I gasped in shock at the sight of the shattered glass beside the rental car. Knowing full well the implications, my stomach lurched, my eyes filled. I’d been burgled.
Still, I needed to prove what I knew to be true. I opened the front passenger door and looked to the floor – no computer – only the black nylon case, a pair of flip flops, and a San Francisco area map remained.
The bastard.
The bold, desperate thief spying my device, stupidly left in the locked car, smashed the rear passenger window, breaching the protected space.
I could almost picture him, looking around the parking garage, then swiftly, powerfully with his cloaked elbow – no it couldn’t have been his elbow – he must have used a club or a hammer. Then covering his fist with a tattered sleeve of an old grey sweatshirt he reached through the shards of glass clinging to the window frame and unlocked the front car door. The device sitting there for the taking. He lucked out, my Iphone perched atop the Mac, plugged in, needing a boost from overuse of the GPS. Two for one.
All of this happening while I waited patiently for the deli guy to cut my smoked turkey. If only I hadn’t been so worried about the lack of airplane food. I could have been elsewhere. I could have been settled in at my son’s apartment sipping a last glass of Sonoma wine.
Instead my digital life was lacerated.
My laptop.
My Iphone.
My digital life.
Videos of my grandchildren.
Pictures of my kids.
Michael Jackson, Michael Buble, George Michael playlisted to entertain a thief.
My hard earned level on Candy Crush.
My contacts.
My writing.
My inner thoughts.
Hugs from strangers – passers by – glad it hadn’t happened to them.
A free box of tissues from the Whole Foods store manager.
Phone calls.
Changing passwords.
A new device.
An empty machine.
A back up?
A pulse.
Faint at first.
There it is.
My digital heart beats again.
But it is not unharmed.