This is a work of fiction.
I don’t want to start painting and forget about the laundry, so I surf the Internet instead. I read a few blog posts about politics, COVID-19 and lockdown, but that just makes me sad, so I click on a photography blog. As I look at mountains in the distance, crows sitting in trees, and houses surrounding a lake, I wonder how much it would cost me to start a website so I can show the world my watercolors, and maybe make a few people a little happier.
It probably costs a fortune, I think, as I look enviously at the cool page design the photographer’s got. Well, better go check on the laundry.
It’s ready for the dryer, and I put it in, start it tumbling around in there, and go back to my room.
I wake up the computer and accidentally bump something, and the bottom of the page appears.
Powered by WordPress.com
I click on it. Soon, I’m signing up for a free website. It probably won’t look even close to as good as the photographer’s, but at least I’ll be able to do something with this computer. I learn that I need to make an address for my site. I don’t know what I want to use, so I go and check on the towels. They’re not dry yet, but I decide to wait and think about my URL.
I hear Dad come home. I hope he’s bought milk. I’m dying for a glass.
By the time the towels have been folded, I’ve thought of the perfect web address and I take the basket upstairs.
I find Dad in the kitchen, on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor with bleach.
“Hi Dad,” I say. “I’ll just put these away and then I can help you. Have you had anything to eat?” He shakes his head. “What’d you pick up at the store?”
“Bleach.”
“Um, what about food?” He shurgs. “Oh well, there’s still stuff in the freezer. Did you want me to help you and then make us something?”
“Okay.”
He usually says “please,” but I figure he’s tired, so I nod and go and put away the towels. Once that’s done, I help him and then cook dinner.
He looks at it and says, “Why did you cook all that?”
“I thought Mom might want some.”
“Oh.”
“Can you bring it to her, please?” He nods. He eats slowly, so I finish first and go back into my room.
I touch the trackpad and see the screen asking me to pick a URL. After a moment of panic, I remember what I’ve come up, and enter it. A few seconds later, I’m informed that my website has been created.
I cannot believe my luck when I click to view my new site; it looks exactly like the photographer’s. I write my first post and upload my painting. I click on Publish. Not even the smell of bleach can reach me now.
Leave a Reply