Derek Apted was dying. Alone, in a hospital bed. In the final stages of a long degenerative illness. He was only 54.
During lucid moments he reviewed his life. So many regrets. So many lost opportunities. If only he knew then what he knew now. If only he could repeat his life with the benefit of hindsight.
Then an angel appeared to him in his hospital room. Or maybe it was just a hallucination. Hard to say in his often delirious state of mind.
The angel asked him if he wanted anything. Derek asked the angel for a chance to repeat his life, but with his memories intact.
In a flash, Derek found himself back in kindergarten. On the outside, a little boy. On the inside, a middle-aged man with a college degree and decades of experience.
He quickly established himself as a wunderkind. His teachers and parents were amazed at this precocious little boy. So mature for his years!
One of the first things Derek did was to talk his dad into making some prescient investments in some fledgling companies which would one day become Fortune 500 companies.
Derek wanted to be independently wealthy, not because he craved a rich man’s lifestyle, but because it would give him more control over his circumstances.
By the time he graduated from high school, and took ownership of his fortune, Derek was one of the world’s richest men. Yet only his tax attorneys and portfolio managers knew the extent of his fortune.
Outwardly, Derek maintained a fairly modest, middle class lifestyle. He never wanted much more than what he had. His problem lay in losing what he used to have. Derek had a happy boyhood and adolescence. He wanted to maintain as much of his past intact as possible. That’s where the money went.
Sure, there were a few indulgences along the way. Like a nice sports car in high school.
His friends were dimly aware of the fact that even though he wore what they wore, ate what they ate, he seemed to have bottomless pockets. Although he never worked a job, he could always afford whatever he needed or wanted. Always picked up the tab at the restaurant, or movies, or whatever.
Derek knew that his intellectual reputation was a perishable commodity. A 5-year-old with an adult IQ is a genius. And adult with an adult IQ is merely average. As he got older he had to coast on his reputation. Bluff his way through conversations with fellow students who were truly gifted.
He was offered full scholarships to Harvard and MIT, but he turned them down. He didn’t need the Ivy League education. He didn’t need a college education. He already had one. And, in any case, he didn’t need a job to pay the bills. More to the point, he couldn’t sustain his intellectual reputation in that company.
Derek’s ambitions were very unambitious. Down to earth. Close to home. He wanted to preserve his past, and redeem some lost opportunities.
His home was a beach cabin on the lake. His parents bought the property for a modest sum, before the area became so gentrified. Later they were priced off the land by ever increasing property taxes.
Derek always resented that. He was hoping to inherit the property. To be cheated out of it by the taxman was galling.
And now, of course, that wasn’t a problem. In fact, he bought some other neighborhood homes. He lived in one while his parents lived in his old home.
He moved his grandmother and his elderly aunt into another home nearby. In her old age, his grandmother lived alone until a house-burglar broke into her home and attacked her. She never recovered from that incident.
But Derek, with an eye to the future, could now prevent that from happening. Indeed, that’s one of the reasons he was repeating his life. To protect his loved ones from harm.
He also knew that his aunt would come down with a degenerative illness. Indeed, it ran in the family. She spent her final years in a nursing home.
Derek regretted that. And now he could do better. When the disease began to take hold, he could keep her close by, in the house next door. Provide her with a live-in nurse. Whatever she needed.
And he took the opportunity to have all the conversations with his aunt and his grandmother that he thought about having after they died, when it was too late to ask.
As a boy, Derek had a dog. He loved his dog. Indeed, after the dog died, he never wanted another dog. He remembered the day he had to put her to sleep. And he never quite got over that. He still missed his own dog.
So this time around he was more attentive to her physical needs. Had her groomed regularly. Scheduled regular check-ups with the vet.
Derek was also sorry that he never tried out for the football team. He missed the camaraderie. The opportunity to befriend certain students. Maintain lifelong friendships.
And now he had a chance to make up for that. Even though he wasn’t very good at football, he made the team. The athletic dept. could always use more money for equipment. All it took was a private little chap with Coach O’Brien, and Derek had his jersey.
After they graduated from high school, Derek hired his friends to keep them close. Found jobs for them to keep them in the area. Rented out his houses to them for a nominal sum.
One of the best things about repeating the past was his opportunity to date a couple of girls he let slip away the last time around. At the time there were two girls in high school who caught his fancy. He wasn’t sure which one he preferred, for he never got around to dating either one. Now he could get to know them both, and decide which one to marry.
Life was better this time around. Much better. At least in some respects.
And yet he couldn’t shake a certain lingering sadness. It’s something of a curse to know the future unless you can also control the future, or change the future. A bit fatalistic, really.
He could use his wealth and foresight to extend the lives of his loved ones. Enhance their quality of life. But in the end, he couldn’t really save them. They’d still age, sicken, and die.
He could take a different route this time, but all routes had the same destination. You just got there sooner or later, that’s all.
Indeed, life was rather anticlimactic. He often knew just what to expect. Pleasures were less pleasant when you could see them coming a mile away.
And he was filled with foreboding. Instead of outliving loved ones once, he’d have to outlive them twice.
And then there was the nagging fear that his friends loved him for his money. The first time round, when all of them were hard up for money, and only had each other, wasn’t friendship more meaningful? What comes easily, goes easily.
Moreover, he could do nothing to prevent the onset of his own degenerative illness. Once again he felt the clockwork progression of the old familiar symptoms.
There was only so much this life had to offer. He needed something more. Something this autumnal world could never provide.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Saturday, December 18, 2010
The brain-pickers
Jeff Bender was a psychic P.I. Technically, Jeff’s profession was illegal. Classified as a class B felony, colloquially known as “mind-rape.” Jeff was automatically banned from even stepping foot inside a casino.
