You Knock Me Off My Feet
by Jan Schmidt
With their dark, silent faces, more than twenty white computer monitors are usurping every bit of walking space in JD's living room, like a sea of blank headstones huddling together after a war. But this isn't a graveyard, we're bringing these ghosts back to life. It’s 1999 and we enterprising women, JD and I, are fixing up these used Macs whose systems have been wiped clean by her job, to give to the kids on the block. At the Starship Command Couch, JD and I are braced for take-off, each with a keyboard on a lap, a mouse in a right hand, (mine on the arm rest, hers on the cushion,) stacks of computers before us ready for reloading. I'm the empathic one, JD is Spock, all brain, no emotions. Or so she wishes. Interstellar radio blasts us back to the sixties: The Way You Do the Things You Do.