There it was. A typo on her iPhone. An accident wedged between letters near the end of her sentence
When she found it, she let it hang there. She felt maybe it had been purposeful, something she could not otherwise express in words. Or maybe it was Freudian and she should study it more before deleting it. So the mistake rested in its place with relief. ;!
That moment drifted into days and months and she lingered over the mistake. Soon enough, the little accident felt it had not been an error either; that it had real possibilities. It had not been deleted or erased – and it had not been forgotten. The time seemed ripe for fresh and new opportunity for the mistake to become something more than a slip of the finger. So it scooted away from her straight laced cursor. It swerved around a few of her heavy handed backspaces. ;! It slipped between the lines of an autocorrect session.
It plotted. It persisted. It thrived. ;!
The tiny error wedged its way into her everyday lexicon, not a mistake anymore, but a device she used to say something extra – or sometimes to say everything. And the more she used it, the more it seemed right – not an error at all. She fell in love with the squiggle until it became her own code, her own secret language silently transmitted to the world. Her little accident eventually became her intentional signature mark – almost as important as her own name and bound up in her identity. This emboldened the error and made it confident, even arrogant. It started showing up in her thoughts and dreams. It became a part of her gestures and her facial expressions. She had it tatooed next to her heart.;! The mistake had evolved into a symbol – an icon of its maker – until one one day she awoke to find that she could only express herself in ;! She had been reduced to one typographical mark. The accident, pleased with its work, hesitated for only a second before leaping from her text into the next iPhone text it could find….and she, left solely with the carelessness of her ways, could say only:
;! ;! ;!