Stitches across the Divide

My laptop’s acting up, and I don’t have the patience to take it back to the store. Calling customer service means the evening on the phone. This may just need a simple tweak. Nava would know.

Nava. I haven’t been in touch with her in over two years. She’s an old friend, a dear friend, a techy geek with a high-fangled coding job somewhere in the teeming city. A job that may or may not be connected with her being far from our world right now. She’s drifted from Yiddishkeit, but apparently, she’s just an e-mail away.

She helps me with my issue over e-mail. I can feel the strain through the thread. I am over effusive; she is cordial. Don’t touch me. Let’s talk cyber-problems and work, nothing personal.

My daughter is playing at my feet as the e-mails go back and forth. Ten months old and Nava doesn’t know she exists.