modern technology, old-fashioned talk

The conversation is minimal, a gesture. Thirty messages, according to Gmail, that would up add up to a few minutes of in-person talk. It's something to do, more than anything. A way to pass the endless hospital day. And probably I'm just the person in her address book who doesn't risk detention for replying between the hours of 7:30 and 3. I don't make more of it than that, but I'm glad to be in touch, and I talk to her of teacherly things.

Does the school know where you are? Have you asked for your homework? I tie up official loose ends, try to pave her way back. She doesn't know how long she'll be sitting and translating, sitting and waiting, sitting alone while her mother is sleeping. Time doesn't go by in a hospital room, not in my experience. So she gets out that phone, types with her thumbs.

Back in the school, we've become the cellphone gestapo, a Spring-time crackdown recently put into place. I've collected two in four days, addicted kids inadvertently fidgeting with their half-grown-up toys, neither one disrupting, one not even in class, but the new policy is clear, and that's the stupid breaks. If they knew I am occasionally replying to one of their own who is out-of-school texting I've a hunch they might stage a mild, irrational protest, but she's asked me not to tell and besides, as so many things, it's none of their business. So the hush-hush how-are-you continues.

It's not all serious. At lunch I share the rare miracle of my non-cafeteria meal and she replies with, "Yay, me! hospital food!" but declines my offered delivery. We joke a little, touch base, maintain a semblance of normal. But on Thursday, hours and hours pass after my morning, "How's it going today?"

"sorry it took me this long to write back," No sorry, I mentally reply.

"but was busy with my mom. last nite she had a meltdown!!" And she goes on to explain. I do what I can in twenty-five words or less, for this girl I so feel for. Offer my hopes for a better tomorrow, await the next dispatch.

"my fingers r crossed," she says.