One out of the box

Charlie pushed the door to his room closed with his back, his hands carrying the heavy box. It had been a draining afternoon. He could hear his mother in the kitchen, making the sounds she made when she had lost heart with the world.

Her keys dropped on the laminate table with a clatter, and she moved over to the kettle to make some instant coffee, then finally sat heavily on one of the wooden kitchen chairs that creaked noisily and threatened to fall apart. The sound always made him think of a Marx brothers sketch, but he knew it was the last thing she would find amusing.

He knew how many steps she took around the kitchen to complete this sequence, knew how many times she would sigh, and the sounds she made when she sipped the tea. In their tiny quiet apartment, it was a routine he had known all his life.

He felt guilty about the car, but was desperate to open the box. He cleared a space on his desk and put the box down heavily. It was dusty and badly taped up, the plastic tape starting to lift and dry out.

His mother started speaking to someone on the phone, the mechanic. He could hear her talking about the car, could hear the hope in her voice that it could be fixed, that it wouldn’t cost too much, that it wouldn’t take too long. It was his fault the car had broken down, he thought. If he hadn’t insisted that she take him to the unclaimed goods auction it wouldn’t have happened. Well, maybe it would have, but not when he was there. Not when she could blame him, even if it was just in her head.

He shifted his attention to the box as she continued talking. He pulled the tape off and could see the hard plastic items inside a nest of dusty old newspaper sheets, pulling out the monitor, then the keyboard, the hard drive. They were dirty, and needed to be sprayed with some kind of cleaner to get the greasy fingerprints and grime off it. He felt sick, not wanting to touch it until it was cleaned.

He went out to the kitchen, not making eye contact with his mother. She was still talking to the mechanic and the familiar pleading sound in her voice was there. “You know how badly I need it back for work, is there any way you can…. I know, I know…. Really? That much?... okay, okay I understand…”. Glancing at her through his eyelashes, he could see how close to tears she was.

Without making eye contact, he took the cloth and spray from under the sink and went back to his room. Focused on the computer, his lips pursed in displeasure, making him look more like a fastidious toddler than a teenager. Spraying gingerly, he rubbed away until the cream coloured plastic was clean. He set up the computer quickly and confidently, working intuitively in a way that other people remarked upon if they saw him: “he doesn’t even need a manual”.

It had happened all his life, old ladies at the library doted on him fondly, thinking he had a magical gift with their iPhones and laptops. It was all pretty simple he thought really, he didn’t know why it was so easy for him, he just did it without even noticing. They knew him and relied on him, and he heard their comments when he handed them their devices and turned back to the computer, not wanting to lose any more of his allocated time.

“On the spectrum” they’d mouth to each other in their pantomime way, feeling proud that they recognised his behaviour and knew the latest descriptive phrase for it, “bless him”.

The computer whirred to life and he pushed the box and newspapers to the floor.

He started experimenting, checking the software and what was in the hard drive.

He became aware that his mother’s tone had changed. Different caller he thought, and tuned in just enough to hear her talking to her sister, his Aunty Marg. They would be talking for ages, he thought, realising he was hungry and that she probably wouldn’t start dinner any time soon. Maybe if he made them something to eat she would feel better. Sure enough, as he started moving around the kitchen gently, putting the food together, she caught his eye and smiled.

He could hear Aunty Marg’s voice though the phone, sympathising, encouraging, reassuring. Gradually his mother’s tone improved and she ended the conversation. She turned around and looked at him, just as he approached the table with their plates.

“You’re a great boy Charlie” she said warmly, “thanks for making dinner my love”. She smiled extra broadly so he would know she wasn’t cross. He smiled at his plate, relieved. “How’s the computer going?” she asked. He’d saved for so long to have his own, she wanted him to be happy with this monumental purchase. It was a shame the car had broken down, and she’d tried not to lose her temper even when they’d had to abandon it and get the bus the rest of the way home. She’d watched his face on the bus, unable to hide his grin behind the enormous box on his lap.

Charlie knew she didn’t know anything about computers and that she wasn’t that interested, so he answered her question by saying “it’s great”.

