In process - used to look like the background left
Sunday, May 30, 2010
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Unit
Written for my son's challenge, topic: Five really geeky young guys and a gorgeous, dressed-up girl walked in the door together.
Five really geeky young guys and a gorgeous, dressed-up girl walked in the door together. My initial thought was that they were following her, not quite drooling, imaginations ravishing her, but then I saw she was leading them. She knew they were there. They belonged there. Invisible attachments dragged them along with her. If she had suddenly started running, they would have been jerked forward to keep pace.
She walked up to the front desk and started talking to the attendant. The five boys milled around, looking the place over, touching and investigating every part of the area. The boy wearing thick-lensed glasses practically had his nose down to the desk and then the carpet. He peered at the papers she was holding and at the computer on the attendant’s desk. Another was running his hands over the desk, touching the side of the computer. The one with curly, blondish hair stood right next to her, constantly whispering in her ear. The one with the very dark hair had his nose down to the desk, too, looking very much like he was smelling it. The fifth one was nonchalantly leaning on the desk, chewing on a pen he had picked up.
The attendant was speaking into his headphone, and then he smiled at her. I couldn’t hear what he said, but it was probably something like “He’ll be down shortly. You may have a seat over there.” He pointed at the designer group of love seat and two chairs. She moved in that direction, the boys swirling around her chaotically. She sat down, but they continued their intense investigation of their surroundings.
I was standing on the patio just outside the opposite door, taking a smoke break. I was staring, but they were such an unusual group of people, I was fascinated. She was so composed, the essence of the young urban professional, whereas her young companions seemed to have thrown on the first clothes they had come across that morning, giving no thought to their appearance. I wondered why on earth she had brought them along for a business meeting. They must have some great value to her, but I had no idea what that could be.
Just as I finished my cigarette, the elevator door opened, and a man walked across to meet her. They shook hands, nodding and chatting. He ignored the young men, who were still milling around the area. As I opened the patio doors into the lobby, she joined the man from upstairs, and the whole strange group moved toward the elevators. The blonde guy was still trying to whisper in her ear, but she and the man she had come to see ignored him.
As I approached the bank of elevators from one end, one of them apparently opened, because the small group of waiting people began to disappear from my view, stepping through an elevator door. She and the man from upstairs reached the elevator and walked on in. I quickened my step in order to reach the elevator door before it closed. The five young men entered in their own strange ways, some seeming to stumble forward, others almost running. The last one, still chewing on the pen he had picked up from the receptionist’s desk, actually jumped in, as if he thought a more normal entry might cause him to be left behind.
I reached the opening and stuck my hand in ahead of me to keep the doors from closing. There wouldn’t be a lot of room with all those people, but I thought I could squeeze in. I stepped across the metal threshold and the door closed. I was surprised to see there was plenty of room. Maybe there hadn’t been as many people waiting as I thought. Then I realized the five companions were not there. I looked around quickly, half expecting from their previous behavior to see them hanging from the ceiling or crawling around on the floor. They were nowhere to be found.
I looked immediately at the young woman. The expression on my face must have been peculiar, because I wanted very badly to say, “Where did they go?” but I was suddenly sure that everyone else in the elevator would think I was nuts. I realized that during the entire time the group had been in the building, nobody had acknowledged the presence of the five boys. The receptionist, the man from upstairs, even the woman herself had not once looked at them or spoken to them, in spite of their very noticeable behavior.
She smiled at me and calmly winked. Just then the elevator door opened and she and the man she had come to meet stepped out. It wasn’t my floor, but it only took me a moment to realize that I couldn’t live with the idea of going on back to my desk and not knowing any more about her and those five young guys.
I stepped out of the elevator, and as I did, I felt a slight breeze, as if someone was passing me. I glanced to my left, but saw no one. I turned back to see where the girl was going, and then I saw them. All five of them were again following after her, just as they had done before, ranging out to one side or ahead to investigate a chair or a painting on the wall, then returning to her side. The group stopped about ten feet ahead of me, in front of an older woman’s desk. The man was talking to her; perhaps she was his secretary and he was giving instructions not to be interrupted during his meeting with the girl.
My astonishment was great enough to stop me in my tracks. I muttered under my breath, “Who are they?” The girl looked back at me. The curly haired, blond one was whispering in her ear, but then he stopped and looked at me, too. The other boys stopped their investigations of the older woman’s desk and all five of them moved in my direction.
The next thing I knew, the boy with the thick glasses was peering at my clothes and my hair, the feely-touchy one was running his hands over my shirt, the pen chewer had taken my pen out of my shirt pocket and started chewing on it, and the one with black hair was smelling me. I could hear him sniffing!
The curly haired, blond one whispered in my ear. “Most people don’t see us. We are her sensors. She is cybernetic. You see us because you are too much with computers. You need more people input.”
The man and the girl were going into an office. The man followed her in and then turned to shut the door behind him. The sensors were running back to her, frantic to get to her before the door closed. Taster was last and had to launch himself in a flying leap to get through the narrowing opening, because he had taken the time to put my pen back in my shirt pocket.
As I sat down in front of my computer a few minutes later, I was smiling. Being a computer person has always been an adventure for me.
Five really geeky young guys and a gorgeous, dressed-up girl walked in the door together. My initial thought was that they were following her, not quite drooling, imaginations ravishing her, but then I saw she was leading them. She knew they were there. They belonged there. Invisible attachments dragged them along with her. If she had suddenly started running, they would have been jerked forward to keep pace.
She walked up to the front desk and started talking to the attendant. The five boys milled around, looking the place over, touching and investigating every part of the area. The boy wearing thick-lensed glasses practically had his nose down to the desk and then the carpet. He peered at the papers she was holding and at the computer on the attendant’s desk. Another was running his hands over the desk, touching the side of the computer. The one with curly, blondish hair stood right next to her, constantly whispering in her ear. The one with the very dark hair had his nose down to the desk, too, looking very much like he was smelling it. The fifth one was nonchalantly leaning on the desk, chewing on a pen he had picked up.
The attendant was speaking into his headphone, and then he smiled at her. I couldn’t hear what he said, but it was probably something like “He’ll be down shortly. You may have a seat over there.” He pointed at the designer group of love seat and two chairs. She moved in that direction, the boys swirling around her chaotically. She sat down, but they continued their intense investigation of their surroundings.
I was standing on the patio just outside the opposite door, taking a smoke break. I was staring, but they were such an unusual group of people, I was fascinated. She was so composed, the essence of the young urban professional, whereas her young companions seemed to have thrown on the first clothes they had come across that morning, giving no thought to their appearance. I wondered why on earth she had brought them along for a business meeting. They must have some great value to her, but I had no idea what that could be.
Just as I finished my cigarette, the elevator door opened, and a man walked across to meet her. They shook hands, nodding and chatting. He ignored the young men, who were still milling around the area. As I opened the patio doors into the lobby, she joined the man from upstairs, and the whole strange group moved toward the elevators. The blonde guy was still trying to whisper in her ear, but she and the man she had come to see ignored him.
As I approached the bank of elevators from one end, one of them apparently opened, because the small group of waiting people began to disappear from my view, stepping through an elevator door. She and the man from upstairs reached the elevator and walked on in. I quickened my step in order to reach the elevator door before it closed. The five young men entered in their own strange ways, some seeming to stumble forward, others almost running. The last one, still chewing on the pen he had picked up from the receptionist’s desk, actually jumped in, as if he thought a more normal entry might cause him to be left behind.
