It winked at me.
A thrill ran through my body. A blush heated my cheeks.
It flashed its screen and exposed its skin just so I’d want to pick it up and run my fingertips over it.
And it worked. My heart fluttered. But I didn’t say anything and shoved my hands in my pocket. But wait. I wasn’t wearing pockets, so I picked up my glass of water and sipped, trying to avert my gaze.
But the Kindle had reached celebrity status. Papa razzi stalked it. I’d seen pictures of it in its fat jeans. In one tabloid, it was caught slumming with the Nook on New Year’s Eve. They were teaming up in a new movie called: Kindle and Nook take down Manhatten.
But I had to know. Did it deserve it’s fame? Just one little dance wouldn’t hurt. One little kiss.
I said the word. It leapt into my hands and seemed to fit perfectly. It whispered secrets in my ear. If I would make it mine, I could highlight text. I could make notes on books I was reading. I could transfer those notes to my computer. I could purchase e-books from Amazon while in the car or the bus or at the beach. I could read teenage vampire books and no one would ever know. Gasp!
I was impressed. But I was a writer! A poor struggling artist with not enough change in my pockets to purchase such a gadget. My old copies of Nancy Drew and Black Stallion with their worn covers lingered in the back of my mind, tugging at my heart strings. And I had just purchased a box of Post-It Notes from Sam’s Club.
The Kindle grew cold in my hands.
I pushed it away.
It tried once more, calling out that it only had to be charged about once a week. It could go for hours. It would never fail me.
“Put it away!” I cried. I turned and stumbled from the room. My first encounter with a Kindle had left me trembling and unnerved. I had a feeling it wouldn’t be my last.
(To my cousin-in-law, Kelly, should she ever read this. I realize when I asked to see your Kindle at the family gathering you had no idea what was really going on.)