The Summer the Cable Died

The first day without internet hit harder than my last breakup. Literally

felt like a zombie — my thumb kept ghost-tapping my thigh where my phone

usually lived. The cable guy had said three days. THREE. DAYS. At

Grandma's lake house, where the closest thing to WiFi was a

neighbor's signal named "GET OFF MY LAWN."

Marcus was already pacing. "Bro, I'm gonna lose my streaks. My

STREAKS."

"Your streaks will survive," Jenna said, though she looked pained.

She'd been posting lake pics for hours before the cable finally

gave up the ghost.

"Wanna swim?" I asked, mostly to shut them up.

The water hit different when you weren't trying to capture it for

content. Cold, shocking, REAL. We floated for hours, actually

talking — about howMarcus's parents were divorcing, how Jenna

hadn't told anyone she was failing AP Bio, how I was terrified

I'd never figure out who I was supposed to be.

That's when we saw it: a black bear, massive and majestic, drinking

from the shore like it owned the place. My heart hammered. We

held our breath, three suburban kids frozen in the water, suddenly

tiny in the best way.

The bear looked at us. Sniffed. Turned and walked away into the

woods.

"NO ONE is gonna believe this," Marcus whispered.

"Does it matter?" Jenna said.

And that's when it hit me — the cable coming back would actually

suck. The sun was painting everything this incredible orange, like

the whole world was on fire with possibility, and none of us

reached for phones that weren't there.

We watched that orange sunset together, three zombie survivors of

the digital apocalypse, and for the first time in forever, I didn't

feel the need to perform anything for an audience.

The cable came back on day four. We let it sit dark for two more

after that.