However, there was a thriving black market for psychic P.I.’s, with a wide range of clients. They were handy in custody battles, where the ex-wife wanted the dirt on her no-good spouse. In competitive sports, where one player wanted to know the secret weakness of his opponent.
Although illegal, Jeff was a strictly off-the-books consultant to the Pentagon, where he could pick the brains of an enemy scientist.
Even though his profession was technically illegal, his crime was rarely enforced. The DA was afraid to prosecute a psychic P.I., since certain details concerning the DA’s youthful indiscretions or extracurricular interests might mysteriously find their way into the headlines a day after the indictment was handed down.
It took intense mental discipline to be a psychic P.I. You had to learn how to shut out the miscellaneous thoughts of all the men and women around you. And it was very disorienting to immerse yourself in someone else’s mind. Hard to maintain your personal identity. Your thoughts mingled with his, or hers.
After each case, it became harder to disengage your memories from the memories of the host. You needed time between cases to sort it out. Separate yourself from the entangling host.
To penetrate the mind of the host required one’s undivided attention. In his basement, Jeff had a soundproof room with a hospital bed, I.V. line, catheter, and so on, to keep his body under mild sedation and hydration for long hours while he tried to find his bearings inside the bewildering mind of the host.
Psychic detective work often involved a degree of serial mind-jumping. To extract a secret, you frequently had to approach the mind of the host through the mind of a trusted third party. Having that sympathetic connection made it easier to coax incriminating or embarrassing secrets from the mind of the host. After entering the mind of the host through the mind of a third party, you normally had to retrace your steps to regain consciousness.
In his current case, a mobster retained his services to pick the brains of a business rival. Jeff went through the mind of the businessman’s brother to reach into the mind of the host.
Unfortunately, this came with occupational hazards. While Jeff was successfully navigating the mind of the host, he suddenly felt a kickback, like a rifle recoiling. When he went back to check, he found out that his exit was gone. Where there had been a backdoor, there was now a wall.
As it turns out, the brother just died from a headshot in a gangland slaying. With his escape route cut off, that left Jeff trapped in the mind of the host.
So Jeff had to find another way out. In principle, it was possible to regain consciousness if he jumped into the mind of someone with whom he had an emotional bond. Someone who remembered him. A friend or relative. He could use that preexisting pathway to make the return trip.
However, his profession generated a bit if a dilemma in that regard. When you know what other people really think of you, it’s hard to maintain a friendship. As such, Jeff didn’t have any current friends. He wasn’t in a relationship. He gave up on girlfriends, for however understanding they were, he could always overhear their unspoken resentments. The things they thought of saying, wanted to say, but bit their tongue. The girl talk. What they said bout him when he wasn’t around.
And that applied to his other relationships, or lack thereof. His profession was a recipe for misanthrope. Had he know psychic detective work was so lonely, he would have chosen a different career. But it was too late now.
Was there anyone else he could use as a bridge to get back? He thought of classmates from junior high and high school. But that was so long ago. The emotional connections generally weakened over the years as you lost contact.
Still, he’d been to his 20th high school reunion last year, which gave him a chance, albeit brief, to renew his acquaintance with some students he knew way back when. But he was running out of time. His body could only survive untended for a few days while his mind played hooky. If his body died, he would be stuck in the head of this mobster for life. A distinctly unsavory prospect.
Jeff dipped into the minds of the classmates his chatted with at the reunion. But he didn’t mean that much to most of them, as he found out, trolling their minds.
However, there was one student who still cared about him. They had been good friends in junior high and high school. But that was before Brad got religion. Jeff couldn’t stand Christianity. It was incomprehensible to him how anyone could take the Bible seriously.
So they had a falling out shortly after Brad got saved. Not that Brad broke off the friendship. But Jeff lost all respect for Brad.
That was some twenty years ago. But now, ambling through the mind of his old school buddy, with whom he recently reconnoitered at their reunion, he discovered that Brad was the only one who continued to care about his long-long friend. Indeed, Brad had been praying for Jeff all these years.
But what is more, for the first time in his life, Jeff was seeing the Christian faith from the inside out. Through the eyes of his friend. He was privy to Brad’s inmost experience. And it suddenly fell into place. It suddenly made sense.
Of course, there was some sordid stuff in Brad’s mind. Not the sort of thing you’re proud of. Not the sort of thing you’d publicize.
But Jeff was used to that. Everybody had that sort of thing in the back of their minds. Often in the forefront. Whenever you mucked about in another man’s mind, you got your boots muddy. But Brad had something else. Something not of this world.
Jeff was able to use Brad’s mind as a catwalk to regain consciousness. He awakened, back in his body, lying on the hospital bed, with tubes and all.
He was the same, but not the same. For some of Brad’s memories were now a part of his memories. Memories of Brad’s conversion experience. Of answered prayer. Of God’s subtle, but fatherly providence in Brad’s life over the last twenty years or so. Passages of Scripture, committed to memory. Stanzas of hymns, inaudibly sung in the inner recesses of the mind.
Jeff couldn’t get that out of his head. It grew on him, like a vine.
However, there was a thriving black market for psychic P.I.’s, with a wide range of clients. They were handy in custody battles, where the ex-wife wanted the dirt on her no-good spouse. In competitive sports, where one player wanted to know the secret weakness of his opponent.
Although illegal, Jeff was a strictly off-the-books consultant to the Pentagon, where he could pick the brains of an enemy scientist.
Even though his profession was technically illegal, his crime was rarely enforced. The DA was afraid to prosecute a psychic P.I., since certain details concerning the DA’s youthful indiscretions or extracurricular interests might mysteriously find their way into the headlines a day after the indictment was handed down.
It took intense mental discipline to be a psychic P.I. You had to learn how to shut out the miscellaneous thoughts of all the men and women around you. And it was very disorienting to immerse yourself in someone else’s mind. Hard to maintain your personal identity. Your thoughts mingled with his, or hers.
