When I met Jeremy, he was a mess. An endearing mess, though. In truth, he was basically a hoarder, with mounds of hardcover books where furniture should go, and shoeboxes full of photos from family reunions he hadn’t especially enjoyed. He just couldn’t part with things, which was sweet in a way, but obnoxious as hell whenever we tried moving from one apartment to another and had to spend a full week repacking his ridiculous DVD collection.
We got older and got married and the stuff just kept growing and growing, until eventually it became a problem we couldn’t ignore anymore. We had a baby - a beautiful boy named Harrison - and the towers of “stuff” became too stressful for me. Our home was dangerous and I was scared.
Jeremy understood. He’s always been empathetic and kind - just flawed in this one, silly way. Still, I admit I was surprised that first day, when Harrison and I came back from the park and there was a noticeable gap in the corner of the house.
“Where are your CDs?” I asked.
“Digitized them,” said Jeremy, beaming ear-to-ear. Stacks and piles and mountains of old CDs reduced to invisible data. “I’ll do the books next.”
He did and suddenly it felt like our house was twice as big. It felt almost empty. I never thought to ask about the process. Frankly, I wasn’t interested. But the results were incredible.
Bit by bit, Jeremy pared down our lives, replacing the physical with the digital. We weren’t cramped anymore. We were practically Spartan, torn down to the bare essentials - and everything captured under glass, just a button-press away.
But then one day, I came home and there was an odd quiet in the house. It took me a moment to realize what was missing.
“Honey, where’s Harrison?”
I’ll always remember Jeremy’s face then. He looked so proud and so serene, like he understood something no one else could or ever would. Rather than respond, he held up a tablet. I thought he was showing me a video at first. It was Harrison on a blanket in a bright room, smiling and laughing. But I didn’t recognize the blanket or the room and Harrison seemed to flicker and stutter like he was buffering.
“Pretty great, right?” said Jeremy. “Barely takes up any space this way.”
You’d think I would’ve killed Jeremy then. I wanted to. I really did. But something held me back. I guess it was maternal instinct.
Instead we made a deal.
And honestly, it’s not so bad down here. At least I have my son, who smiles and laughs and smiles and laughs and cannot be touched and will never grow old…
A digital baby in a digital room, forever watched over by a digital mother crying digital tears.
And we hardly take up any space at all.
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Credits
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