It was love at first sight. For the baby anyway. One look at that black and gray box, with its glowing green eyes, gentle whirring noise, and the faint scent of warm circuitry and the baby knew his life would never be the same. He crawled towards the box, slowly, transfixed. None of the other flashing lights in the apartment held any attraction for him now. He was a one-device baby.
Oh, sure, he had a few dalliances with other flashing lights from time to time, but it never meant anything. A short burst of passion with a cellular phone behind the coffee table, regular interludes with the box’s cousin – a broad television screen that put on the most obvious of dancing shows for him. But none of those devices held the mystery of the Uverse box. The beautiful lights, the sound, even the remote appendage that controlled the box’s every thought and action. This was an overwhelming love – a love that would last a lifetime.
Unfortunately, the box did not share the baby’s feelings. “Damn baby,” thought the box, every time she saw the baby headed in her direction, waving his wet, sticky hands at her. She hated to feel his slimy little fingers prodding at her buttons. She shuddered at the thought that one day he might leave behind a disintegrating Cheerio, wedged in the crevices surrounding her most delicate parts, as evidence of the baby’s insatiable interest in her.
For months she withstood the constant fear of his prodding fingers, fingers that grew bigger and slimier by the day. She thought that if she kept quiet, kept from drawing attention to herself, that maybe someday the baby would leave and things would go back to normal. She was able to hope and believe that this could be true, that her salvation was just around the corner, until one day she saw the baby pull himself up on the coffee table, and take a step in her direction. The step was wobbly, but he walked brazenly, without assistance, moving towards the box out in the open for all to see. That day the box was forced to admit to herself that the baby was growing stronger, and that soon she would be completely defenseless, vulnerable to his prying hands. He would destroy her. She had to do something.
There were few actions that the box herself could take. She was mute, and due to the way in which she had been manufactured, she was completely paralyzed. She had often envied some of the other devices she saw around the apartment, moving on their own. Perhaps those devices did not share her intellect, perhaps they could only repeat a few well-worn phrases over and over, but they knew what it felt like to walk. If only she could walk away from those pudgy hands. But she couldn’t. She would have to figure another way out of this mess.
For days the box brooded, never resting, trying to think of a way to escape this nightmare. Finally, she knew what she would do. The next day, as the baby approached, she held her breath. She passed out, and when she came to, the baby’s bosses were standing over her, tapping her remote appendage, wondering what had happened. They had run to her aid. The box was beside herself with joy. Perhaps her plan would work.
But the next day, early in the morning, she saw the baby’s head pop up from behind the table, and he approached her again, his hands grasping for her buttons. Again she held her breath, and passed out, blocking the baby’s warm, wet fingers from her consciousness. This time, when she came to, the bosses were there again. But the box knew this would only be a temporary solution. She would need help from another source.
She thought back to the time before the baby, before the bosses, and from the shadowy memories of those early days, dredged up a memory of a tall man in a uniform. The man had brought her here. He had spoken to her gently, pulling on her wires until she felt the first surges of electricity run through her and the world had been laid open before her. She needed that man.
The box continued to hold her breath and pass out, night after night, day after day, hoping beyond hope that the man in uniform would come rescue her from this life. Then one day, two days after Christmas, it happened. The phone rang, the door opened, and the man in uniform walked in. He held her in his hands and looked deep into her lights, trying to understand her problems. He stroked her wires and murmured to her gently. She saw the baby behind the man, reaching for her, screaming in anger that she was out of his reach, but the man held her in his strong hands out of the baby’s reach. She felt the surge of electricity pass through her as the man’s hands passed over her buttons. She felt her damaged circuits turning, and the world seemed new again. Just as she felt a moment of ecstasy, everything in its place, the man turned to the baby’s boss, and said that the box was well and that he would be leaving.
“No” cried the box, but no sound escaped her mute, plastic body. “You’ve only just found me again! You can’t leave me.” The baby wailed in the background, reaching for the box. The baby was turning red with anger. “You can’t leave me here,” she thought, desperately.
The man in uniform guided the box to a high shelf, and nestled her into place. She would be safe from the baby’s curious hands, but would she ever feel the gentle caress of the man in uniform again? The man turned and walked out the door, without so much as a glance at the box, and she knew that she was destined to die in this apartment, alone on this shelf, to stand before the lustful gaze of the baby for the rest of her days.
“Ma ma ma ma ma ma ma!” screamed the baby, pointing at the twinkling lights of the object of his affection, his face contorted with frustration. The glowing green lights of the box consumed him. He needed the box. She was his. How dare they take her away from him. He longed to get lost in her green glow, to inhale the acrid scent of her circuitry, to hear her gentle hum. This box brought him the greatest pleasure he had ever known. What secrets did she still hold? What mysteries could he pry from her electronic case? If his mother truly loved him, she would GIVE HIM THIS BOX. How would he go on without the box?
The baby’s mother ignored his screams. She picked up her cell phone, another of the baby’s conquests, and called her husband. “We got the Uverse fixed,” she reported. “No, he didn’t take a nap today. I don’t expect I’ll have much quiet this afternoon. All I can hope for at this point is an early bedtime.”
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