I reached the opening and stuck my hand in ahead of me to keep the doors from closing. There wouldn’t be a lot of room with all those people, but I thought I could squeeze in. I stepped across the metal threshold and the door closed. I was surprised to see there was plenty of room. Maybe there hadn’t been as many people waiting as I thought. Then I realized the five companions were not there. I looked around quickly, half expecting from their previous behavior to see them hanging from the ceiling or crawling around on the floor. They were nowhere to be found.
I looked immediately at the young woman. The expression on my face must have been peculiar, because I wanted very badly to say, “Where did they go?” but I was suddenly sure that everyone else in the elevator would think I was nuts. I realized that during the entire time the group had been in the building, nobody had acknowledged the presence of the five boys. The receptionist, the man from upstairs, even the woman herself had not once looked at them or spoken to them, in spite of their very noticeable behavior.
She smiled at me and calmly winked. Just then the elevator door opened and she and the man she had come to meet stepped out. It wasn’t my floor, but it only took me a moment to realize that I couldn’t live with the idea of going on back to my desk and not knowing any more about her and those five young guys.
I stepped out of the elevator, and as I did, I felt a slight breeze, as if someone was passing me. I glanced to my left, but saw no one. I turned back to see where the girl was going, and then I saw them. All five of them were again following after her, just as they had done before, ranging out to one side or ahead to investigate a chair or a painting on the wall, then returning to her side. The group stopped about ten feet ahead of me, in front of an older woman’s desk. The man was talking to her; perhaps she was his secretary and he was giving instructions not to be interrupted during his meeting with the girl.
My astonishment was great enough to stop me in my tracks. I muttered under my breath, “Who are they?” The girl looked back at me. The curly haired, blond one was whispering in her ear, but then he stopped and looked at me, too. The other boys stopped their investigations of the older woman’s desk and all five of them moved in my direction.
The next thing I knew, the boy with the thick glasses was peering at my clothes and my hair, the feely-touchy one was running his hands over my shirt, the pen chewer had taken my pen out of my shirt pocket and started chewing on it, and the one with black hair was smelling me. I could hear him sniffing!
The curly haired, blond one whispered in my ear. “Most people don’t see us. We are her sensors. She is cybernetic. You see us because you are too much with computers. You need more people input.”
The man and the girl were going into an office. The man followed her in and then turned to shut the door behind him. The sensors were running back to her, frantic to get to her before the door closed. Taster was last and had to launch himself in a flying leap to get through the narrowing opening, because he had taken the time to put my pen back in my shirt pocket.
As I sat down in front of my computer a few minutes later, I was smiling. Being a computer person has always been an adventure for me.
The Tomato Can
The can of tomatoes had been there for three days. Last Friday, the stock boy had unpacked the case of cans and arranged them neatly on the shelf. Shoppers had taken some of them. One can in the top row was a bit shinier than its neighbors, as if eager to be taken. Its red and green label was a little brighter and straighter. It stood there silently. Waiting.
A short, bald man came down the aisle, looking at a small piece of paper and muttering to himself.
"Large can of tomatoes. Mmm....here." He took the can next to the shiny one and pushed his cart on down the aisle.
A young woman came a few minutes later. She chose the shiny can and put it in the cart between a loaf of bread and a can of creamed corn. It lay there, jiggling a little against the bread when the cart was in motion.
Jan Elliot set the bag of groceries down on the kitchen table and began putting them away. The can of tomatoes she left on the table along with a can of beans and a package of ground beef. She got out an onion and started peeling it, thinking about today's argument at the office.
Stan and Ralph argued constantly with each other about almost everything. She never had understood how they could be partners. Unfortunately, this time the argument was over her computer printer. Stan wanted to get a new one, and Ralph wanted to fix the old one. If things went the same way as they usually did, the disagreement would prevent a decision until she got so far behind in her work that customers would start complaining, and then both Stan and Ralph would blame her. She added the ground beef to the onions browning in the pan. For the hundredth time, she told herself she really ought to look around for another job.
She opened the can of tomatoes, dumped them into the blender, and set the can down on the sink. After whirling the tomatoes for a few seconds, she poured the resulting liquid into the pan and was looking in the spice cabinet for the chili powder when a car drove into the driveway. Bob was home.
"Hi, honey. Got out a few minutes early today. Hey, it smells good." He sniffed questioningly. "What's it gonna be?"
"Chili."
"Good. Guess I'll go change." He went into the bedroom.
Jan finished adding the spices, beans, and a little sugar to the pot of chili, stirred it thoroughly, and turned the fire down to simmer. She picked up the wrapper from the ground beef and turned to the sink for the tomato can. She frowned at the empty sink counter.
"I could have sworn I put that can there, but I guess I must have thrown it in the trash already." She shrugged and got two cans of beer out of the refrigerator. She and Bob could sit out on the back porch and talk while the chili was cooking.
That evening after washing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen, Jan sat down with a book. Bob was watching a TV program that didn't interest her. An hour later she put down the book and rubbed her eyes.
"I must be tired, Bob. I think I'll go to bed. I keep seeing a spot in front of my eyes, and I can't read."
Bob nodded, engrossed in the TV, and she left the living room.
Jan woke up the next morning before the alarm went off. She lay in bed, warm and drowsy, trying half heartedly to keep her eyes open.
That's funny," she thought. "There's a big mark on the wall. I don't remember seeing it last night." She frowned at it, wondering what it was. It was rectangular in shape, but she couldn't see it very well in the dim light.
She glanced at the clock beside the bed. With a shock she saw a dark rectangle nearly covering the face of the clock. She stared at it for a moment, and then turned to wake Bob. There was another rectangle on his pillow! Her eyes moved to Bob's face, and the rectangle moved with them.
"Oh! The rectangle is in my eyes, not on the pillow!" With a rush of fear, she remembered the spot in front of her eyes last night.
"Bob, wake up! Bob!"
"Hmm?" He rolled over sleepily.
"There's something wrong with my eyes! I kept seeing a spot last night when I was reading, and now it's bigger."
Bob sat up with a groan and snapped on the light by the bed. "A what? You're seeing spots? Do you have a headache or anything?"
"No, nothing. Just this big...." She stopped and looked confused. "Now that the light's on, I can see it better. It's red and green, and it's shaped like a rectangle. It looks like...well.... This is really crazy, but it looks just like a miniature can of tomatoes."
Bob groaned and flopped back on his pillow. "You really had me going there for a minute."
"No, really, I'm not kidding. It's there, and it looks just like a can of tomatoes. I don't know how to convince you when I'm having trouble believing it myself, but I see it. It's just like the one I used last night for the chili. It should be in the trash." Jan got out of bed and went into the kitchen. She was back in a few minutes.
"Bob, come and help me look for it. I can't find it, with this thing in front of my eyes."
"Well, OK, but if I ever hear one word about how you got me up first thing in the morning to look through the trash by telling me a completely ridiculous story you invented......." He stopped when he saw the expression on her face and got out of bed.
Bob had taken every single item of trash out of the bag in the kitchen and put it in a new bag. There was no tomato can. He looked all over the kitchen, under all the furniture, even in the refrigerator and in the cabinets. If it hadn't been for the look on his wife's face, he would have felt like a complete fool.
"It's not here, Honey."
Jan sat quietly at the kitchen table. She stared at the tabletop, at the rectangular shape which appeared to be sitting on it or embedded in it. "It's getting bigger. And it's rotating."
