The Screen You Bought Without Looking

You buy the phone from Chroma because it’s the closest store and because the new one has a better camera. You don’t look at the price. The transaction is quick. You walk out with the box under your arm and the old, shattered phone in your pocket. You don’t tell anyone you broke it. You tell your mother the camera is better when she asks why you changed. You show her a photo of the lemon tree on your balcony. She says it’s very clear.

You use the better camera to take photos of things that are not broken. The street vendor’s cart of perfectly stacked oranges. The neat grid of windows on the new office building. You take a photo of your intact bedside table and send it to your friend who asked about the charger. You don’t mention the table is intact because the phone didn’t hit it. You just send the photo. He says thanks.

The new phone silences unknown numbers. You enable it. A call about your bike service doesn’t come through. You miss the date. The bike develops a faint rattle in the chain. You adjust your headphones instead.

You order a replacement chain online. The delivery goes to your office. Security leaves it on a shelf. You see it Friday. You take it home Saturday. On Sunday, you look at the tools needed to fix the chain and decide to do it next weekend. You take a photo of the tools, neatly laid out. The camera focuses on the wrench. The rattle is not in the photo.

Next weekend becomes the weekend after. The bike stays on the balcony, near the lemon tree. You take photos of the lemons when they bloom. You do not take photos of the bike. You are not punishing yourself. You are just not fixing it.

Months later, you show your mother trip photos on the new phone. You swipe through landscapes, a meal, a museum courtyard. You don’t mention the trip was a substitute for a longer one you couldn’t plan. She says the photos are beautiful. You agree. Your thumb slips. You swipe past the gallery into the general album. There, between a screenshot and a meme, is the photo you never deleted: the old phone, screen spiderwebbed, lying in the dust. It is very clear. She does not see it. You lock the phone and place it face down. The lemon tree needs watering. You go to the balcony. The bike is still there. You pour the water. The chain rattles once, softly, in the wind.