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Nadine By Kate Sanger Nadine sat in the middle of the living room floor. She was big and bulky, but he loved her anyway. A pair of black leather cowboy boots sat on top of her. Nadine was a TV. An old floor model. He'd had her since he was a young boy, and before that she was his father's. He cared for her deeply and with all his time. He hadn't left the house in two years. She was getting older and he didn't want anything bad to happen to her. But, of course, something bad did eventually happen. It all started innocently enough. He tried to turn her on one morning and nothing happened. Not even static. He gasped. He tried again. She didn't work. He sunk down onto his heels and cried. He wouldn't accept it. Nadine couldn't be dead - she couldn't! He had to fix her. He rushed to the kitchen and looked for the phone number he had written down years ago. The phone number he had been saving just in case something unspeakable like this happened. It was sitting right where he left it, under the carefully saved pizza coupons he always held onto, no matter how out of date they were. He dialed the number with trembling fingers, only to be told the number had been changed. He was given the new number that he quickly jotted down and dialed. This time he got an answering service telling him that if it was an emergency he should feel free to leave a message and someone would get back to him within the hour. "Hello, I'm calling about my Nadine! She's dead! You've got to help me!" He left the number and hung up. He waited next to the phone on pins and needles. He tried to keep from crying too much. He had to be a man. For Nadine's sake. He waited for an eternity (fifteen minutes). The phone rang. He snatched it up. "Hello?" "Are you the guy who left the message about "Nadine"?" "Yes, yes, I did." "You don't need a repairman, you need an ambulance!" "No I don't. Nadine is a TV." "Oh. Nadine's a TV?" "Yes, that's what I said. But she's dead! I need her to be better. I need her to be better now." He tried to keep the agitation out of his voice. He paced the floor nervously. "Okay, let me get this straight. You called and left that message because your TV - Nadine- isn't working?" "Right." "And you want us to rush out there and fix it?" "Exactly. Please hurry. It really is an emergency." The repairman sighed. "You do realize it's going to cost extra to have someone come out there, right? We're closed today, and I'm going to have to find someone who's willing - " "I'll pay anything. Just get them here as soon as possible." He gave the repairman the address and a credit card number and in return was given a promise of a repairman there within half an hour - for an extra $150. The next half hour was the longest thirty minutes of his life. He paced some more. He chewed his nails down to the quick. He pulled out a few small tufts of hair. He began canning peaches. The doorbell rang. He nearly tripped over the mason jars in his haste to open the door. He was afraid that if he didn't open it quickly enough, the repairman would be magically whisked away and Nadine would never be well again. The repairman was waiting on the stoop, smoking a cigarette. He made the repairman put it out before he pulled him into the house. He showed him where Nadine was, then sat down to watch. He didn't want anything bad happening to her just because he wasn't paying attention. You couldn't trust anybody nowadays. The repairman seemed to know what he was doing. He undid the back of the TV and knelt down behind it. "Wow. I haven't seen one like this in years. I don't even know if they make parts for these anymore." "You can't fix it?" His voice trembled almost as much as he did. "I didn't say that. I hope I can. As long as nothing is too badly damaged, I should be able to repair it. Don't worry so much." But he did worry. He sat on the couch and worried. He got up and paced and worried. He sat down next to the repairman and peered into Nadine, worrying. He kept worrying. The doorbell rang. He stopped worrying. The doorbell. He wasn't expecting anyone. Except. Could it be? Could it finally be? It had to be. He didn't want to pull himself away unless it absolutely was. So it must be. He pushed himself to his feet and after another cursory glance at the repairman, headed to the door. To Ed McMahon. He knew it was Ed. He had sent in the entry. He knew he was the next winner. Didn't the form say he might have already won? He couldn't leave Ed standing there. He had to go collect his prize money. He stopped a moment to comb his hair with his fingers. It had to look good for all of those TV cameras. He didn't want to be known as the messy guy who won millions. He opened the door and look out expectantly. "Have you been saved?" "Excuse me?" He was a little startled. He had been expecting a large white balding white man. Not a neatly dressed, well-groomed black man bearing a bible. "I'm here to save you, if you care to listen." "No." He slammed the door. He stormed back over to the repairman. If he had missed anything important... The repairman was closing up. "You-you're done?" "Yup. All fixed up and ready to go again." He packed up his tools and finished writing up the bill. "We'll just charge this to your credit card, if that's okay." He nodded. "Well then, have a nice day." The repairman walked out. As soon as the door shut behind him, Nadine's owner rushed over to her side. He turned her on. She came to life. He dropped to his knees in front of her. She crackled with static and life and buzzed as she warmed up. Then the picture appeared and words starting coming from her speaker. He kissed her perfect face. He hugged her perfect body. And he discovered it. There was a screw loose somewhere on the back. Loose and jammed in improperly. Her back was chipped and damaged. He got up. He marched to the bedroom. He knew what he had to do. He got his gun. He got the phone number of the repairman from the answering service. He called and got the address. He left the house on foot. He would find him. Oh yes, he would find him.
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