Screen Time
by Koji A. Dae
The protective foam case around the tablet is cracked, but its thickness makes the tablet easier for Grace's arthritic hands to grasp as she searches for the power button.
The tablet is slow. It was an old model when she bought it for Steven over fifty years ago. It's a miracle it still connects to the net at all.
"He's three," she had told the shopkeeper. "He doesn't need anything fancy."
"Three?" The shopkeeper, barely out of his teens, smirked. "Kids understand technology better than we do. Digital natives, right? He'll need an upgrade within a year."
She had stood frozen with indecision between rows of tablets. Experts had lifted restrictions on childhood screen time the previous year. Before that, too much tech was mentally and emotionally damaging. Now they expected her to embrace the next generation's technological fluency? "No. Just the basics."
The shopkeeper was right, though. Steven quickly grew frustrated with the device. He wanted something faster and with more features. His discarded tablet became Grace's backup device. She'd never needed much.
The screen comes to life with a familiar chime. There's Steven. Green light. Always online. She taps his avatar.
"Mama!" He wears his six-year-old smile.
Six had been a lovely year. Full of hugs and garden slugs. But the face on the screen is wrong. A bit around the ears. A twitch of the lips. Only a mother would realize it isn't him. "Can you change your face, dear?"
Years pass on the screen and he settles into the body of a twenty-year-old man--clean shaven and optimistic. "This better? How are you? It's been a long time!"
Time passes differently for Steven. He explained it once: a day was an eternity, but an eternity was no more than a second. It was too confusing for her to understand.
"The doctors say I'm not well. I'll be passing on soon."
"No. Mama. Come here instead."