Bob didn't know what to say. This was getting too far from normal. He needed some help. "Let's go see a doctor. Maybe an eye doctor. There will be eye specialists at the hospital. Let's go there."
He urged Jan back to the bedroom, and they got dressed. On the way to the hospital, he drove into a fast food place and got them some breakfast to eat in the car. Jan ate quietly, with a preoccupied look on her face.
When they reached the hospital, the parking lot was quite full, but Bob found a place at the end near the street. He got out of the car and went around to Jan's side to help her out. She grabbed his arm and hung on as he shut her door.
"I can't see," she whispered. "The thing is so big now, I can't see around it. It's like it's right in front of my eyes, and I can read the list of ingredients and everything."
"Hang on to me, Honey. We'll get you into the hospital, and the doctors will know what to do." They began walking down the sidewalk toward the hospital entrance.
A large truck barreled down the street toward them, much faster than the speed limit. It swerved suddenly to avoid a dog and careened toward them with its tires screeching sideways as it swung around. The rear end of the truck hit a telephone pole with such force that the truck split open and its cargo flew out in all directions.
Bob grabbed Jan and pulled her away from the street. He felt her stumble and they fell to the ground. As the noise from the truck and the flying cargo subsided, Bob sat up and looked around. There were cardboard boxes and cans lying everywhere.
He leaned toward Jan to help her up. She was limp and face downward. He stared with growing horror at a can of tomatoes lying next to her head and a trickle of blood moving slowly from under her hidden face. He didn't hear the people shouting and running, coming from the hospital. A doctor reached his side and bent down to examine Jan. Bob didn't really hear the doctor give orders to the other people who had come to help, but he numbly followed them as they moved Jan onto a gurney and into the hospital.
It seemed hours before the doctor came to him in the hospital waiting room and told him Jan was dead, killed instantly by the heavy tomato can which had hit her between the eyes.
* * * * * * *
The shoppers moved up and down the aisles of the grocery store, selecting according to their lists or desires. The can of tomatoes stood in the stack with its fellows, but just a little shinier and brighter, as if eager to be taken. It stood there silently. Waiting.
A short, bald man came down the aisle, looking at a small piece of paper and muttering to himself.
"Large can of tomatoes. Mmm....here." He took the can next to the shiny one and pushed his cart on down the aisle.
A young woman came a few minutes later. She chose the shiny can and put it in the cart between a loaf of bread and a can of creamed corn. It lay there, jiggling a little against the bread when the cart was in motion.
Jan Elliot set the bag of groceries down on the kitchen table and began putting them away. The can of tomatoes she left on the table along with a can of beans and a package of ground beef. She got out an onion and started peeling it, thinking about today's argument at the office.
Stan and Ralph argued constantly with each other about almost everything. She never had understood how they could be partners. Unfortunately, this time the argument was over her computer printer. Stan wanted to get a new one, and Ralph wanted to fix the old one. If things went the same way as they usually did, the disagreement would prevent a decision until she got so far behind in her work that customers would start complaining, and then both Stan and Ralph would blame her. She added the ground beef to the onions browning in the pan. For the hundredth time, she told herself she really ought to look around for another job.
She opened the can of tomatoes, dumped them into the blender, and set the can down on the sink. After whirling the tomatoes for a few seconds, she poured the resulting liquid into the pan and was looking in the spice cabinet for the chili powder when a car drove into the driveway. Bob was home.
"Hi, honey. Got out a few minutes early today. Hey, it smells good." He sniffed questioningly. "What's it gonna be?"
"Chili."
"Good. Guess I'll go change." He went into the bedroom.
Jan finished adding the spices, beans, and a little sugar to the pot of chili, stirred it thoroughly, and turned the fire down to simmer. She picked up the wrapper from the ground beef and turned to the sink for the tomato can. She frowned at the empty sink counter.
"I could have sworn I put that can there, but I guess I must have thrown it in the trash already." She shrugged and got two cans of beer out of the refrigerator. She and Bob could sit out on the back porch and talk while the chili was cooking.
That evening after washing the dishes and cleaning up the kitchen, Jan sat down with a book. Bob was watching a TV program that didn't interest her. An hour later she put down the book and rubbed her eyes.
"I must be tired, Bob. I think I'll go to bed. I keep seeing a spot in front of my eyes, and I can't read."
Bob nodded, engrossed in the TV, and she left the living room.
Jan woke up the next morning before the alarm went off. She lay in bed, warm and drowsy, trying half heartedly to keep her eyes open.
That's funny," she thought. "There's a big mark on the wall. I don't remember seeing it last night." She frowned at it, wondering what it was. It was rectangular in shape, but she couldn't see it very well in the dim light.
She glanced at the clock beside the bed. With a shock she saw a dark rectangle nearly covering the face of the clock. She stared at it for a moment, and then turned to wake Bob. There was another rectangle on his pillow! Her eyes moved to Bob's face, and the rectangle moved with them.
"Oh! The rectangle is in my eyes, not on the pillow!" With a rush of fear, she remembered the spot in front of her eyes last night.
"Bob, wake up! Bob!"
"Hmm?" He rolled over sleepily.
"There's something wrong with my eyes! I kept seeing a spot last night when I was reading, and now it's bigger."
Bob sat up with a groan and snapped on the light by the bed. "A what? You're seeing spots? Do you have a headache or anything?"
"No, nothing. Just this big...." She stopped and looked confused. "Now that the light's on, I can see it better. It's red and green, and it's shaped like a rectangle. It looks like...well.... This is really crazy, but it looks just like a miniature can of tomatoes."
Bob groaned and flopped back on his pillow. "You really had me going there for a minute."
"No, really, I'm not kidding. It's there, and it looks just like a can of tomatoes. I don't know how to convince you when I'm having trouble believing it myself, but I see it. It's just like the one I used last night for the chili. It should be in the trash." Jan got out of bed and went into the kitchen. She was back in a few minutes.
"Bob, come and help me look for it. I can't find it, with this thing in front of my eyes."
"Well, OK, but if I ever hear one word about how you got me up first thing in the morning to look through the trash by telling me a completely ridiculous story you invented......." He stopped when he saw the expression on her face and got out of bed.
Bob had taken every single item of trash out of the bag in the kitchen and put it in a new bag. There was no tomato can. He looked all over the kitchen, under all the furniture, even in the refrigerator and in the cabinets. If it hadn't been for the look on his wife's face, he would have felt like a complete fool.
"It's not here, Honey."
Jan sat quietly at the kitchen table. She stared at the tabletop, at the rectangular shape which appeared to be sitting on it or embedded in it. "It's getting bigger. And it's rotating."
Bob didn't know what to say. This was getting too far from normal. He needed some help. "Let's go see a doctor. Maybe an eye doctor. There will be eye specialists at the hospital. Let's go there."
He urged Jan back to the bedroom, and they got dressed. On the way to the hospital, he drove into a fast food place and got them some breakfast to eat in the car. Jan ate quietly, with a preoccupied look on her face.
When they reached the hospital, the parking lot was quite full, but Bob found a place at the end near the street. He got out of the car and went around to Jan's side to help her out. She grabbed his arm and hung on as he shut her door.
"I can't see," she whispered. "The thing is so big now, I can't see around it. It's like it's right in front of my eyes, and I can read the list of ingredients and everything."
"Hang on to me, Honey. We'll get you into the hospital, and the doctors will know what to do." They began walking down the sidewalk toward the hospital entrance.
