Note: I didn't mean to disappear for the last few weeks, I just suddenly lost all free time. We should be back to our regularly scheduled updates now.
11. He (maybe) shed a tear when his laptop died.
It's late spring when Jeremie comes home to find his mother at the piano bench with the Bonville boy from down the street. Jeremie winces as the boy, surprised by the front door opening, hits a discordant note. His mother laughs and adjusts the boys fingers.
"Again, Matthieu," she instructs. "Jeremie." She pauses and he leans over to kiss her cheek. The cloth of her brightly patterned headscarf tickles his cheek. "A letter came for you," she says. "It's on the table." There's a touch of something to her voice, but Matthieu hits another wrong note and she returns her attention to her student.
Jeremie makes his way to the kitchen and sees the envelope sitting in the middle of their small kitchen table. It's innocuous, an everyday item, but somehow seeing the cream envelope sitting bright against the wooden tabletop makes Jeremie's heart pound. He approaches it cautiously, sets his bag down at his feet as he takes a seat in his usual chair.
M. Jeremie A. BELPOIS
The black ink is stark against the envelope. Jeremie looks at the return address.
Kadic Academy Admissions
"What does it say?"
He looks up in surprise to find his mother leaning against the wall. He realizes he doesn't hear the piano anymore.
"What about your lesson?"
"It ended several minutes ago." His mother gives him a small smile and pushes off from the wall. He watches as she opens the refrigerator and begins pulling out ingredients for dinner. "Open it, what does it say?"
Jeremie opens the letter slowly, feels the sticky glue catch on his thumbnail as he runs it under the flap. His mother is cutting vegetables at the counter, back to him as she hums something by Chopin. He pulls out the thick paper and stares blankly at the typed words for a moment before he gives himself a mental shake and begins to read in earnest.
Dear M. BELPOIS,
This letter is an acknowledgement of your application to Kadic Academy. We have reviewed your application and all the supporting documents and are pleased to inform you of your acceptance to the=is prestigious academy for the incoming academic year.
Attached to this letter you will find a full admissions package, along with specific information on how to accept this offer…
Jeremie can feel the smile splitting his face. He looks up from the paper. "I got in, Maman," he announces. The knife comes down hard on one of the turnips. Carefully he lays the admissions letter down on the clean tabletop and smooths out any wrinkles he's made in it.
"That's wonderful mon petit étoile," his mother says. She comes over and gives him a tight hug and a kiss on the top of his head. "I am so proud of you," she tells him. "We'll tell your father when he gets home."
/
The weeks leading up to the end of school and his departure fly by in a flurry of studying, sitting and watching old musicals with his mother, and realizing how much he needed to pack. His father has taken on another job as local handyman, traveling around to the different farms to fix failing or fickle equipment. Jeremie isn't sure what prompts him to, but he finds himself getting up early one morning to go along for the ride.
His father gives him a warm smile and slings an arm around Jeremie's narrow shoulders as he leads him out to the truck. The rest of the day Jeremie finds himself acting as an assistant, handing his father spanners and screwdrivers and electrical tape as needed. The sun is out and warm and the fields were heady with the scent of summer hay and grapes. He listens as his father explains how the parts fit together, how to tell if something sounds right or not. His mother is asleep when they get home, but she laughs at his sunburn when she wakes for dinner and she doesn't seem so sad.
/
The Friday before he takes the train to Kadic his aunt and uncle and Patrick come for a farewell dinner. His aunt disappears into the kitchen, laughing and chatting with his mother, fussing at her to take a seat, Jeanne, really as she takes over the cooking.
His father and Uncle Marcel talk crops and farm equipment, reminisce over past adventures, and kick back on the sofa. Patrick gives him a warm smile and a strong punch to the shoulder. "My little cuz, getting into some fancy school. Knew you could do it," Patrick says.
"Yeah," Jeremie agrees, rubbing at his shoulder surreptitiously.
Patrick yammers on about all the fun Jeremie will get into once he's away from parental supervision, talks about the hypothetical dating scene and says he'll come visit Jeremie. Jeremie can't help but take it as a threat, even if it sounds friendly enough.
After dinner his aunt Sophie grins brightly, face flushed from the champagne had with dinner. "Jeremie," she intones, lifting her flute of champagne, "we are all so proud of you."
"Indeed!" Uncle Marcel chimes in, beaming at him. "A true scholar in the family."
"Gee, thanks," Patrick groans and Uncle Marcel reaches over to ruffle his son's hair. "You did good, kid," Patrick adds, ducking away from his father's hand.
Jeremie nods, embarrassed and smiling. He lifts his own glass for the toast and downs it quickly.
"And now, time for dessert and presents," his mother announces. She sets two brightly wrapped boxes on the table along with a bowl of chocolate mousse. "Who shall be flipped this time?"