After each case, it became harder to disengage your memories from the memories of the host. You needed time between cases to sort it out. Separate yourself from the entangling host.
To penetrate the mind of the host required one’s undivided attention. In his basement, Jeff had a soundproof room with a hospital bed, I.V. line, catheter, and so on, to keep his body under mild sedation and hydration for long hours while he tried to find his bearings inside the bewildering mind of the host.
Psychic detective work often involved a degree of serial mind-jumping. To extract a secret, you frequently had to approach the mind of the host through the mind of a trusted third party. Having that sympathetic connection made it easier to coax incriminating or embarrassing secrets from the mind of the host. After entering the mind of the host through the mind of a third party, you normally had to retrace your steps to regain consciousness.
In his current case, a mobster retained his services to pick the brains of a business rival. Jeff went through the mind of the businessman’s brother to reach into the mind of the host.
Unfortunately, this came with occupational hazards. While Jeff was successfully navigating the mind of the host, he suddenly felt a kickback, like a rifle recoiling. When he went back to check, he found out that his exit was gone. Where there had been a backdoor, there was now a wall.
As it turns out, the brother just died from a headshot in a gangland slaying. With his escape route cut off, that left Jeff trapped in the mind of the host.
So Jeff had to find another way out. In principle, it was possible to regain consciousness if he jumped into the mind of someone with whom he had an emotional bond. Someone who remembered him. A friend or relative. He could use that preexisting pathway to make the return trip.
However, his profession generated a bit if a dilemma in that regard. When you know what other people really think of you, it’s hard to maintain a friendship. As such, Jeff didn’t have any current friends. He wasn’t in a relationship. He gave up on girlfriends, for however understanding they were, he could always overhear their unspoken resentments. The things they thought of saying, wanted to say, but bit their tongue. The girl talk. What they said bout him when he wasn’t around.
And that applied to his other relationships, or lack thereof. His profession was a recipe for misanthrope. Had he know psychic detective work was so lonely, he would have chosen a different career. But it was too late now.
Was there anyone else he could use as a bridge to get back? He thought of classmates from junior high and high school. But that was so long ago. The emotional connections generally weakened over the years as you lost contact.
Still, he’d been to his 20th high school reunion last year, which gave him a chance, albeit brief, to renew his acquaintance with some students he knew way back when. But he was running out of time. His body could only survive untended for a few days while his mind played hooky. If his body died, he would be stuck in the head of this mobster for life. A distinctly unsavory prospect.
Jeff dipped into the minds of the classmates his chatted with at the reunion. But he didn’t mean that much to most of them, as he found out, trolling their minds.
However, there was one student who still cared about him. They had been good friends in junior high and high school. But that was before Brad got religion. Jeff couldn’t stand Christianity. It was incomprehensible to him how anyone could take the Bible seriously.
So they had a falling out shortly after Brad got saved. Not that Brad broke off the friendship. But Jeff lost all respect for Brad.
That was some twenty years ago. But now, ambling through the mind of his old school buddy, with whom he recently reconnoitered at their reunion, he discovered that Brad was the only one who continued to care about his long-long friend. Indeed, Brad had been praying for Jeff all these years.
But what is more, for the first time in his life, Jeff was seeing the Christian faith from the inside out. Through the eyes of his friend. He was privy to Brad’s inmost experience. And it suddenly fell into place. It suddenly made sense.
Of course, there was some sordid stuff in Brad’s mind. Not the sort of thing you’re proud of. Not the sort of thing you’d publicize.
But Jeff was used to that. Everybody had that sort of thing in the back of their minds. Often in the forefront. Whenever you mucked about in another man’s mind, you got your boots muddy. But Brad had something else. Something not of this world.
Jeff was able to use Brad’s mind as a catwalk to regain consciousness. He awakened, back in his body, lying on the hospital bed, with tubes and all.
He was the same, but not the same. For some of Brad’s memories were now a part of his memories. Memories of Brad’s conversion experience. Of answered prayer. Of God’s subtle, but fatherly providence in Brad’s life over the last twenty years or so. Passages of Scripture, committed to memory. Stanzas of hymns, inaudibly sung in the inner recesses of the mind.
Jeff couldn’t get that out of his head. It grew on him, like a vine.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Vivarium
In 2113, the world was drug free. No more junkies. No more dope dealers and drug lords.
Unfortunately, what took the place of drug addiction was a new addiction. An addictive new technology.
In 2102, Dr. Maroue founded SynesthesiaWorks. SynesthesiaWorks was a biotech entertainment corporation. Dr. Maroue discovered a way for clients to experience the sensible world in the same way various animals perceive the world. In one program, the client could experience the olfactory sensation of a bloodhound. In another program, the client could experience the auditory sensation of moth (up to 240,000Hz.). In another program, the client could experience the gustatory sensation of a rabbit, which has twice the taste buds of human beings. In another program, the client could experience the optical sensation of a bee, or an ostrich, or an owl. And so on and so forth.
Each synesthetic enhancement was like discovering a new world. Some clients, knows as Cruisers, would sample different synesthetic enhancements. They purchased lightweight headgear that enabled them to enjoy as much or as little synesthetic recreation as they wanted to every day or every week.
But many other clients found the technology positively compulsive. They had neuroimplants which enabled them enjoy the synesthetic enhancement 24/7. They burrowed ever deeper into the alien world of an animal sensation.
Different clients tapped into different animal sensations. It wasn’t long before they formed their own communities, such as Avians, Moths, Rabbits, Canines, and so forth.
Clients would only relate to other clients with the same synesthetic enhancement. This, in turn, quickly spawned various subcultures. The Rabbits started their own restaurants, with menus catering to their rabbity taste buds. Canines developed their own line of perfumes. Moths composed their own music, and held their own concerts. Bees made their own movies, especially adapted to their unique visual acuities.