A large truck barreled down the street toward them, much faster than the speed limit. It swerved suddenly to avoid a dog and careened toward them with its tires screeching sideways as it swung around. The rear end of the truck hit a telephone pole with such force that the truck split open and its cargo flew out in all directions.
Bob grabbed Jan and pulled her away from the street. He felt her stumble and they fell to the ground. As the noise from the truck and the flying cargo subsided, Bob sat up and looked around. There were cardboard boxes and cans lying everywhere.
He leaned toward Jan to help her up. She was limp and face downward. He stared with growing horror at a can of tomatoes lying next to her head and a trickle of blood moving slowly from under her hidden face. He didn't hear the people shouting and running, coming from the hospital. A doctor reached his side and bent down to examine Jan. Bob didn't really hear the doctor give orders to the other people who had come to help, but he numbly followed them as they moved Jan onto a gurney and into the hospital.
It seemed hours before the doctor came to him in the hospital waiting room and told him Jan was dead, killed instantly by the heavy tomato can which had hit her between the eyes.
* * * * * * *
The shoppers moved up and down the aisles of the grocery store, selecting according to their lists or desires. The can of tomatoes stood in the stack with its fellows, but just a little shinier and brighter, as if eager to be taken. It stood there silently. Waiting.
Thanksgiving 2039
Written for The Friday Challenge 11/20/09, The Second Annual Thanksgiving Challenge
Josh looked critically at his face in the mirror, trying to decide if the gray hair made him look distinguished or just old. The urge to go natural had come over him suddenly yesterday, and he had come home with the appropriate shampoo to remove the color he had applied for years. If he didn't like it this way, he could always go back. Hair color was very easy these days. For a brief moment he wished flying cars were that easy, but then he quickly canceled that wish. After all, his livelihood depended on the fact that flying cars were not at all easy.
“Okay, my vote is for gray,” he said to himself. “Let's see what Kate has to say about it.”
He walked out to the kitchen, where his wife was putting breakfast on the table, and posed with a flourish. Her reaction was unexpected. She was a woman of instant likes and dislikes, rarely undecided about anything, but as he watched her face, several emotions came and went, delaying her response of, “I like it! It makes you look even more handsome.” Could he possibly have seen fear in her eyes?
“What is it? Your face looked kind of strange.”
She looked confused. “I don't know. For a minute you looked familiar.”
All he had to do was raise one eyebrow, foregoing the obvious comment.
“No, silly, I know you should look familiar, after I've been married to you for 28 years. I mean you looked like someone else, but I don't know who.” Now she looked a little bit lost. “It made me feel … odd.”
He moved quickly to gather her in his arms, knowing he was right about her being afraid. He held her for a minute, then moved on to lighten things up. “So, I look like a vid star? I guess I'll keep it this way for a while, then.”
Kate laughed. “If a bunch of crazy fans start following you around, you'll have to go back to ordinary dark brown.”
They sat down to eat, discussing the day's schedule. Thanksgiving dinner was to be at Kate's parents' house this year. The kids had insisted on going over there early to help their grandmother, leaving Josh and Kate to enjoy the morning by themselves. It wasn't until Josh was sipping his coffee that he realized he might have picked the wrong day to change to gray hair.
“I wonder what your father will say about my hair. You know, he's been looking at me funny lately, and this will probably make him look at me really funny.”
“What? He has not!”
“Yeah, he's been watching me. I've caught him at it a lot lately. It's like he thinks I'm going to explode or something.”
“Oh, he thinks all men go crazy at the age of 50 these days, so he's probably waiting for you to go off the deep end and divorce me for one of those teenie fans of yours.”
“How can I? I don't have any fans yet.”
“Yeah, and you better not get any, either!” She punched his arm lightly.
“I think that's what I'm going to be grateful for today. I don't have any beautiful, crazy, teenie fans to steal me away from you.” He was referring to their Thanksgiving tradition of going around the table and each person saying one thing they were grateful for.
“You say that, and my dad really will be looking at you funny!”
Josh looked at his wife smiling at him and was overwhelmed with how much he loved her. Every year he said the same thing, that he was grateful for Kate, and it was true. She was the best thing in his life.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
It was a perfect day for Thanksgiving at the Clancy's old farmhouse. The sun was shining through the bare branches and the cool air, lighting up the trim on the wide porch. Josh noticed it needed paint and filed that away for future reference. Kayci, their youngest daughter, who was in her first year at Armon College, came running to meet them.
“Hey, dad! Love the hair! Come on, we've got hot cider!”
There was a flurry of getting packages and dishes from the car, and then they were entering the house. Kayci was first in, and she enthusiastically demanded that everyone notice her father's new hair color and how nice it looked, so everyone had a comment as they shook hands or exchanged hugs. Josh started a running poll in his head, tabulating the results. So far, gray was ahead of dark brown.
He came to Kate's father, who thrust out his hand with his usual cordial smile, but then looked at the gray hair and froze. As Josh took his hand, he was astonished to see he was shocked.
“Are you alright, Fred?”
Fred was motionless for several seconds, but finally nodded, his eyes still on the gray hair. Josh moved on past him, so Kate could greet her father. At that moment, Kate's mother came in from the kitchen carrying a plate of appetizers. As her eyes lifted to Josh's face, she stopped dead in her tracks, and the plate slipped out of her hands and crashed to the floor, breaking in pieces.
All conversation stopped for a moment, then people moved in to help clean up the small mess and tend to Kate's mother. Fred came to his wife and held her, comforting her, and they left the room.
“What happened?” Kate asked at the same time Josh said, “That was weird!”
Everyone was asking questions, but nobody had any answers. Eventually dinner was ready, Kate's parents reappeared, and everyone took their places at the table. Josh kept an unobtrusive watch on his parents-in-law. From what he could tell, his father-in-law didn't look at him at all, and his mother-in-law tried not to, but occasionally her eyes would flick over in his direction and then quickly away.
During the meal, the traditional declarations of gratitude began. There was really only one rule, and that was each person had to pick one thing. No “I'm grateful for so many things.” There was often a great deal of discussion about the one thing each person picked. And often, the one thing was preceded by a big buildup. So, the whole process took a long time, usually lasting through the meal, and sometimes afterward.
Usually someone voluntarily started them off, and for several years, that someone had been Josh. He always dutifully thought about all the things he could pick, because he knew they would accuse him of not thinking about it and just saying the same thing he always said. But in his mind, his gratitude for Kate was so much more than his gratitude for anyone or anything else, there was no way he could pick something else. This year there were several couples present that had not been married long, and he had begun to worry that they might feel they had to copy him, so he put that in his buildup, and it was right to do so, because the discussion following his declaration was longer and more lively than ever.
Finally they accepted his statement and moved on around the table. When it was Kate's mother's turn, she looked down at the table for a long time, said simply, “I am grateful for Josh,” and burst into tears.
Her husband put his arm around her and nodded. “Yes, I too am grateful for Josh. He has loved and protected my daughter Kate for a very long time.”
Some of the younger boys and men cheered and whistled, which helped the mother's tears turn into smiles. But nobody asked why they chose Josh. Attention turned to the next person.
After dinner, the women cleaned up, the younger ones played football or baseball, and the older men talked and played half-hearted poker. Years ago, they smoked, but there were no smokers left anymore. Every few years, Fred was begged for the story of How Kate Was Saved From The Truck When She Was Only Four. This was always followed by an ongoing debate over what had really happened and who the man was who had saved her. Certain sides of the family insisted he was an angel, while others thought Fred's memory was faulty.