"Jeremie," Patrick says immediately. "He's the one being honored, after all."
"Good point," his father says. Jeremie protests as his father grabs the bowl of mousse and stands to round the table to Jeremie's spot. "Come on now, be a good sport," he coaxes.
"I hate this tradition," Jeremie protests.
Patrick rolls his eyes. "It's grand," he retorts. "Just sit there and see if you'll have good luck this year or not."
Jeremie sits there stiffly while his mother lifts the camera. His father grins brightly. "Ready?" he asks. He doesn't wait for a response before flipping the bowl of mousse over so that it's held inverted over Jeremie's head. Jeremie winces, but the mousse stays put and his family cheers. "Good fortune's coming your way, mon petit chou," his father says, returning the bowl to its right-side up position and setting it on the table.
"Yeah, yeah," Patrick says. "We know that already. Can we eat now?"
"Presents first," Aunt Sophie announces. She slaps her son's hand away from the serving spoon and nudges the packages closer to Jeremie. "Go on."
"Are you sure?" he asks, looking at them.
His mother laughs as she begins dishing the mousse into the smaller dessert bowls. "Of course, go ahead, Jeremie."
He opens the smaller package first, carefully peeling back the tape so that he doesn't ruin the giftwrap. Patrick whines until Jeremie's mother sets a bowl of mousse down in front of him and offers him a butter cookie. Jeremie blinks at the cell phone box in his hands, looking up at his parents in surprise.
"I expect a call nightly," his mother instructs. Her eyes are watery but her smile is bright and he focuses on that instead.
"At least weekly," his father amends. He wraps an arm around his wife's shoulders and smiles at Jeremie. "Just to know you're doing alright."
"Of course," he replies. He stares at the phone again, startled speechless.
"Ours now," Aunt Sophie says. She gestures to the larger box. "Go on, Jeremie."
Jeremie sets the cell phone aside and carefully unwraps the gift from his aunt, uncle, and cousin. Beneath the wrapping paper is a brand new laptop. "You'll be needing that for school," Uncle Marcel states. "Your father says you're into technology and programming, this one should do the trick."
"Thank you," Jeremie says, voice hoarse. He runs a finger over the seam of the box and doesn't look up until he's blinked back all his tears. "Thank you."
"Can I have another helping?" Patrick asks, oblivious.
/
The laptop lasts him a year before it finally gives out. He's working on the materialization program and he should have known that it would be too much for a standard laptop. He knew the specs and capabilities, but somehow he'd allowed himself to hope and well…
"Should we hold a funeral for it?" Odd asks.
"No," Jeremie replies sourly. He pokes at the motherboard and checks the wiring.
"You sure, you look like you might be tearing up," Odd replies.
"I am not tearing up over a laptop, Odd," Jeremie replies.
"I don't know, you seem a bit…upset," Yumi adds. Jeremie shoots her a dark look and she holds her hands up in appeasement. "Never mind."
"Did you lose the program?" Ulrich questions.
Jeremie frowns and shakes his head. "No, I've made back-ups, of course. I may have lost a bit of work but nothing major. I can run it on the supercomputer."
"Then why are you so upset? It's just a laptop," Odd says. "Just get a new one."
Jeremie bites his tongue and shrugs. "It was a gift," he says finally.
"So was my paisley scarf but I didn't cry when Kiwi chewed it."
"Because Kiwi did the world a favor," Ulrich says at the same time Yumi replies, "Because it made people blind looking at it."
Jeremie sighs while his friends argue and closes the back of the laptop. There's nothing to be done with it. The overheating completely fried the wiring and connections. He wonders if he can find a decent, cheap one on sale.
. . … . .
Ultimately, Jeremie decides not to mention the broken laptop to his parents. They don't need to know about it and anyway, the books they'd purchased him for his birthday were brilliant and just what he'd wanted. He's half-forgotten his birthday, focusing instead on remembering to ask his father how the doctor's appointment went, when he opens his bedroom door and notices the box wrapped in garish green paper sitting on his desk.
Jeremie approaches the desk cautiously. He wouldn't put it past Odd or Ulrich to rig the thing to explode in a cloud of confetti at any sudden movements.
Carefully he pulls the bow off and eases the tape loose. When he's finally got it unwrapped he sees that it's a new laptop and he's momentarily struck dumb at the unexpected gift. It's the newest model and would have cost a small fortune. There's no card on or around the box, but he has a suspicion on who could be responsible.
He grabs the box and crosses his room; pulls open his door to go confront the two boys down the hall.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!"
Jeremie jumps in surprise, nearly dropping the new laptop. Ulrich, Odd, and Yumi are standing in the hallway. Yumi's holding a tart, Odd a bouquet of balloons, and Ulrich a camera pointed at him and recording the whole embarrassing ordeal. He blinks at them and Yumi gives him a bright smile.
"Do you like it?" she asks.