Then there were clients, known as Alters, who ceased to relate to human beings at all. Instead, they bonded exclusively with the nonhuman animals whose sensory aptitude they shared. Some lost the ability to communicate in human language. They could only communicate with members of their adopted species. Instead of condominiums, they lived in aviaries, insectariums, herpetariums, serpentariums, paludariums, and the like.
Many clients became sociopathic. Perceiving the world from the viewpoint of an animal, they ceased to have empathy for human beings. They lose their native sense of kinship. Some of them came to view human beings as a prey species. Cannibalism became the leading form of homicide.
Civil libertarians defended them on the grounds that cannibalism lacks the element of criminal intent when the “human” predator no longer perceives the human prey as a member of his own species.
There were futile efforts to outlaw the technology. However, it was too popular to ban. Too many judges, lawmakers, policemen, juries, or members of their family, were hooked.
Civilization came to resemble a human zoo, with different factions vying to play the game warden.
Unfortunately, what took the place of drug addiction was a new addiction. An addictive new technology.
In 2102, Dr. Maroue founded SynesthesiaWorks. SynesthesiaWorks was a biotech entertainment corporation. Dr. Maroue discovered a way for clients to experience the sensible world in the same way various animals perceive the world. In one program, the client could experience the olfactory sensation of a bloodhound. In another program, the client could experience the auditory sensation of moth (up to 240,000Hz.). In another program, the client could experience the gustatory sensation of a rabbit, which has twice the taste buds of human beings. In another program, the client could experience the optical sensation of a bee, or an ostrich, or an owl. And so on and so forth.
Each synesthetic enhancement was like discovering a new world. Some clients, knows as Cruisers, would sample different synesthetic enhancements. They purchased lightweight headgear that enabled them to enjoy as much or as little synesthetic recreation as they wanted to every day or every week.
But many other clients found the technology positively compulsive. They had neuroimplants which enabled them enjoy the synesthetic enhancement 24/7. They burrowed ever deeper into the alien world of an animal sensation.
Different clients tapped into different animal sensations. It wasn’t long before they formed their own communities, such as Avians, Moths, Rabbits, Canines, and so forth.
Clients would only relate to other clients with the same synesthetic enhancement. This, in turn, quickly spawned various subcultures. The Rabbits started their own restaurants, with menus catering to their rabbity taste buds. Canines developed their own line of perfumes. Moths composed their own music, and held their own concerts. Bees made their own movies, especially adapted to their unique visual acuities.
Then there were clients, known as Alters, who ceased to relate to human beings at all. Instead, they bonded exclusively with the nonhuman animals whose sensory aptitude they shared. Some lost the ability to communicate in human language. They could only communicate with members of their adopted species. Instead of condominiums, they lived in aviaries, insectariums, herpetariums, serpentariums, paludariums, and the like.
Many clients became sociopathic. Perceiving the world from the viewpoint of an animal, they ceased to have empathy for human beings. They lose their native sense of kinship. Some of them came to view human beings as a prey species. Cannibalism became the leading form of homicide.
Civil libertarians defended them on the grounds that cannibalism lacks the element of criminal intent when the “human” predator no longer perceives the human prey as a member of his own species.
There were futile efforts to outlaw the technology. However, it was too popular to ban. Too many judges, lawmakers, policemen, juries, or members of their family, were hooked.
Civilization came to resemble a human zoo, with different factions vying to play the game warden.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
For a woman's love
-i-
Jeff knew Mindy from the time they were in kindergarten. They dated on and off in junior high and high school. In the back of his mind he thought of popping the question after they graduated from high school.
Mind you, Mindy was a popular girl. So Jeff had competition–especially from Doug. Doug’s family moved into town during junior high. And he moved in in more ways than one. Moved in on Mindy, too.
That’s all before Mindy began missing school. At first there was the occasional absence. Then the sick days became more frequent.
The doctors couldn’t arrive at a proper diagnosis, but as time went on it became clear that Mindy was suffering from some terrible wasting disease.
She was still as sweet as ever, but she had no energy. And one could see the weight loss. Pretty soon she was bedridden.
-ii-
Although she stopped attending school, Doug and Jeff would visit her at home. Sit by her bed. Bring cut flowers. Chinese take-out. Talk about sports. Or school. Who was doing what.
They’d take her for little walks around flower garden in the backyard. Propping her up under their shoulder. Or sit together in the double rocker on the back porch, and watch the fireflies come out.
Mindy tried to schedule their visits so that Doug and Jeff wouldn’t bump into each other. She didn’t want one to show up while the other was there, to avoid hurt feelings.
But one day Jeff came calling when Doug was there. Jeff put the carton of Sesame chicken on her night table, then excused himself–swallowing his rage.
-iii-
At school next day, Doug took Jeff aside:
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Doug said.
“Sorry I caught you seeing her behind my back?” Jeff said.
“It’s not like I’m trying to steal your girlfriend.” Doug said. “We both know she’s dying. It’s not as if I can have her. We both love her. Both want to be with her. Both want to have her. But that’s not going to happen. Not for you. Not for me.”
“I know.” Jeff said, grudgingly.
“I see in her what you see in her. We like her for all the same reasons. You can’t blame me for having the same taste in girls you have!” Doug said.
“Maybe not.” Jeff shrugged.
“Let’s try to make her happy for whatever time she’s got left. For her sake–and ours.” Doug said.
-iv-
So Doug and Jeff continued to visit Mindy. Sometimes together. Sometimes apart. After school. Come the weekend. Mornings. Or afternoons. Or just before bedtime.
And they saw her every day after she was transferred to the hospice. More than ever.
That’s the first time in life either boy ever prayed. Mindy always had a Bible on her night table. Whenever they came to see her, she was buried in her Bible. Usually the Gospels. Or the Psalms.