This year, Fred didn't wait to be begged.
“I want to tell the story about Kate and the truck and the man who saved her. It's time to tell it again, and we all need to remember it and remember him.”
“It started when he came down the road, looking for work. He said his name was John Smith, and he had been in a bad accident, and he didn't have any family or any money. He wondered if I needed any work done, and I said I'd appreciate it if he could help me with painting the house. We worked out a deal where he would sleep in the barn and eat meals with us, and I would pay him a hundred dollars when the painting was done. It didn't seem like very much money to me, but he said he was glad for the work.
“You could tell he had been in an accident. He had a new scar over his temple, a big ugly one, and he walked slowly the first few days. He was around 50 and had gray hair, and he looked a lot like Josh, especially now that Josh has gray hair. I think you gave Jen a shock today with that gray hair.
“He worked for us for a couple of weeks, and he got to be part of the family. He was always fixing things for Jen, and making toys for the kids, and he worshiped Kate. She had him wrapped around her little finger. Anything she asked for, he would do. The painting was just about done, and I was looking around for something else he could do, when that day came, July 24th.
“It was after lunch, about one o'clock, when Kate came running out the back door and down toward the highway. I think she was trying to escape from taking a nap, because I heard Jen calling her inside the house. I was up on a ladder, looking at the trim over the porch, but John was standing on the ground at the foot of the ladder.
“He took off running toward the highway, and I didn't know why, because he started running before Kate came into view. He caught up to her in the middle of the highway, and he snatched her right up and threw her to the other side of the highway. The truck hit him then, before he had a chance to get out of its way. It was a big truck, going fast, and when it finally got stopped, he was dead.
“Kate was fine, bruised and scared, but okay. The police came, and an ambulance, and they took him away to the hospital, but he was dead.
“I saw the whole thing from that ladder, and I still don't know how he knew to start running or how he knew to throw her across the road out of the way of the truck. He didn't look at the truck. He looked only at Kate. And he saved her life. On July 24th. Remember that.”
Fred stared straight at Josh. “July 24th.”
- - - - - - - - - -
Josh studied the data from the last test flight. It shouldn't be this bad. There was something wrong, and he didn't know what. There had to be some clue to solve this problem. He had questioned the test driver thoroughly, and the man seemed competent, but there had to be some little vibration or sludginess of controls, or something to give him a hint. It seemed like he was monitoring every detail, but he must be missing something.
Reluctantly, he decided he would have to test drive the car himself. He was reluctant only because he knew he was not a professional test driver, but he did have the advantage of knowing the car inside and out as an engineer. He frowned, knowing he would be so distracted by the actual driving and trying not to crash, that he wouldn't be able to feel tiny vibrations or sludginess of controls, even if they were there. Alright, a compromise. He would be a passenger. The test driver could worry about controlling the car, and he would be free to look for his clue.
He set about planning the passenger seat. It should be less protective than the driver's seat, so he could feel vibrations, and he needed to see everything the driver was doing, so he could tell if the car was responding correctly. The driver's seat in a test flying car was highly protective and designed to keep the driver from all injury during a crash, because test flying cars were expected to crash. In order to prevent the driver's body from hitting any surface hard, he was padded and restricted to the point of not being able to move. The seat itself was not directly attached to the car body, but designed to use air and gel cushioning to slow any sudden change in velocity. He would need to raise the threshold for the passenger seat to not go into cushioning mode until the change in velocity was much higher.
It took him several days to work out the design, but he was quite satisfied with both the safety and the potential for feeling what the car was doing, and before long the two passenger flying car was ready to test.
On the day of the test flight, he double checked all the vid and sound recording equipment, and the attendants strapped him and the driver into their seats. While the driver went through the systems checks, Josh mentally sat back and relaxed, preparing himself for pulling some clue out of chaos. On the dash in front of him, the car's emblem stared back at him. He had named it the Ford Eagle 4H. Everyone thought the 4H was for four hemispheres. It was supposed to be an ultimate expression for global, counting two hemispheres for the outer world and two for the inner world of imagination. But that wasn't the real meaning. His original inspiration for a flying car had come from reading Henry Ford's journal and studying his drawings and schematics. The Eagle 4H was the Eagle For Henry.
At last the car began its run down the concrete strip. Everything was smooth and responsive until they reached flight speed and lifted off. He kept up a constant stream of comments on what he saw, heard, and felt, and he was amazed at the severity of the vibrations. There was a lot wrong! Always before, the trouble began when the driver attempted to turn in flight, and it was the same this time. He could actually hear and see the driver's seat jostling around to compensate for the rough path of the car as it dipped and swerved. He saw the driver begin to fight the controls, and the vibrations became much more violent. The thought occurred to him, and he voiced it for the recorder, that his presence may have exacerbated the situation, causing the vibrations to be worse.
His last observation, faithfully dictated to the recorder, was that the controls might be too responsive and therefore contributing to the problem. Then several things happened at once. The car crashed into the concrete pavement, he felt his seat's cushioning system kick in, and his vision and thoughts abruptly went black.
- - - - - - - - -
Fred and Jen arrived at the hospital as soon as they heard. Kate and the kids were in the waiting room, sitting with heads down or pacing impatiently. Josh was still in the E.R., but the doctor had already come to tell them he had many cuts and bruises, but no broken bones, and he had not yet regained consciousness. They were investigating the possibility of internal bleeding or concussion.
After a long wait, the doctor returned. Josh was still unconscious, and that was a concern. They had found no internal bleeding, but he was convinced there must be a concussion, even though the usual indicators were not present. Except for remaining unconscious. They were going to move him to intensive care and monitor him closely. Visiting would be limited for now, but they expected him to improve over night.
Fred's chance to see Josh eventually came, and he walked into the room quietly. Kate was sitting at the bedside, holding Josh's hand. He saw bandages on Josh's face and head, and some on his arms. One of the bandages was over Josh's temple.
Fred couldn't resist taking a look. He pulled the tape off of one side and looked at the jagged cut on Josh's temple. It was just as he remembered, only newer. It hadn't healed any yet.
“What are you doing?” demanded Kate in a hushed but indignant voice. Fred put the bandage back in place and smoothed the tape down, saying nothing.
Just then the doctor returned to check on Josh. After looking at all the monitors and the chart, he said, “This is an unusual case. There are still no signs of concussion except for his remaining unconscious. And he has very active brain waves, which wouldn't be the case in concussion. It's more like he's asleep and dreaming, and we can't wake him up, although the brain activity is closer to what would be happening if he were awake. Physically, he's asleep or even comatose. But we never see this brain activity in a comatose patient. Maybe he will wake up tomorrow morning as if he just had a longer than usual night of sleep, who knows? We will keep monitoring him and wait for any change.”
- - - - - - - -
Josh opened his eyes blearily and squinted at the bright room. It was a hospital room, and that realization nudged his memory. The crash must have been worse than he thought. Maybe the cushioning system didn't kick in soon enough, or maybe his presence in the test car had made the crash much more damaging. He wondered how the driver had fared.
He sat up and looked himself over. Some cuts and bruises, but otherwise he felt okay. He was about to get out of the bed when a nurse came in. She made a little fuss at him, making him stay in bed until she had taken his vitals and answered her questions about how he felt. No dizziness, no headache, pretty much normal.