"We weren't sure which to get you," Odd adds. "There's a lotta options."
"We went with speed and memory, but you can exchange it if you need something else," Ulrich says.
Jeremie blinks at them all again. He shifts the box and feels his face heat. "Uh, yeah, it's great," he says. "How? Why?"
"You needed a new laptop, Jer," Ulrich replies. "It was nothing."
"We all chipped in some," Yumi adds. "It was better getting you something you need."
"So, gonna invite us in?" Odd asks. "Yumi made a tart and I'm starving!"
/
Every time he looks at the laptop he feels a small thrill and a sinking in his stomach. He hates the conflicting feelings. On the one hand, he has friends, real friends who did something completely amazing and unexpected. On the other hand, he knows he can't make up for it or repay it.
"Stop it," Yumi orders.
"Stop what?" Jeremie asks.
"You're staring at the laptop like you're going to be sick and I know lunch wasn't that bad today." She opens her history book and sits cross-legged on the floor in his bedroom. "It was a gift, not a curse."
"How can I ever repay…?"
"Gift, Jeremie. There's no repaying a gift."
Jeremie isn't so sure about that, but he lets it go. The laptop is pretty awesome.
/
It's 3:43 in the morning when Jeremie puts the final touch on the materialization program. His eyes are bloodshot and dark circled, but he's never felt more awake or alive. The laptop whirrs thoughtfully before letting out a cheerful chirp and Jeremie knows this is it. This is what he's been waiting for. This is what they've all been waiting for.
He can't help it; he hugs the laptop in some combination of sleep deprivation and elation.
/
Jeremie is lying on his bed, delirious from a fever, when he notices the laptop on his desk. "You know, that was what I used to talk to you for ages."
Aelita gives him an amused look before glancing over at the laptop. "Well, I didn't have a telephone number at the time," she allows. There's a smile in her voice, but he looks at her to make sure it's on her face too. She raises her eyebrows at him and holds up the bottle of medicine. "When was your last dose?"
"I hated that laptop at first."
"Really?" she asks. She pours out a dosage into the medicine cup even though he's pretty sure he never answered her question. "Why? It seems decent."
"Oh, it is," he agrees, nodding. "It's the best." She hands him the medicine and he nods as he downs it, before choking on the taste. "That's disgusting."
"It is," she replies, still smiling. "So why did you hate it?"
"Because it was a gift I couldn't repay." Aelita frowns in confusion at his words but he's too busy feeling giddy from the way their fingers brush when she takes the medicine cup back. "I got to talk to you. I got to bring you here. I can't repay them for that."
"Them?"
"Yeah," Jeremie replies. He feels his eyes growing heavy and the air is cold against his skin. "They are pretty awesome."
/
The signs are there, he just chooses to ignore them. The whirring isn't as thoughtful these days, sounding more like laboring than quiet contemplation. The chirping isn't as joyful, it alternates between high-pitched and barely discernable.
"Jeremie…" Ulrich tries.
"It's fine," Jeremie replies resolutely. He ignores the look his friends share when they think he isn't paying attention to them. "It just needs to be cleaned."
"Of course," Aelita replies. She pats his shoulder and he isn't sure if it's supposed to feel as condescending as it does.
/
On March 12th the laptop finally dies.
Jeremie tries everything to resurrect it, but nothing works. One moment it's tiredly wheezing along and the next it's silent as the grave. Jeremie stares at it and fights back sudden, unexpected tears. It's just a piece of technology; he doesn't know why he's getting worked up over it. He didn't cry when his last laptop died or when his phone died. He didn't cry when Ulrich's gaming system died last year either, even though that was a major disappointment until he got a new one sent to him.
He pats the laptop gently on its closed lid, feels the cold lifeless plastic under his hand. He shivers and pushes back from his desk.
He doesn't cry, no matter how many times Odd teases him. He doesn't hold a funeral for it either, like Ulrich dryly suggests. But he does pack it away in the back of his closet, beneath his winter sweaters and a tennis racket he somehow came into possession of. He'll throw it away one day, he knows he will, but for the moment he can't bring himself to do so.
Aelita gives him a knowing look when she finds it three months later. She's helping him pack for the final time, leaving Kadic and his adventures here behind. Her hand skims over the smooth plastic casing as she pulls it down from the shelf. He tries to think of a reason why he didn't toss it.
"I'm glad you kept it," she says simply. She sets it down in one of his suitcases and begins to pile sweaters and scarves around it. "It's nice to have something physical to remember everything by," she adds. "Now that the factory's gone it sometimes seems like a dream."
"Or a nightmare." He laughs hollowly and she gives him a small smile.
"Maybe," she agrees. "But it wasn't all bad." She loops her arm through his, leans her head on his shoulder. "Promise me you won't get rid of it, not yet?"
He swallows hard. "Promise."