More fiction

More short fiction.  I like this one less than the first, but these are essentially single-shot, unedited pieces, often written in an hour or less.

Spark word: Virus
“Oh, Mrs. Smith,” I sighed.  “You have another virus.”

“Oh.  Oh.”  She twisted her wedding band on her ring finger.  Her husband had died 20 years earlier, but she still wore the ring—didn’t even take it off to shower, she’d told me once.

“Do you remember clicking on anything in an email?  Opening an attachment or going to a website through a link?”

“Oh.  Oh.  Well…well, I did win a Walmart giftcard a few days ago.  I just had to open the…what did you call it, attachment?  It was something else that popped up and it told me that sorry I was not a winner.  That’s not fair, is it? Telling someone they won and then telling them they didn’t.”

I sighed again.  We had been over this a dozen times, at least.  “Remember what I told you?” I said gently.  “That those emails are scams?”

“Yes, but…I could really use that gift card.  And what if it wasn’t a scam and I didn’t click and I lost it?”  Now a leg twitch joined the ring-twisting.

“It’s always a scam.”

“Oh, Mercy.  Such a cynic.  You always believe the worst, you young people.”

“It’s not cynicism, Mrs. Smith.”  They’d had this exchange, too, many times before.  “Every time you click, what happens?”

“Well…but that doesn’t mean that next time it’ll happen!  You have to have faith!  You have to have hope.  I have hope.”

I start the process of uninstalling, reinstalling.  If it’s not a virus, it’s her bank account information, her passwords, money Western Unioned to Nigerian orphanages or to get her winnings or to claim her new car.  Her grandchildren have petitioned for guardianship, unsuccessfully.  Mrs. Smith does not have dementia, she doesn’t get in car accidents, she’s not a danger to herself, physically.  She can answer all the questions.  She shows up to court well-dressed, well groomed.

Have you thought, I said once, to them, about taking away her computer?

Not an option, Sarah replied.  And it wasn’t a good one.  Mrs. Smith knew how to email and did frequently.  I had set up her video chat, and she adored seeing her great-grandchildren, only now old enough to converse with some degree of success.

“Are you almost done?”

“Probably ten or 15 more minutes.”

“Oh.”  A pause.  “Mercy, I’m sorry you have to keep coming down here.  All those steps.  I’ll try to be more careful.”

“It’s okay,” I say softly.  I am on the sixth floor and she on the first, and the building has no elevator.  I helped her with some packages about a year back, and ever since I have been the stand-in for the grandchildren when they aren’t here.

“Oh!” she says suddenly.  “Oh, I didn’t tell you, I met a very nice lady in the emails, and she lives overseas and I’m going to help her!”

I close my eyes, breathe deeply.  “Oh, Mrs. Smith…”