The Tale of the Wireless Mouse

There was a blinking, red glow from within the box as I separated the cardboard flaps.

“Really?” I asked the contents before viewing them carefully. “I’ve already cracked the make-up mirror. What else have I broken?” But I felt a rush of sympathy for my wireless mouse as it sent blinking signals with a tireless intensity. I held the object in my palm, stupidly trying to soothe it, I think, and it continued to pulse with light.

“I’ll find it,” I promised of its partner, digging through the box with one hand and unearthing the component that attaches to the computer, relaying the mouse’s signals to my iMac. I quickly found a USB port and pushed the black cord in place. Quickly moving the mouse directly in front of the sensor, I was relieved to see the red light finally cease its flashing. I smiled, thinking they must be happy to be reunited, then paused to shake my head at myself. “Lay off cold medicine in attempt to retain sanity,” I advised myself out loud, but soon shrugged off my affection and concern for inanimate objects.

“What to do?” I murmured later last night, having unpacked the bathroom and rifled through the clothing that hangs on the bar in the corner. It’s a bit disconcerting to look up and see all my outfits, but apparently doors are superfluous. I’ve consequently taken to smiling over dresses and skirts and matching shirts to pants. I just arranged shoes under the outfits this morning – I limited myself to 14 pairs, most of them flip flops in various colors. But, feeling lonely and a bit sad, I wanted to stay busy rather than dwell upon the fact that I’m likely to spend a good deal of time alone in the next weeks.

I gathered the mail that remained unopened in my laptop bag and settled in the recliner on one side of the room. A devoted Firefox user, I opened Safari only to deal with banking. Once I did some mental calculations and was satisfied with the results, I sighed. I used to keep some bookmarks in Safari, but I didn’t transfer them when I upgraded to Leopard. So I sighed again, with greater feeling this time, and clicked on the ‘popular’ heading that apparently comes along with the program. Perhaps if other people liked the links, I reasoned, I would enjoy them as well.

I wrinkled my nose over ordering books and was similarly put off by online auctions. I don’t need more stuff, I decided, though I immediately contradicted that thought with a craving for more pillows for the bed. And a soft blanket. Maybe a candle or two. But I wanted them now, not delivered in several days, so I decided I’d shop in person later. Skimming to the end of the list, I grinned when deciding to read personals online. That might be fun, I nodded decisively, waiting for the page to load so I could find a city nearby. I soon found my nose wrinkled and brows lowered as I stared at the screen.

“What’d he say?” I recall asking Rachel in college. We’d had crushes on the hockey boys who played in town and after they departed, Rachel corresponded with one of them.

“He closed his email funny,” she reported to Elle and me. I remember Elle going to look at the monitor while I defended his choice. “Ciao” was an acceptable word. Perhaps he was trying to be sophisticated.

“As in Puppy,” Elle explained after she shook her head at the email. I cocked my head in confusion and Rachel elaborated.

“Chow,” she said and spelled it.

“As in Puppy Chow,” I breathed, looking at Elle and choking on laughter. “Well,” I mused, searching for an excuse even as I giggled. “Maybe he was trying to be funny. It is rather amusing.”

But as I clicked and read, I found myself shaking my head in dismay. Let’s have sex immediately if not sooner, demanded one. I want babies right away, noted the next. I have money – if you like me, you may use some of it. I WRITE IN ALL CAPS. i dont punctuate at all no shift key for me.

“Well,” I said, trying to align my plans with being single forever, “at least they’re trying.” And I admire that, even as I scowl over grammar or sentence structure or spelling. It’s like the wireless mouse, searching eagerly for its mate, flashing and blinking its little red lights and hoping that the outgoing signal gets returned in some way. Then all is wonderful and red lights can stop flashing and you can just go about your business, clicking and scrolling and knowing your partner watches and cares about your actions and feelings.

I cast a mildly envious glance toward the computer set up across the room, mouse happily settled next to its sensor, and began to page quickly down the page of personals to see if there anything I wanted to read before calling myself a spinster and making this official. I think my battery might be low, I decided with another glance at the mouse. I’m tired of sending out signals that don’t get returned. I’m weary of wanting something that I can’t seem to attain. My red light dims with time and the flashes grow infrequent. I was trying to decide whether I want to get a bunch of cats or a pack of dogs (I’m going to be a spinster with animals, I guess) when one subject line caught my attention.

“How lovely,” I said after clicking once more. I read through entire paragraphs written without error and incorporating excellent words. I smiled. Thoughts that had pinged busily between homesickness and shopping lists and housing choices and driving directions slowed and allowed for my attention to focus on the page of text. There is someone near here, I decided with a great deal of relief and pleasure, who is articulate and romantic. And if there’s one, there might be others. One of them, should the quantity of good men be high enough to allow for proper probabilities, may grow to like me eventually.

So I wrote, impulsively sending an email from my blog account, and complimented him. And, when I returned from my shower and curled back in the chair, I fluttered hopefully when I saw he’d replied. So my first evening in this new place contained words and thoughts of the future in addition to those that tug at my attention from the past.

“You sound like you’re doing better,” Mom said when we talked after I looked at houses and stopped at Target for more pillows and a soft blanket.

“I feel good,” I told her, “apart from this cold. I’m actually eager to start work tomorrow and there are all sorts of gigantic houses I could definitely love. I think this is going to work out just fine.” And as for finding someone to love? Well, I’m hopeful but realistic. But it was absolutely lovely to flutter for an evening.