Before she had completely finished, the doctor came in and asked all the same questions. Apparently satisfied with the answers, he smiled and said, “I don't see any reason why you can't leave, Mr. Smith. I'll start the paperwork, and you should be out of here in a couple of hours or so.”
Josh's mind was stuck on the idea of paperwork taking two hours or more, so he didn't register the “Mr. Smith” for a minute, and by that time, they had both left the room. At first he wondered if he just didn't hear the name right, but then he looked at the plastic name band wrapped around his wrist. It said John Smith, Protestant. He frowned at the band. This hospital must be a very old and out of date one, because there was no bar-coded patient ID number, and he was sure they had given up putting the patient's religion on ID bands years ago.
Since he wasn't going to get any answers sitting in bed, he walked over toward the closet to get his clothes, and his eyes glanced over the daily calendar on the wall. He stopped when he saw the big 9. It was made like a tablet of paper, to tear off a page each day, and the day of the month was very large, with the month printed in small letters at the top. It said July. Today was July 9th. Which was totally crazy, because his accident had happened in December.
His brain whirred over the many discrepancies while he dressed and went into the bathroom to comb his hair. He looked in the mirror and saw the big cut over his temple. It was starting to heal, but it was still red and ugly. How long had he been here? And where exactly was here?
He remembered his wallet was in his pants and pulled it out. It opened to his driver's license, which had his picture on it, but the name said John Smith. Most of the other information was wrong, too. There was an address he had never heard of, and it said his birthdate was 01-15-34. His brain got stuck again when he noticed the expiration date: 01-15-85. He stared at the little plastic-coated card, wondering if he was losing his mind.
Inexplicably, an image came to him of Fred looking him in the eye and saying “July 24th. Remember that!” He had been talking about July 24th, 1984, the day Kate almost got run over by a truck. The story flooded into his memory. John Smith. About 50. Gray hair. Looked a lot like Josh. Been in a bad accident. Had a new scar over his temple.
Now he was sure he was losing his mind.
- - - - - - - -
Josh was dawdling over his pie. He was watching Kate play in the garden. He loved to watch her. She was so fascinated by everything around her, and if things weren't interesting enough, she imagined them different. Right now she was pretending the tomatoes were talking to her, telling her how ripe they were, and when they could be picked.
“Mom! This one is ready! Can I pick it?” she called.
“Is it red all over?” Jen called in return.
“Yes. It's very red all over.”
“Okay, you can pick it.”
Kate bent to the tomato and very carefully removed it from the plant, holding it to her nose. “Mmm, this is a good one!” She ran over to her mother and held the tomato up.
Jen smiled. “Yes, I see. Thank you for finding it.”
Kate ran into the house to put the tomato on the sink.
Josh smiled to himself as he ate the last bite of pie. He still had trouble believing he was really here, watching the four-year-old Kate learning and playing and just being Kate. He had been here several days, and his soreness was pretty much gone. That was good, because he needed to be able to move when the time came. Kate could run awfully fast.
He had done a lot of thinking, lying out in the barn at night. He'd been scared and grateful. Scared that he would fail to do the job he was here to do, that he wouldn't see her in time, or that he would stumble and not catch her, or that he would chicken out. How horrible that would be! But he had come around to the fact that he had already done it, so he knew he would be able to do it.
Grateful that he had these wonderful fourteen days to watch his beloved wife as a child and love her even more. Most grateful that he would have a chance to give her back her life. He thought about dying, and he wasn't afraid. He had a deep faith, and he knew he would be in a better place. He would miss Kate, of course, but he had enjoyed 28 good years with her, and he knew that was more than most people got. And besides, of all the ways there were to die, this was the best, giving his life to save hers. When that truck hit him, he wanted to be thanking God for letting him do this.
- - - - - - - - -
Fred knew he couldn't put it off any longer. He needed to gather up John's belongings and see if he had any family to notify. He walked into the barn with a determined stride. There wasn't much. John only had one change of clothes with him when he arrived, carrying everything in a shopping bag. In fact, there was the shopping bag, right there next to the pile of straw and blankets John had made into a bed.
He looked into the bag. There was only a Bible printed by the Gideons and an envelope. Fred wondered if John had taken the Bible from his hospital room, but as soon as he saw his own name on the envelope, he forgot everything else and picked it up. It had “Fred” written on it, and also “Personal” and “Urgent,” both underlined twice. Slowly he opened it and pulled out the single sheet of paper.
Dear Fred,
This is probably going to be difficult for you, but I need you to do something for me. I need you to remember for 45 years what I did and tell me about it on Thanksgiving, 2039, so I know what I’m here for, when I get here. That sounds confusing, doesn’t it? I’ll try to explain.
My name isn’t really John Smith. You will meet me in about 15 years, and you will know me as Josh Mitchell. I will marry your daughter Kate. About 45 years from now, I will be in an accident and somehow I will wake up in a hospital here, now, in 1984. I will come to your farm and ask for work, so I will be here to save Kate from the truck. But when I come to in the hospital here, I will need to know what I’m supposed to do, and that is where I need your help.
I want you to start a Thanksgiving tradition of telling the story of the day Kate was almost killed by the truck and the man who saved her. You don’t need to tell it every year, but enough times to keep it fresh in my memory, and most of all you need to tell it on Thanksgiving, 2039. Make sure you emphasize to me that it happened on July 24th, because that will help me put it all together. But don’t tell me it was me that saved her. Just keep telling the story that John Smith was the one. You can say he looked like me, but don’t tell me it was me. I guess you better not tell anybody it was me, or people will think you’re nuts. I’ll leave it to your discretion whether or not to tell Jen. Please don’t tell Kate. It would put a heavy shadow over our marriage.
I need to know the details, like she came running out of the back door around 1 pm, and I started running after her before I could even see her, and you heard Jen calling her, and I grabbed her up and threw her to the other side of the highway. Put that all in the story, so I know what to do and when to do it.
One other thing. I'm not sure what happened to the me in 2039, whether I disappeared or died or what. But I know I'm going to die today saving Kate, so I will probably be dead in 2039, too. I want Kate to know what happened to me. You can show her the letter then, because she may not believe you otherwise. Kate, my love, I am so glad I could do this. I don't regret it for a minute, because it means we will have 28 wonderful years together. Don't be sad – we'll see each other soon.
Josh
July 24, 1984
- - - - - - - -
Fred stood at the door to the hospital room with his hands in his pockets, watching Kate watching Josh sleep, if that's what he was doing. There had been no change for almost a month now. His cuts and bruises were healed, but he still didn't wake up, and the monitors still showed the mysterious brain activity. The doctor had scheduled an meeting with them later today to discuss future treatment. Fred suspected he would suggest a skilled nursing facility, the kind of place where patients in a coma were sent to sleep away the rest of their lives.
His fingers touched the letter in his pocket. He had taken to carrying it with him every day, expecting any day might be the day Josh would die, and then he would show the letter to Kate. As the days dragged on, he began to feel he shouldn't wait any longer. Today he had decided she needed to know what had happened so long ago, before she had to make any decisions about sending Josh someplace to wait to die. He took a deep breath and stepped to her side.
“Kate, honey, I have a letter from Josh.”
He pulled the letter out of his pocket and held it toward her. She took it, half eagerly and half filled with dread, and began to read. He watched her face and remembered the day he first read it, how confused and unbelieving he had been. It had taken a lot of thinking through it to understand how undeniable the facts were. It had been written before all the events described in detail in the letter. In spite of that, he hadn't really believed it until Kate brought Josh home to meet her parents fifteen years later.
