Their Own Devices

Laura was like most parents; she longed for a little time to herself. When she had it, she checked her phone, to see if her friends were trying to reach her, or see what they had posted on Facebook. It was adult company she was after; the relentless questions of her two children, 3 and 7, wore her down. Finally she got the older one a phone, and let the younger one use one of her old ones. She got simple games for them to play. It worked well, especially on the subway. She didn’t want them making eye contact with strangers.

They were coming back from Brooklyn one afternoon and she picked a car that had about ten young people in it, almost all of them on their phones, scattered throughout the car. She picked seats in the middle where she was in plain sight of everyone, though clearly, nobody was exactly watching. You had this ethic on these subway cars; you wanted just enough people on there, but you didn’t want it to be crowded, and you wanted people who looked like they weren’t afraid to get involved, if something were to happen. She took mental note of the ten or so young people, and before the train started a couple more entered. All were returning toward Manhattan from Brooklyn.

The seven-year-old, Devin, was playing a game called Virtual Farm, which had levels, and he had said something about getting stuck on level six. He had collected a good supply of animals, and hay to feed them with, and he was able to drive his tractor around the little farm, delivering the hay to the animals, and retrieving the eggs from the chickens, for example. But he was stuck on level six. He would often show his little brother, Chris, how to do various things; Chris had Virtual Farm too. To Chris level six wasn’t an issue; he’d barely got past level two, but it didn’t matter, because he was enjoying it. Laura cast her eyes over at them occasionally to make sure they were still happy and occupied. Then she’d sneak a peak at her own phone, The car rattled noisily from stop to stop, shaking as it went. Above them, there was a map of the entire subway system and some ads that had been there for many years, it seemed.

A homeless guy entered the train. He had a huge beard and was dirty, but didn’t look especially dangerous or menacing. Almost all of the dozen passengers noticed him, as that’s something you do, even when you are entirely preoccupied with whatever your phone offers. The guy’s name was Roger; he had in fact become homeless only recently, and wandered the subway cars desperately, having nowhere else to go, and not sure what to do next. Within a few days he’d noticed that everyone, on every car, was glued to their phones, and he’d become interested in what was happening on the phones. Weather was one thing. By walking the length of the train, and hurtling around as it shook, he was able to notice that of the five phones he saw, three were on the weather. So, at the end of the car, he turned around and said, loudly, “Low of 22! 15% chance of precipitation!”

All three people were rattled, either because they felt that he had personally been looking at their phone (which he had), or that he had read their minds. It was not the kind of thing you’d just say out to a subway car full of people. All three were irritated and, as people do in this situation, considered calling security. Nobody wants to spend their subway ride playing mind games with the mentally ill. Everybody wishes this kind of person would just go away.

But Roger stood at the end of the car where he’d stopped, and smiled benevolently, as if he was at the head of a dinner table, first dinner he’d had in months. He had, in fact, grown up on a farm, with fresh air everywhere, and a real tractor, and hay, and all kinds of animals, but the main difference between there and here was that there, you talked to people all the time, and the weather mattered more, because you were out in it all day long. How he got here, in this subway car, at this moment, was a long and terrible story, but let’s just say that a young guy wants to see the world beyond the farm, and wants the urban experience, though he may not be quite prepared for it.

But now he smiled again at everyone and said, somewhat randomly to everyone but Devin, “Stuck on level six? Put the hay in the loft. That will make room for more hay.” Devin was stunned. The answer was totally right, and he’d never even thought of it. But how did this big guy know about Virtual Farm? Or know that he was stuck on level six? He just about dropped his phone. Laura’s jaw dropped too. It was uncanny that this guy knew about Virtual Farm; he hadn’t come anywhere near their phones.

Roger turned, laughed a little to himself, and walked into the next car, where he would probably do something somewhat similar. He was in fact quite good at it; he knew many of the games; he was sensitive to the slightest of noises from the phones; he recognized the sites people were on. It wasn’t that he wanted to rattle them, though of course he scared almost everyone. It was more that he wanted some conversation; he wanted to be helpful; he wanted some interaction. The fumes of the subway were beginning to get to him. The absolute duplicity of everyone being hypersensitive to the people around them, yet studiously ignoring them, was getting to him. He couldn’t walk right up and talk to anyone; then they’d call security for sure.

And security, in fact, was well aware of Roger and what he did. He hadn’t caused anyone any trouble, yet, but there had been complaints about him, and they’d investigated. He’d promised to cooperate, but he wouldn’t leave the subway; he had nowhere else to go. He’d change lines, or get off and roam in certain stations, but invariably he’d be back on the moving cars, going car to car, One security guy had tried to get him to talk to some social service providers. He warned him that if he kept this up, he’d end up saying hostile things, making people really mad, and he’d end up in jail, which was no fun. But Roger wasn’t interested in social services. He didn’t respond well to people telling him where to go or what to do. He felt a little suspended, here in the vast subway network, well aware that this wouldn’t last forever, but this is what he did, and he hadn’t heard any better ideas.

Laura, for her part, was unusually afraid that afternoon, and, upon getting off the train in SoHo, looked around every corner, behind every supporting post, convinced that this stranger was after her and her kids. He wasn’t; he was long gone. When she got home, she checked all the phones, but again, no sign. He was gone. He had said one thing, but he’d been right on the mark, had read her son’s mind thoroughly. But now, hopefully, he’d disappeared forever.

To Devin, he was an angel from above. He’d come along at just the right moment, and had said just the right thing. Virtual Farm was, in fact, one of the few things Devin really cared about. It was kind of like having an uncle, someone who could give you a kind of family love without any of the attachment or price that other family required. And this was, in fact, something Devin needed. He recognized that all the trappings of a farm: hay, pigs, chickens, eggs, barn, tractor – they were all pretty much unreal. But a guy who knew how to get past level six, that was impressive.

(12-16)