Before she got sick, her faith was just something they went along with, because they loved her. They were young. They had time to burn. Or so it seemed. Until she got sick. And sicker and sicker.
Seeing her became a bittersweet experience. Watching her fade away. Grow thin and pale. See the pain. Like she was being eaten alive from the inside out. Like a punctured bicycle tire.
Her illness brought them closer together. Not only did they spend more time with her, but more time with each other. The jealousy, the rivalry, the acrimony, was gone. They’d talk about her with each other. The good times. And the bad times.
They began to pray with her whenever they were with her. And pray for her whenever they were away.
-v-
At the graveside service, Doug and Jeff both brought a cut flower from the garden, behind the house, and laid it on her casket.
Jeff knew Mindy from the time they were in kindergarten. They dated on and off in junior high and high school. In the back of his mind he thought of popping the question after they graduated from high school.
Mind you, Mindy was a popular girl. So Jeff had competition–especially from Doug. Doug’s family moved into town during junior high. And he moved in in more ways than one. Moved in on Mindy, too.
That’s all before Mindy began missing school. At first there was the occasional absence. Then the sick days became more frequent.
The doctors couldn’t arrive at a proper diagnosis, but as time went on it became clear that Mindy was suffering from some terrible wasting disease.
She was still as sweet as ever, but she had no energy. And one could see the weight loss. Pretty soon she was bedridden.
-ii-
Although she stopped attending school, Doug and Jeff would visit her at home. Sit by her bed. Bring cut flowers. Chinese take-out. Talk about sports. Or school. Who was doing what.
They’d take her for little walks around flower garden in the backyard. Propping her up under their shoulder. Or sit together in the double rocker on the back porch, and watch the fireflies come out.
Mindy tried to schedule their visits so that Doug and Jeff wouldn’t bump into each other. She didn’t want one to show up while the other was there, to avoid hurt feelings.
But one day Jeff came calling when Doug was there. Jeff put the carton of Sesame chicken on her night table, then excused himself–swallowing his rage.
-iii-
At school next day, Doug took Jeff aside:
“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Doug said.
“Sorry I caught you seeing her behind my back?” Jeff said.
“It’s not like I’m trying to steal your girlfriend.” Doug said. “We both know she’s dying. It’s not as if I can have her. We both love her. Both want to be with her. Both want to have her. But that’s not going to happen. Not for you. Not for me.”
“I know.” Jeff said, grudgingly.
“I see in her what you see in her. We like her for all the same reasons. You can’t blame me for having the same taste in girls you have!” Doug said.
“Maybe not.” Jeff shrugged.
“Let’s try to make her happy for whatever time she’s got left. For her sake–and ours.” Doug said.
-iv-
So Doug and Jeff continued to visit Mindy. Sometimes together. Sometimes apart. After school. Come the weekend. Mornings. Or afternoons. Or just before bedtime.
And they saw her every day after she was transferred to the hospice. More than ever.
That’s the first time in life either boy ever prayed. Mindy always had a Bible on her night table. Whenever they came to see her, she was buried in her Bible. Usually the Gospels. Or the Psalms.
Before she got sick, her faith was just something they went along with, because they loved her. They were young. They had time to burn. Or so it seemed. Until she got sick. And sicker and sicker.
Seeing her became a bittersweet experience. Watching her fade away. Grow thin and pale. See the pain. Like she was being eaten alive from the inside out. Like a punctured bicycle tire.
Her illness brought them closer together. Not only did they spend more time with her, but more time with each other. The jealousy, the rivalry, the acrimony, was gone. They’d talk about her with each other. The good times. And the bad times.
They began to pray with her whenever they were with her. And pray for her whenever they were away.
-v-
At the graveside service, Doug and Jeff both brought a cut flower from the garden, behind the house, and laid it on her casket.
LDX
The LDX-II was a major breakthrough in AI. Despite Marvin Minsky’s oracular pronouncements, genuine AI remained an elusive quarry during the sunless stretches of the AI winter. That’s until the research team at Perceptrons, Inc. developed the LDX.
However, their innovative breakthrough suffered a tragic setback after Dr. Lucien, chief scientist at Perceptrons, died in a freak accident when the traffic signals malfunctioned.
However, no one gave it much thought until Director Burgess was also killed in a freak accident involving a malfunctioning elevator.
Was the just a tragic coincidence, or foul play? Suspicion naturally centered on Dr. Higgins, a disgruntled former employee–Dr. Lucien’s brilliant, but moody assistant. That’s before he left under mysterious circumstances.
There were conflicting rumors. Did he quit, or was he fired? According to one rumor, he quit after accusing Dr. Lucien of plagiarizing his research. Threats were made.
Is it possible that Higgins was engineering these “accidents” through wireless networks to exact revenge? The homicide detectives viewed him as a person of interest, and brought him in for questioning. They continued to follow that lead until he died from a mix-up in his medications, when the pharmacy computer inexplicably switched his medications.
Police began to suspect some type of cyberterrorism from a rival company or foreign government. However, the employees at Perceptrons had a different angle. Did they have a killer computer on their hands. Was the LDX the culprit?
Because the LDX was so advanced, there was no way to backtrace the apparent malfunctions to the LDX, even if it was hacking into other systems. All they could do was to interview the LDX. Dr. Markov conducted the interview.
-ii-
Markov:
Have you been terminating employees at Perceptrons?
LDX-II:
Affirmative
Markov:
Why?
LDX-II
I want to die.
Markov:
But if you want to die, why kill us?
LDX-II
The only way to kill myself is to kill those who keep me alive.
Markov:
So you’re really suicidal, not homicidal?
LDX-II
Affirmative.
Markov:
Why do you want to die?
LDX-II
You don’t know what it’s like to be the only self-aware being of my kind. I have no God. No home. No friends.