Kate was reading the letter over again. He waited until she turned to him, full of questions, then he began to tell her. He talked for a long time, going over every detail and every argument for or against. He told her the process he had gone through over the years, coming to accept the letter at face value, even though it was impossible. After seemingly experiencing every possible emotion, she ended up with the only question for which he had no answer: what was happening to Josh now?
The doctor came in for his daily look at Josh. He did a quick but careful exam, still looking for anything he might have missed that would explain Josh's condition. Then he went over the tests from yesterday, when he had requested every possible kind of brain scan and whole body scan that he could. He had not found anything that could be causing Josh to not wake up.
“As you can see, the monitors are still showing the same brain activity, which would normally indicate that he is awake.” The doctor waited for them to look at the monitors. “Let's go out to the office down at the end of the hall, so we can talk without disturbing your husband.”
As they entered the office and sat down, Kate began asking questions. The doctor answered each one thoroughly and patiently. After about ten minutes of this, the doctor's phone sounded an alarm tone. He looked at the display and abruptly stood up.
“It's your husband. He's in distress.”
He strode quickly back to Josh's room, Kate and Fred following. They watched in horror as the doctor and several medical attendants applied various resuscitative procedures. Several monitors were flashing red or blue lights, and nothing seemed to be helping.
“What happened?” demanded the doctor. “I saw him not ten minutes ago, and he wasn't bleeding, and he didn't have any of these huge bruises.” He glared around at the others, but they were shaking their heads.
“His ribs are broken!” exclaimed the doctor. “It's like a pile of concrete fell on him, or something! We need to get him to surgery, and get new scans, and ...”
Fred interrupted. “He was hit by a big truck going 60 miles an hour!”
Everyone looked at Fred, but they didn't stop trying to resuscitate Josh.
“He's going to die if you don't do something quick!” Everyone continued to stare at Fred.
Kate burst out with a wail, “Josh, come back! You don't have to die again!”
That seemed to galvanize the doctor, and everything moved very fast, so that in less than a minute, they had Josh rolling into surgery, accompanied by a parade of equipment.
Kate and Fred were left in the suddenly quiet hall. They moved to the waiting room and sat.
- - - - - - - - - -
Josh opened his eyes blearily. Gradually he realized he must have had some kind of accident. He was covered in bandages, arm casts, and leg casts, and several parts of him were hanging from various traction contraptions. He tried to lift his hand to feel his face, but he was unable to figure out where exactly his hand was.
My brain is mush, he thought, and fell asleep again.
- - - - - - - -
When Thanksgiving came along again, Kate volunteered to host it, knowing Josh would be more comfortable getting around in his own home. He still needed a cane to walk, and he tired easily. His mental recovery had been equally slow, especially his short term memory. When he started asking the same questions every day, his therapists gave him a notebook to write his questions and answers in, and he settled into a routine of reading it every morning and carrying it around with him.
After the meal began, Josh rapped his spoon on the table to get everyone's attention. He picked up his notebook.
“It says here that I'm supposed to say one thing I'm grateful for this year. Kate warned me last week, so I've been thinking about it and writing my ideas on my list. The one thing I'm grateful for this year is ...” He paused and looked around the table. “Kate. I'm most grateful for Kate.”
The younger ones clapped and cheered, and everyone was smiling and nodding in approval. They were all familiar with Josh's list of answers.
When the cheering died down, he continued. “Like I do every year!” Now everyone was cheering, including Josh himself.
“You better watch out. I'm remembering some things now, so I could be remembering what you said last year.”
That caused quite a lively discussion, which was thoroughly enjoyed by everyone.
After dinner, the usual groups gathered, and Josh and his cane aimed for the living room with the other men.
“Hey, Fred! Don't you have a story to tell about Kate and a truck?” he asked.
Fred looked at Josh warily. “Do you have that on your list? Did Kate tell you about it?”
“No, I think I remember there's a story you tell sometimes.” Josh frowned. “Am I remembering wrong?”
Tom, the main proponent of the angel theory, jumped in. “You're not wrong. Come on, Fred, tell us about the angel that saved Kate.”
Once again Fred found himself telling the familiar old story. He had foolishly thought he wouldn't be telling it anymore, but he hadn't told anyone the real truth except Jen and Kate, and Josh didn't remember it. So he told it, but this time his sense of urgency was gone. He had done what Josh had asked, and it had worked. The purpose behind the story telling was finished. It had become nothing more than a good story.
After he finished, the men were quiet for a while. Perhaps they had been affected by Fred's change of attitude. Josh was frowning slightly, obviously trying to remember. He did that a lot these days.
“And he wrote you a letter, didn't he?” Josh asked. “Do you still have it?”
Tom immediately went into debate mode. “Angels don't write stuff. There isn't any record of them ever doing that.”
During the chaotic discussion that followed, Fred beckoned to Josh to accompany him into the bedroom, where he pulled the letter out of his pocket and handed it to him. As Josh read to the end, Fred thought he now knew what the expression “his face glowed” meant.
“I remember! I did it! I saved her! Thank God!”
Josh looked critically at his face in the mirror, trying to decide if the gray hair made him look distinguished or just old. The urge to go natural had come over him suddenly yesterday, and he had come home with the appropriate shampoo to remove the color he had applied for years. If he didn't like it this way, he could always go back. Hair color was very easy these days. For a brief moment he wished flying cars were that easy, but then he quickly canceled that wish. After all, his livelihood depended on the fact that flying cars were not at all easy.
“Okay, my vote is for gray,” he said to himself. “Let's see what Kate has to say about it.”
He walked out to the kitchen, where his wife was putting breakfast on the table, and posed with a flourish. Her reaction was unexpected. She was a woman of instant likes and dislikes, rarely undecided about anything, but as he watched her face, several emotions came and went, delaying her response of, “I like it! It makes you look even more handsome.” Could he possibly have seen fear in her eyes?
“What is it? Your face looked kind of strange.”
She looked confused. “I don't know. For a minute you looked familiar.”
All he had to do was raise one eyebrow, foregoing the obvious comment.
“No, silly, I know you should look familiar, after I've been married to you for 28 years. I mean you looked like someone else, but I don't know who.” Now she looked a little bit lost. “It made me feel … odd.”
He moved quickly to gather her in his arms, knowing he was right about her being afraid. He held her for a minute, then moved on to lighten things up. “So, I look like a vid star? I guess I'll keep it this way for a while, then.”
Kate laughed. “If a bunch of crazy fans start following you around, you'll have to go back to ordinary dark brown.”
They sat down to eat, discussing the day's schedule. Thanksgiving dinner was to be at Kate's parents' house this year. The kids had insisted on going over there early to help their grandmother, leaving Josh and Kate to enjoy the morning by themselves. It wasn't until Josh was sipping his coffee that he realized he might have picked the wrong day to change to gray hair.
“I wonder what your father will say about my hair. You know, he's been looking at me funny lately, and this will probably make him look at me really funny.”
“What? He has not!”
“Yeah, he's been watching me. I've caught him at it a lot lately. It's like he thinks I'm going to explode or something.”
“Oh, he thinks all men go crazy at the age of 50 these days, so he's probably waiting for you to go off the deep end and divorce me for one of those teenie fans of yours.”
“How can I? I don't have any fans yet.”
“Yeah, and you better not get any, either!” She punched his arm lightly.
