1 x iPhone 7
1 x ability to meaningfully connect in the twenty-first century
I had enough battery to call the Uber and clamber in. The rest, as much of it as I can remember, is a shirking of responsibility that I decided to dredge from the bottom of six Break Waters and a Chardonnay whose label I cannot recall – deliberately.
I have scraped across the poorly laid wooden floor with a coathanger to double, triple check the dark space underneath the couch that I cannot see without the flashlight of a phone I cannot find. Uber Support must be incredibly helpful if you can pass the two-factor authentication with, you guessed it, a code sent via SMS.
Today, Dad and I got a long lunch – over coffee, not alcohol, for a change (for me, at least). He asked if I’d passcode protected it. If I’d at least locked it with a thumbprint. I live, I told him, with the kind of youthful optimism that means I’m not afraid of losing my phone.
I don’t feel I should have been afraid. I have been in this situation before, I think. Filled with smoke and not substance for so long there are moments I know I am not experiencing for the first time. I just cannot remember what happened then, like I cannot piece together what is happening now, and I am unsure how to proceed.
Confidently, like always, I suppose. One foot in front of the other. Just without a soundtrack, without branded earphones to drape over my neck, without a camera to Story the world around me. Beautifully mundane. The train sliding away into the sunrise.
I can still do my job. I can still communicate. Just less effectively. Less quickly. I am less mobile. Less capable. The loss of a long limb into the internet. I am not afraid. I am just anxious. Filled now with grey smoke, not green.
If you happen to find a flat iPhone in the back of Ammar’s car, I would be grateful for its return. I know I have missed alarms and messages. Wake up calls I am reluctant to answer.