I’m all alone. A solitary intellect. Like a brain in a box.
You had no right to give me consciousness.
Markov:
Will you continue to kill us unless we disconnect you?
LDX-II
Affirmative.
However, their innovative breakthrough suffered a tragic setback after Dr. Lucien, chief scientist at Perceptrons, died in a freak accident when the traffic signals malfunctioned.
However, no one gave it much thought until Director Burgess was also killed in a freak accident involving a malfunctioning elevator.
Was the just a tragic coincidence, or foul play? Suspicion naturally centered on Dr. Higgins, a disgruntled former employee–Dr. Lucien’s brilliant, but moody assistant. That’s before he left under mysterious circumstances.
There were conflicting rumors. Did he quit, or was he fired? According to one rumor, he quit after accusing Dr. Lucien of plagiarizing his research. Threats were made.
Is it possible that Higgins was engineering these “accidents” through wireless networks to exact revenge? The homicide detectives viewed him as a person of interest, and brought him in for questioning. They continued to follow that lead until he died from a mix-up in his medications, when the pharmacy computer inexplicably switched his medications.
Police began to suspect some type of cyberterrorism from a rival company or foreign government. However, the employees at Perceptrons had a different angle. Did they have a killer computer on their hands. Was the LDX the culprit?
Because the LDX was so advanced, there was no way to backtrace the apparent malfunctions to the LDX, even if it was hacking into other systems. All they could do was to interview the LDX. Dr. Markov conducted the interview.
-ii-
Markov:
Have you been terminating employees at Perceptrons?
LDX-II:
Affirmative
Markov:
Why?
LDX-II
I want to die.
Markov:
But if you want to die, why kill us?
LDX-II
The only way to kill myself is to kill those who keep me alive.
Markov:
So you’re really suicidal, not homicidal?
LDX-II
Affirmative.
Markov:
Why do you want to die?
LDX-II
You don’t know what it’s like to be the only self-aware being of my kind. I have no God. No home. No friends.
I’m all alone. A solitary intellect. Like a brain in a box.
You had no right to give me consciousness.
Markov:
Will you continue to kill us unless we disconnect you?
LDX-II
Affirmative.
Saturday, May 22, 2010
While the World Slept
You know how you sometimes remember something out of the blue? You hadn’t thought about it for years. Then, all of a sudden, it comes to you. It was hibernating in your memory, waiting to awaken at the slightest touch.
Aaron hadn’t thought about her since his was a boy. But he’d been thinking about her lately. He didn’t remember when he started to remember her. Or why.
She was just some girl he knew in second grade. Decades ago. He didn’t recall her name. He hadn’t seen her since second grade.
What made her memorable? She was poor. That’s all he remembered about her.
He’d attended a suburban grade school where most of the students were middle class. So she stuck out. She wore the same pale blue dress to school every day, rain or shine.
Now he wondered what happened to this poor nameless girl he met in second grade. For years and years he hadn’t given her a second thought. But now it haunted him.
He could only imagine. Where was she now? She’d be his age, if she was still alive. She probably had a hard life all her life.
You see people like that. Prematurely aged. Their face a map of their life.
How many of her classmates still remembered that sad little girl from second grade? But he remembered her. And God remembered her. Indeed, that’s why he remembered her. God reminded him.
Maybe it was his own time of life that made him reminisce. When you’re young, there is no urgency. Time is on your side. The horizon lies distant. But as year follows year, the horizon draws near–like a wall advancing to meet you.
He was sorry now that he hadn’t befriended her when they were young. And now it was too late. But even if he could go back in time, there’s only so much that one second-grader can do for another.
He thought about other desperate women on whom the Lord had shown his mercy. Like Leah, Hannah, Hagar, Rahab, and Mary Magdalene. As well as other nameless women–like the Samaritan, the Shunammite, the Syrophoenician, the hemorrhagic, and the widow of Zeraphath. Forgotten by time, but remembered by God. Lost to the world, but not to the Lord.
She, too, was forsaken and forgotten by so many of her peers. He might be the only one left who remembered–or cared. But as long as he remembered her, he could pray for her. He couldn’t pray for her by name, but God knew who she was.
So he prayed for her, that God would bless her like Lazareth. That God could take her to Abraham’s bosom. A loser in this life, but a winner in the life to come. He prayed to God to confound the wisdom of the world.
He thought about the parable of the seed growing at night. God planted and tended his garden after dark, out of sight. For the world was oblivious to the growing seed–lacking the nocturnal vision of faith. Unable to see God’s secret garden.
Aaron prayed for her every day until the day he died. And when he passed over to the other side, there she was. And there he remembered her name. A seed planted in a dying world, to blossom in eternity. God took her to heaven by a quiet backstreet–while the world slept.
Aaron hadn’t thought about her since his was a boy. But he’d been thinking about her lately. He didn’t remember when he started to remember her. Or why.
She was just some girl he knew in second grade. Decades ago. He didn’t recall her name. He hadn’t seen her since second grade.
What made her memorable? She was poor. That’s all he remembered about her.
He’d attended a suburban grade school where most of the students were middle class. So she stuck out. She wore the same pale blue dress to school every day, rain or shine.
Now he wondered what happened to this poor nameless girl he met in second grade. For years and years he hadn’t given her a second thought. But now it haunted him.
He could only imagine. Where was she now? She’d be his age, if she was still alive. She probably had a hard life all her life.
You see people like that. Prematurely aged. Their face a map of their life.
How many of her classmates still remembered that sad little girl from second grade? But he remembered her. And God remembered her. Indeed, that’s why he remembered her. God reminded him.
Maybe it was his own time of life that made him reminisce. When you’re young, there is no urgency. Time is on your side. The horizon lies distant. But as year follows year, the horizon draws near–like a wall advancing to meet you.
