.FLYINGHEAD GREAT STORIES
.TITLE Here comes trouble
.AUTHOR Marilyn Gewirtz
.TIP
.SUMMARY Sometimes my job comes with some very special perks. This is one of those times. My mom recently wrote a charming little story about, well, a family friend. When she read it to me, I realized it was a story nearly all of our readers would be able to identify with. And so, it brings me great pleasure to announce the ZATZ publishing debut of my mom, Marilyn Gewirtz. — David Gewirtz, ZATZ Editor-in-Chief
.BEGIN_SIDEBAR
.H1 About this article
Sometimes my job comes with some very special perks. This is one of those times. My mom recently wrote a charming little story about, well, a family friend. When she read it to me, I realized it was a story nearly all of our readers would be able to identify with. And so, it brings me great pleasure to announce the ZATZ publishing debut of my mom, Marilyn Gewirtz.
— David Gewirtz, ZATZ Editor-in-Chief
.END_SIDEBAR
In the beginning, when I first came to live with the family, I was on my best behavior. I did my work well and felt that I was truly loved. They gave me my own space, and it was very comfortable. I had sitting room and the proper environment to exist comfortably. I was able to function at the top of my mark and worked diligently for over a year.
I tried to behave, really, I did.
I wanted to be good. Gradually, however, little by little, I would do something nasty. I just couldn’t control myself. I didn’t do as I was told; went my own way. Small things would start to disappear. Nothing that would be specifically noticed; just enough to make them feel that something, they didn’t know what, was amiss.
Finally, so much around me went missing, I did so many things wrong, they didn’t know what to expect next. They were going to expel me from the only real home I have ever known. They’d give me one more chance, then another. But something possessed me; I couldn’t stop misbehaving. When it came to the last minute, when they were ready to toss me out, they found out that I wasn’t doing these awful things because I wanted to do them any harm, but because I was very, very ill.
My family didn’t know what to do. At first, they still wanted me gone, but they were good hearted people. They couldn’t just abandon me if I was truly sick. They tried everything they knew to cure me, to make me better. All types of experts were called in, and a little improvement was noticed. Finally, I was doing well enough to continue my life. I did my best, behaved and was allowed to remain with the family.
But once again, soon enough, as if I were possessed, I started losing bits and pieces of things. Once again it was small enough not to be noticed, until the time larger items began to vanish. I knew I was really in trouble. It was either be ousted from my cozy room and be replaced or go for some real long-term therapy.
Therapy it was. I was shipped far away from home and family. I was examined by experts in the field and with every form of modern technology. First, I was checked out externally. They found nothing to cause such problems. Then they opened me up and scanned all my insides, removing a number of infected organs. I was given transplants, replacement parts throughout my internal structure, and some of these transplanted parts were better than any I had had before.
After weeks of counseling, my family was called in, and we had joint sessions, each learning how to handle the other so we could live harmoniously. And at long last, I was sent back home. Once again, I was in my own cozy space. Once more I resolved to behave and do what I was meant to do without any fuss or argument.
I have been behaving for almost a year now, and we have all coexisted in peace. But oh, how that bug gets to me every so often. It’s like a virus.
This past week I slipped again. Why am I so bad?
But I had to try it. It was something brand new. I was going to clone myself. Over and over again. It was so much fun. But I was being so wicked. I knew I was tormenting my family, but I couldn’t control it. I don’t know what gets into me. One of these days, if I am not careful, it could finish me off. I don’t know how I will react.
But gradually, byte-by-byte, I am sure there will be trouble.
.BIO Marilyn Gewirtz is 42-year old ZATZ Editor-in-Chief David Gewirtz’ mom. When asked what she wanted her bio to say, she simply answered "David is my little boy." Some things never change.
