And then, without so much as a farewell flicker, the internet vanished.
One moment, I was riding the information superhighway at full throttle, much like I ride Ocean Highway with Wynd Horse and Quinn; the next, I was stranded on the digital equivalent of a deserted country road with nothing but crickets for company.
The Apocalypse, According to Amy
"This is it," Amy announced, materialising inside my head with the dramatic flair of a soap opera villain. "The technological apocalypse we've been warned about. First the internet, then the power grid, then civilization itself."
"It's probably just a temporary outage," I offered.
"Temporary?" Amy's eyebrows shot up like startled caterpillars. "That's exactly what They want you to think. This has government interference written all over it. Or aliens. Probably aliens conducting government interference."
I sighed with the resignation of a man whose imagination has its own zip code. "Amy, please. I need to think."
"Think?" She snorted. "While the extraterrestrial intelligence agency is downloading your browser history? Good luck with that."
The Tech Support Odyssey
Ms. Wonder appeared in the doorway, her expression a perfect blend of concern and annoyance—an expression she wears when she thinks I'm about to complicate a simple problem.
"Internet's down," she announced.
I've noticed," I replied, performing the checklist that's become a modern ritual: Check the router. Unplug the router. Count to ten. Plug in the router. Watch the little lights. Repeat.
"Any luck?" Wonder asked, leaning against the doorframe with the patience of a saint monitoring a particularly slow miracle.
"The lights are on, but nobody's home," I muttered, staring at the router as if it might respond to intimidation.
The Zwiggy Conspiracy
Having given up on the checklist, I stood by the French doors watching the birds at our new feeders. Zwiggy the squirrel sat perched on the fence, looking suspiciously smug for a Tuesday morning.
"I've got it!" I declared, with the certainty of a detective in the final episode. "Zwiggy did it."
Wonder joined me at the window, skepticism radiating from her like heat from the mug of coffee she held in her hands."The squirrel ate through our internet cable?" she said.
"Look at them," I insisted, gesturing at the backyard parliament. "This is a calculated move designed to increase their evening rations.
"Or," Wonder countered, with the calm rationality that suits the wonder that she is, "they see us standing by the door and think we're coming out to feed them. Because that's what we do every day at this time."
"Of course, I knew the squirrel had nothing to do with our Wi-Fi outage. But it felt good to declare, "I've solved the mystery!" after the past week of just one damned thing after another.
The Crisis Management Committee
"We need to address this systematically," I announced, pacing the living room like Sun Tzo plotting business strategy. "First, we need alternative connectivity. Port City Java has dependable Wi-Fi."
"You can set up a temporary command center there," said the Wonder, smiling as if she were beginning to enjoy my production.
"Command center?" Amy interjected, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "It's a coffee shop, not the Pentagon."
"Shut up," I said.
"Was only trying to offer moral support," said the Wonder.
"Oh, no, not you," I said. "I was telling Amy to shut up."
"Does that ever work?"
"No, but..." I paused hoping to find something sensible to say. "We should probably report the outage," I said.
Wonder looked up from her phone. "Already did," she said. "I reported it to Duke Power earlier, while you were accusing the wildlife of cyber terrorism."
"Excellent," I nodded, focusing on the solution rather than the subtle jab. "Now, I know you're worried about Zwiggy having chewed through some cables—"
"I'm really not," Wonder interjected.
The Grocery Store Sanctuary
Twenty minutes later, Amy's theories had evolved to include Russian hackers and vengeful AI.
"Why don't you go to the grocery store?” Wonder suggested, “They have Wi-Fi, and it's closer than Port City."
"The grocery store," I repeated. "Of course. Peace, quiet, connectivity, and snacks."
"And maybe pick up some bread while you're there," she added, proving once again that multitasking is her superpower.
I grabbed my keys and headed for the door, pausing only to cast a suspicious glance at Zwiggy, who seemed to be smirking from her perch on the fence.
"I'm watching you," I mouthed through the window. The squirrel flicked her tail, scoffing at me.
The Digital Nomad
Wynd Horse, my faithful automotive companion, hummed to life and we began cruising through a quiet, suburban landscape where spring gardens were in full bloom.
"Maybe disconnection isn't entirely catastrophic," I mused aloud.
"Now you're just rationalizing," Amy replied. I imagined her in the passenger seat, her arms crossed in disagreement.
"I'm being philosophical," I countered. "There's a difference."
"There's really not," she sniffed.
The Digital Reunion
A triple caffeine later, my phone chimed with a text from Wonder: "Power company found the issue. Working on repairs. ETA 2 hours."
I texted back: "Any mention of squirrel involvement?"
Her reply was swift and unamused: "No. But we're out of bread."
By late afternoon, our digital lifelines were restored and I was scattering seeds and nuts for our backyard companions. Zwiggy approached cautiously, accepted a peanut with surprising gentility, and retreated to a safe distance.
"Truce?" I offered.
She paused, peanut clutched in tiny paws, and appeared to consider my proposal. Then, with what I swear was a nod of agreement, she scampered over the fence and disappeared into the gathering dusk.
"You realize you're imposing a personality on a rodent with a brain the size of a grape," Amy commented dryly.
"And you realize you're imaginary and yet you provide a running commentary on every move I make. We all have our quirks."
In a world where disconnection can feel like isolation, there was something unexpectedly refreshing about the forced pause—a reminder that in the moments we disconnect from technology, we get in touch with ourselves.
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