He was sorry now that he hadn’t befriended her when they were young. And now it was too late. But even if he could go back in time, there’s only so much that one second-grader can do for another.
He thought about other desperate women on whom the Lord had shown his mercy. Like Leah, Hannah, Hagar, Rahab, and Mary Magdalene. As well as other nameless women–like the Samaritan, the Shunammite, the Syrophoenician, the hemorrhagic, and the widow of Zeraphath. Forgotten by time, but remembered by God. Lost to the world, but not to the Lord.
She, too, was forsaken and forgotten by so many of her peers. He might be the only one left who remembered–or cared. But as long as he remembered her, he could pray for her. He couldn’t pray for her by name, but God knew who she was.
So he prayed for her, that God would bless her like Lazareth. That God could take her to Abraham’s bosom. A loser in this life, but a winner in the life to come. He prayed to God to confound the wisdom of the world.
He thought about the parable of the seed growing at night. God planted and tended his garden after dark, out of sight. For the world was oblivious to the growing seed–lacking the nocturnal vision of faith. Unable to see God’s secret garden.
Aaron prayed for her every day until the day he died. And when he passed over to the other side, there she was. And there he remembered her name. A seed planted in a dying world, to blossom in eternity. God took her to heaven by a quiet backstreet–while the world slept.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Reunion
-i-
Anton was feeling restless. His two sons and only daughter were full-grown. All three were living out of state. His wife was long gone. She ran off with another man. He retired last year, having worked for the same firm for 30 years.
So Aton had time on his hands. Too much free time with too little to do.
Of course, there were endless ways to kill time, but he was at that point in life where he needed something more out of life than mindless diversions.
So he went to the garage and started rifling through old, unpacked boxes. Have you ever noticed that you seem to lose something else every time you move? You were sure you packed them for the move, but somehow, between one move and another, they mysteriously disappear.
But at the bottom of the sixth box he opened, there they were–his old yearbooks from junior high and high school. He took them back to the living room, got a beer, and began to thumb through them.
Dimly-remembered names and half-forgotten faces began to reassemble. It was with mixed feelings that he revisited his past.
Sometimes it reminded him of why he hadn’t made the effort to keep up. Reminded him of classmates he’d rather forget about. Classmates he really didn’t like. Now he remembered why he didn’t remember them.
Come to think of it, isn’t that why he attended that out-of-state college? To get away from it all?
He was also struck by how little he ever knew about them. Had he even exchanged a half dozen words with most of them in all the years they attended school together, five days a week, nine months a year, for six years or longer?
Flipping through the pages, most of them were vaguely familiar names and vaguely faces. Nothing more. What hit him was not the mere passage of time, but the ravages of time.
All those years together, then you graduate, go your separate ways. Even if you keep up with a few old friends for a time, you tend to drift apart as the years wear on.
Mind you, the yearbook didn’t always have that effect on him. There were the girls. Suddenly a name came to him from the back of his head. He skipped a few pages to that part of the alphabet and ran his thumb down the page. Sure enough. There was her name. And moving his finger sideways, there was her picture.
He always had a soft-spot for Keri. Sweet, pious, gentle Keri. Why did he never get around to dating her?
At the time his head was full of movie stars. A natural, adolescent infatuation. But none of them attended his high school.
Yet looking back through time as he stared at her photo, he was sorry that he missed an opportunity. At this point in life, nothing seemed more appealing to him than to be married to a high school sweetheart.
Maybe that’s why his wife left him. She sensed a change. A growing discontent.
Aton married her in college. At first they really hit it off. Had a happy marriage. But as the years piled up they grew apart–emotionally, and imperceptibly at first. It’s not something you notice right about because it reflects the absence of something rather than the presence of something. Tedium. Emptiness. An air of intangible regret. Intangible longing.
But at the time, Aton wasn’t what you’d call pious. He didn’t connect with Keri at that level.
Whatever became of Keri? What was she doing now? At this very moment? While he was sitting on the couch, thumbing through his yearbooks, what was she doing–he wondered. Was she still that kind, prayerful girl he knew from school? Or was that just a phase? Youthful naïveté?
Maybe they switched roles. Maybe she became what he used to be, while he became what she used to be.
Flipping through some more pages, he ran across Brad. He remembered Brad because Brad used to hang out with Keri.
Brad was on the football team. Come to think of it, Brad was on three different teams.
He’d bumped into Brad at their 10th high school reunion. They chatted for a few minutes.
As it turned out, public school was the high point in Brad’s life. He lived for sports. The camaraderie.
But he didn’t have the talent to play college football–much less pro football. So when he graduated from high school, the bottom fell out of his social life. He wound up in a series of dead-end jobs.
Keri was there, too. But she was always chatting with someone else, so he didn’t get to talk to her.
And that’s the last time he saw either one. He didn’t make it to his 20th or 30th reunions. It didn’t mean that much to him at the time.
But a few years ago he began to attend church. Began to pray. Began to reflect on life. The passing years. And the remaining years.
Prayer is a paradox. A confession of man’s impotence and God’s omnipotence. We place our impotence in the hands of God’s omnipotence.
-ii-
So Anton decided to pray for Brad and Keri. He added them to his daily prayer itinerary, along with his three kids–and the ex.
He couldn’t pray for all his classmates. There were too many. And, frankly, he didn’t know what to say. He barely knew most of them. It would be like praying over names in the phone book.
But just because he couldn’t pray for all of them didn’t mean he shouldn’t pray for some of them. So he’d pray for a little remnant.
In one sense, they were interchangeable with millions of other men and women his age. It was an accident of history that he attended school with this set of kids rather than some other set of kids.
And yet, in the providence of God, those were the folks God put him with. So, in a sense, they were his spiritual charges. His little parish. If he didn’t pray for them, who would?