Then, “thanks for taking me today mum”, and painfully adding “I’m really sorry that the car broke down”. “It’s okay love” she said, smiling at him again. “Stupid thing, it could have happened any time. Hopefully it won’t cost too much or take too long, I don’t fancy getting the bus next week when night shift starts again”. They sat companionably for a moment, then she stood up and reached out for his plate and put it in the sink.

“Show me this computer then” she said, and they walked into his room. He excitedly turned it on and started talking quickly about it. After a little while she put her hand on his arm and he paused; special interest alert. He needed to be careful talking about those.

“I’m glad you’re happy with it sweetheart”. She turned to leave and bent over to pick up the rubbish on the floor, piling it into the empty box and picking it all up. “I think there’s something else in here” she said, rustling around in the old papers and bubble wrap. She pulled out a manila folder, tied with lots of rubber bands. She handed it to him and took the rubbish out to the bins.

He picked up the manila folder and threw it in the bin without looking. It sounded arrogant but he knew he didn’t need the manual.

Hours later, he stopped after an error message popped up for an application he had never seen before, with a symbol of a grey key. He trawled through the hard drive, finding a sub drive titled “IronKey”. It wouldn’t open, no matter what he tried.

The next morning Charlie woke up in the quiet apartment. His mum had left for work early, probably around 4am to get to the hospital for her early shift. He had the place to himself.

He switched on the television, something she hated, but he loved it as background noise, as he made breakfast and sat on the lounge to eat it.

The morning show was on, and it was time for the finance segment. He went to get more cereal, wishing the movie reviews were on instead. The blonde presenter was speaking now. A man in the US had forgotten the password to his cryptocurrency account and was running out of password attempts, he had two more chances before he lost $220 million forever.

He went back to the bedroom, and switched on the computer. The IronKey symbol was still there.

Before he knew it the sun had shifted to the other side of the apartment and he knew his mum would be home soon; he moved quickly to shower and clean up before she got in from work. He knew she didn’t understand that all he could think about was coding, he forgot to take a shower, he dreamed in code.

And then her key was in the lock. “Hi mum” he said. “Hi darling” she smiled, and gave him a hug, his awkwardness melting into her quickly just as it always had. “How’s your new toy?” she said, and “have you been out today?”.

He knew she wouldn’t like to think of him being inside and glued to the screen, as she put it. “I’m just about to take the rubbish out” he said, quickly pulling out the kitchen bin liner. He dashed outside, down to the area where the huge communal bins were kept, trying not to breathe in the dark wet smell that made him think of slime with googly eyes. He saw their empty car space and remembered what had happened.

When he came back in, she was standing in his room holding his bin. “Take this one out too please?” she asked. He took it from her, avoiding her eyes. “Hang on” she said, “don’t you want to keep this?”, pulling out the manila folder. She pulled off the rubber bands one by one; there must have been twenty of them. The sound of them snapping off made him clench his teeth and he wished she had just left it in the bin.

Inside the folder were some old papers, receipts and – just as he had expected – the computer manual. There was also a small black book with an attached elastic band holding it shut. She snapped open the elastic and started reading out the random words, numbers and letters that made no sense. “Looks like serial numbers or something sweetheart, you might want to keep this”. He took the book from her and flipped through, about to throw it back in the bin when the word leapt out at him from a page: Ironkey. He looked at it again, and the scramble of letters and numbers next to it.

Holding the little book open with one hand he turned to the computer and clicked on Ironkey. Racking his brain he typed in “wallet” and a text box popped up. “What is it?” his mum asked.

“I think it’s a cryptocurrency account” he murmured, and typed in the digits from the book.

They both gazed at the screen as a new page filled the screen, with the word Portfolio in the ribbon at the bottom.

Neither spoke as he clicked again. Up came a list – Bitcoin, Ethereum, Cardano, Tether, Polkadot, on and on – all with balances. He ticked half a dozen of them at random.

He blinked, his mother frowning and trying to understand what she saw.

He clicked Convert, then rapidly typed in his bank account, the same one he’d had since he was 14.

The iphone in his pocket buzzed and he pulled it out.

“You’ve just been paid $20,000 to your account” it declared in cheerful yellow letters. Wordlessly he held the phone out to his mum as she peered at it, not sure what had happened.