Why It Matters

Fiction?

Tara stepped into the living room and stared briefly at her boys: Todd, her husband, engrossed in fantasy football league stats on his cellphone; and Tyler, their three year-old son, watching Paw Pals on his bright green tablet. “Hello? Can anybody hear me?” she asked. “Let’s go, I’m hungry.” Her boys remained focused on their screens. She snapped a quick photo of them. “Well, I’m leaving with or without you,” she announced, and she headed for the garage. While she walked, she posted the picture to Facebook along with the status “These 2 FML LOL <3.”

Todd fired up their SUV with the push of a button. “Play Murders In the Night,” he said to the LCD screen that glowed from the center of the dashboard like a big, unblinking eye.

“Oh lord,” Tara moaned.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Do you think a true crime podcast is appropriate for a toddler?”

“He’s not even paying attention. Look at him, he’s way into his Paw Pals.” She turned and looked at her son strapped into his booster seat and clutching the green tablet with his chubby little hands. Todd was right: The boy didn’t seem to notice anything that wasn’t happening on the screen in his lap. She turned back around and checked her recent post. Five likes already.

They drove in silence with exception to the twisted tale of small town homicide. Six likes, seven, eight. “Why are we stopping?” she asked without looking up.

“Gotta get gas,” Todd replied. He stepped down from the big SUV and approached the gas pump. Its screen sparked to life with a commercial for the station’s “Gas Back” program. Todd entered his loyalty number–his phone number–followed by his credit card. On the pump’s screen two men in suits stood on a bare set while video of football players walking a red carpet played in the empty space between them. The co-hosts debated which player wore the best outfit. Todd’s vote was for Miami Dolphins linebacker Cedric Wilson in his Miami-blue double breasted suit.

Inside the car, Tyler began to cry. Tara looked up from her phone and peeked between the SUV’s leather bucket seats. “What’s the matter, baby? Did your movie stop?” She grabbed Tyler’s tablet and restarted Paw Pals. “There you go, honey, all better.” She snapped a photo of her son, who was once again happily engrossed in his show. “Mothering FTW,” she typed, and clicked the “share” button.

“Geez, gas has gone up again,” Todd announced as he climbed back into the driver’s seat.

“That’s horrible,” Tara said. Thirty seconds had passed, and no one had liked her picture of Tyler. She clicked refresh again. “Seriously, that sucks.” Todd turned his podcast back on and pulled away away from the gas pump.

Five minutes later the family was seated at a table in the middle of Spaghetti Junction’s busy dining room. Tara scrolled through the colorful cocktails glowing on the table’s LCD digital menu display. “Maybe I’ll get a Cable Car. That looks good. Do you want anything? Todd?”

“Huh?” he said, not bothering to pause the video he was watching of Cedric Wilson escorting pop singer Tiffany Smith to the premiere of The Amazing Six, starring the digital avatar of deceased action star Landon McKinney. The film hadn’t even been released yet, and McKinney was already getting the best reviews of his career. There was even Oscar buzz. “Have you seen our waitress? Flag her down if she comes by. I want to order a drink.”

Tyler cried and slapped the table on either side of his tablet. “Aw, what’s wrong, sweetie, is it too loud in here?” his mother asked. “You can’t hear your show?” Tara reached over and increased the tablet’s volume as high as it would go. “All better?” Tyler didn’t acknowledge her, but he stopped crying.

The three enjoyed a nice meal together, each watching their respective devices while the Spaghetti Junction’s invisible staff quietly slipped full plates in front of them and whisked empty ones away. When he was finished eating, Todd grabbed the table’s LCD digital display and keyed in his email to unlock Spaghetti Junction savings and deals. He tapped his credit card against the screen, then took a brief survey in exchange for a free Boxcar Brownie on their next visit.

On the way to the car, Tara asked how his meal was. “Fine,” Todd said. “Good.”

“What did you have?”

“I don’t remember. What about you?” Tara held up her phone. Todd glanced at the photo of her dinner. “That looks good,” he said.

Back home, Tara changed Tyler into his Paw Pals pajamas and tucked him in. “Do you want a bedtime story?”

Tyler shook his head.

“Do you want a mommy or a daddy to read it?”

“Mommy.”

“What should it be about?”

“Paw Pals.”

“Anything else?”

“Dinosaurs.”

“Is that all?”

“Choo-choo trains.”

“Okay, let me see your tablet.” Tyler handed his mother the screen. She navigated to his AI story app and entered her son’s parameters. A soothing, maternal voice replied with a customized story just for her baby.

Todd was already in bed, watching YouTube clips of epic video game fails. She stretched out beside him and opened Facebook. “<3 my family” she typed. She pressed the share button, then waited a few seconds before refreshing. One reaction already to her latest post: a heart, love. It was from Todd. She snuggled up against him, grateful that he was so affectionate, and then she toggled over to Netflix. Family time was the best.