Although he had lost track of them, God had not. Through prayer, he could be a secret friend or anonymous benefactor. In prayer he could be there for them even when he wasn’t with them. Intercede for them. Work behind-the-scenes.
Of course, it was ultimately up to God.
-iii-
Five years later, Anton died in a traffic accident. One of the features of life in heaven is that you got to serve on welcoming committees or greeting parties for new arrivals.
When a Christian died, there was usually someone who had preceded him to heaven, someone he knew in this life. A friendly face. A familiar face. A thread connecting two worlds.
When Keri died, the first person she saw on the other side was Aton. And when Brad died, the first person he saw on the other side was Anton.
They were young again. Like high school. Only this time, things were inexpressibly better than before.
Anton was feeling restless. His two sons and only daughter were full-grown. All three were living out of state. His wife was long gone. She ran off with another man. He retired last year, having worked for the same firm for 30 years.
So Aton had time on his hands. Too much free time with too little to do.
Of course, there were endless ways to kill time, but he was at that point in life where he needed something more out of life than mindless diversions.
So he went to the garage and started rifling through old, unpacked boxes. Have you ever noticed that you seem to lose something else every time you move? You were sure you packed them for the move, but somehow, between one move and another, they mysteriously disappear.
But at the bottom of the sixth box he opened, there they were–his old yearbooks from junior high and high school. He took them back to the living room, got a beer, and began to thumb through them.
Dimly-remembered names and half-forgotten faces began to reassemble. It was with mixed feelings that he revisited his past.
Sometimes it reminded him of why he hadn’t made the effort to keep up. Reminded him of classmates he’d rather forget about. Classmates he really didn’t like. Now he remembered why he didn’t remember them.
Come to think of it, isn’t that why he attended that out-of-state college? To get away from it all?
He was also struck by how little he ever knew about them. Had he even exchanged a half dozen words with most of them in all the years they attended school together, five days a week, nine months a year, for six years or longer?
Flipping through the pages, most of them were vaguely familiar names and vaguely faces. Nothing more. What hit him was not the mere passage of time, but the ravages of time.
All those years together, then you graduate, go your separate ways. Even if you keep up with a few old friends for a time, you tend to drift apart as the years wear on.
Mind you, the yearbook didn’t always have that effect on him. There were the girls. Suddenly a name came to him from the back of his head. He skipped a few pages to that part of the alphabet and ran his thumb down the page. Sure enough. There was her name. And moving his finger sideways, there was her picture.
He always had a soft-spot for Keri. Sweet, pious, gentle Keri. Why did he never get around to dating her?
At the time his head was full of movie stars. A natural, adolescent infatuation. But none of them attended his high school.
Yet looking back through time as he stared at her photo, he was sorry that he missed an opportunity. At this point in life, nothing seemed more appealing to him than to be married to a high school sweetheart.
Maybe that’s why his wife left him. She sensed a change. A growing discontent.
Aton married her in college. At first they really hit it off. Had a happy marriage. But as the years piled up they grew apart–emotionally, and imperceptibly at first. It’s not something you notice right about because it reflects the absence of something rather than the presence of something. Tedium. Emptiness. An air of intangible regret. Intangible longing.
But at the time, Aton wasn’t what you’d call pious. He didn’t connect with Keri at that level.
Whatever became of Keri? What was she doing now? At this very moment? While he was sitting on the couch, thumbing through his yearbooks, what was she doing–he wondered. Was she still that kind, prayerful girl he knew from school? Or was that just a phase? Youthful naïveté?
Maybe they switched roles. Maybe she became what he used to be, while he became what she used to be.
Flipping through some more pages, he ran across Brad. He remembered Brad because Brad used to hang out with Keri.
Brad was on the football team. Come to think of it, Brad was on three different teams.
He’d bumped into Brad at their 10th high school reunion. They chatted for a few minutes.
As it turned out, public school was the high point in Brad’s life. He lived for sports. The camaraderie.
But he didn’t have the talent to play college football–much less pro football. So when he graduated from high school, the bottom fell out of his social life. He wound up in a series of dead-end jobs.
Keri was there, too. But she was always chatting with someone else, so he didn’t get to talk to her.
And that’s the last time he saw either one. He didn’t make it to his 20th or 30th reunions. It didn’t mean that much to him at the time.
But a few years ago he began to attend church. Began to pray. Began to reflect on life. The passing years. And the remaining years.
Prayer is a paradox. A confession of man’s impotence and God’s omnipotence. We place our impotence in the hands of God’s omnipotence.
-ii-
So Anton decided to pray for Brad and Keri. He added them to his daily prayer itinerary, along with his three kids–and the ex.
He couldn’t pray for all his classmates. There were too many. And, frankly, he didn’t know what to say. He barely knew most of them. It would be like praying over names in the phone book.
But just because he couldn’t pray for all of them didn’t mean he shouldn’t pray for some of them. So he’d pray for a little remnant.
In one sense, they were interchangeable with millions of other men and women his age. It was an accident of history that he attended school with this set of kids rather than some other set of kids.
And yet, in the providence of God, those were the folks God put him with. So, in a sense, they were his spiritual charges. His little parish. If he didn’t pray for them, who would?
Although he had lost track of them, God had not. Through prayer, he could be a secret friend or anonymous benefactor. In prayer he could be there for them even when he wasn’t with them. Intercede for them. Work behind-the-scenes.
Of course, it was ultimately up to God.
-iii-
Five years later, Anton died in a traffic accident. One of the features of life in heaven is that you got to serve on welcoming committees or greeting parties for new arrivals.
When a Christian died, there was usually someone who had preceded him to heaven, someone he knew in this life. A friendly face. A familiar face. A thread connecting two worlds.
When Keri died, the first person she saw on the other side was Aton. And when Brad died, the first person he saw on the other side was Anton.
They were young again. Like high school. Only this time, things were inexpressibly better than before.
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