could Molly let this happen? 

            Through my fear and anger, I found my voice.  “Jake.  It’s Kate.  Are you okay?  I’m here sweetie, don’t worry.”

            His eyes opened, shot me a sad and tired look, and closed again.

*          *          *          *

              I sat next to Jake, holding his hand as he lay under a blanket protecting him from the chilly evening breeze. He was breathing normally now, alert and awake. We could hear Molly’s continuing tirade about entering the house to retrieve her BlackBerry, and the fireman’s persistent response that the house was still hazardous. Finally, she took a seat on the ground next to us.  She started to tug at her hair in frustration.  A fireman could be seen coming out of the house.  He exchanged a few words with the chief, then approached us.  He was carrying a burnt trash can.

            “Ma’am, I believe this was the cause of the fire.”  He reached in the trashcan and pulled out a charred handheld device.  Though it was hard to distinguish, we all knew what it was.  “These are mighty hard to burn, but someone really wanted it destroyed.  The trashcan couldn’t contain the blaze.  It was too close to the curtains.”

            Molly was white.  She was not staring at the BlackBerry, but through it.  She eventually gathered the breath to mutter, “Jake.  Did you do this?”

            Jake nodded, and tears slowly began to flood his eyes.

            Molly stood up slowly and walked away.  She turned down the foggy road at the end of the driveway, and was gone.

*          *          *          *

            It was three weeks to the day after the fire when we heard from Molly.  Jake was living with me for now, and Dan spent his days back in town battling with the insurance companies over the damage from the fire.  The letter was handwritten on pale yellow stationery.  I recognized Molly’s perfect cursive instantly.

            I opened the letter, and read the contents slowly.

            “Dear Jake and Kate,

               I can’t begin to express how sorry I am for what has happened, and how grateful I feel to have you both in my life.  I have learned so much about myself since coming to the Hammersmith Cyberaddiction Unit here in Chicago.  It seems that my BlackBerry was like a drug to me.  I am learning all the symptoms of electronic addiction, like having a sense of euphoria while using the device, inability to stop it, craving more and more time at it, and neglect to family and friends.  I see now that my addiction has directly affected the one’s I love most, and I promise, when I get back, things will be different.  We have so much catching up to do.  Please, know I love you both.  And thank you.”

            “Jake,” I called, “It’s a letter from mom.”

            He was glued to his new Nintendo Gameboy that his father had recently bought him.  After a long hesitation, he said, “One minute, I have to beat this level.  I’m almost done.”

                        It was an all too familiar response.