“I think that's what I'm going to be grateful for today. I don't have any beautiful, crazy, teenie fans to steal me away from you.” He was referring to their Thanksgiving tradition of going around the table and each person saying one thing they were grateful for.
“You say that, and my dad really will be looking at you funny!”
Josh looked at his wife smiling at him and was overwhelmed with how much he loved her. Every year he said the same thing, that he was grateful for Kate, and it was true. She was the best thing in his life.
- - - - - - - - - - - - -
It was a perfect day for Thanksgiving at the Clancy's old farmhouse. The sun was shining through the bare branches and the cool air, lighting up the trim on the wide porch. Josh noticed it needed paint and filed that away for future reference. Kayci, their youngest daughter, who was in her first year at Armon College, came running to meet them.
“Hey, dad! Love the hair! Come on, we've got hot cider!”
There was a flurry of getting packages and dishes from the car, and then they were entering the house. Kayci was first in, and she enthusiastically demanded that everyone notice her father's new hair color and how nice it looked, so everyone had a comment as they shook hands or exchanged hugs. Josh started a running poll in his head, tabulating the results. So far, gray was ahead of dark brown.
He came to Kate's father, who thrust out his hand with his usual cordial smile, but then looked at the gray hair and froze. As Josh took his hand, he was astonished to see he was shocked.
“Are you alright, Fred?”
Fred was motionless for several seconds, but finally nodded, his eyes still on the gray hair. Josh moved on past him, so Kate could greet her father. At that moment, Kate's mother came in from the kitchen carrying a plate of appetizers. As her eyes lifted to Josh's face, she stopped dead in her tracks, and the plate slipped out of her hands and crashed to the floor, breaking in pieces.
All conversation stopped for a moment, then people moved in to help clean up the small mess and tend to Kate's mother. Fred came to his wife and held her, comforting her, and they left the room.
“What happened?” Kate asked at the same time Josh said, “That was weird!”
Everyone was asking questions, but nobody had any answers. Eventually dinner was ready, Kate's parents reappeared, and everyone took their places at the table. Josh kept an unobtrusive watch on his parents-in-law. From what he could tell, his father-in-law didn't look at him at all, and his mother-in-law tried not to, but occasionally her eyes would flick over in his direction and then quickly away.
During the meal, the traditional declarations of gratitude began. There was really only one rule, and that was each person had to pick one thing. No “I'm grateful for so many things.” There was often a great deal of discussion about the one thing each person picked. And often, the one thing was preceded by a big buildup. So, the whole process took a long time, usually lasting through the meal, and sometimes afterward.
Usually someone voluntarily started them off, and for several years, that someone had been Josh. He always dutifully thought about all the things he could pick, because he knew they would accuse him of not thinking about it and just saying the same thing he always said. But in his mind, his gratitude for Kate was so much more than his gratitude for anyone or anything else, there was no way he could pick something else. This year there were several couples present that had not been married long, and he had begun to worry that they might feel they had to copy him, so he put that in his buildup, and it was right to do so, because the discussion following his declaration was longer and more lively than ever.
Finally they accepted his statement and moved on around the table. When it was Kate's mother's turn, she looked down at the table for a long time, said simply, “I am grateful for Josh,” and burst into tears.
Her husband put his arm around her and nodded. “Yes, I too am grateful for Josh. He has loved and protected my daughter Kate for a very long time.”
Some of the younger boys and men cheered and whistled, which helped the mother's tears turn into smiles. But nobody asked why they chose Josh. Attention turned to the next person.
After dinner, the women cleaned up, the younger ones played football or baseball, and the older men talked and played half-hearted poker. Years ago, they smoked, but there were no smokers left anymore. Every few years, Fred was begged for the story of How Kate Was Saved From The Truck When She Was Only Four. This was always followed by an ongoing debate over what had really happened and who the man was who had saved her. Certain sides of the family insisted he was an angel, while others thought Fred's memory was faulty.
This year, Fred didn't wait to be begged.
“I want to tell the story about Kate and the truck and the man who saved her. It's time to tell it again, and we all need to remember it and remember him.”
“It started when he came down the road, looking for work. He said his name was John Smith, and he had been in a bad accident, and he didn't have any family or any money. He wondered if I needed any work done, and I said I'd appreciate it if he could help me with painting the house. We worked out a deal where he would sleep in the barn and eat meals with us, and I would pay him a hundred dollars when the painting was done. It didn't seem like very much money to me, but he said he was glad for the work.
“You could tell he had been in an accident. He had a new scar over his temple, a big ugly one, and he walked slowly the first few days. He was around 50 and had gray hair, and he looked a lot like Josh, especially now that Josh has gray hair. I think you gave Jen a shock today with that gray hair.
“He worked for us for a couple of weeks, and he got to be part of the family. He was always fixing things for Jen, and making toys for the kids, and he worshiped Kate. She had him wrapped around her little finger. Anything she asked for, he would do. The painting was just about done, and I was looking around for something else he could do, when that day came, July 24th.
“It was after lunch, about one o'clock, when Kate came running out the back door and down toward the highway. I think she was trying to escape from taking a nap, because I heard Jen calling her inside the house. I was up on a ladder, looking at the trim over the porch, but John was standing on the ground at the foot of the ladder.
“He took off running toward the highway, and I didn't know why, because he started running before Kate came into view. He caught up to her in the middle of the highway, and he snatched her right up and threw her to the other side of the highway. The truck hit him then, before he had a chance to get out of its way. It was a big truck, going fast, and when it finally got stopped, he was dead.
“Kate was fine, bruised and scared, but okay. The police came, and an ambulance, and they took him away to the hospital, but he was dead.
“I saw the whole thing from that ladder, and I still don't know how he knew to start running or how he knew to throw her across the road out of the way of the truck. He didn't look at the truck. He looked only at Kate. And he saved her life. On July 24th. Remember that.”
Fred stared straight at Josh. “July 24th.”
- - - - - - - - - -
Josh studied the data from the last test flight. It shouldn't be this bad. There was something wrong, and he didn't know what. There had to be some clue to solve this problem. He had questioned the test driver thoroughly, and the man seemed competent, but there had to be some little vibration or sludginess of controls, or something to give him a hint. It seemed like he was monitoring every detail, but he must be missing something.
Reluctantly, he decided he would have to test drive the car himself. He was reluctant only because he knew he was not a professional test driver, but he did have the advantage of knowing the car inside and out as an engineer. He frowned, knowing he would be so distracted by the actual driving and trying not to crash, that he wouldn't be able to feel tiny vibrations or sludginess of controls, even if they were there. Alright, a compromise. He would be a passenger. The test driver could worry about controlling the car, and he would be free to look for his clue.
He set about planning the passenger seat. It should be less protective than the driver's seat, so he could feel vibrations, and he needed to see everything the driver was doing, so he could tell if the car was responding correctly. The driver's seat in a test flying car was highly protective and designed to keep the driver from all injury during a crash, because test flying cars were expected to crash. In order to prevent the driver's body from hitting any surface hard, he was padded and restricted to the point of not being able to move. The seat itself was not directly attached to the car body, but designed to use air and gel cushioning to slow any sudden change in velocity. He would need to raise the threshold for the passenger seat to not go into cushioning mode until the change in velocity was much higher.
It took him several days to work out the design, but he was quite satisfied with both the safety and the potential for feeling what the car was doing, and before long the two passenger flying car was ready to test.
On the day of the test flight, he double checked all the vid and sound recording equipment, and the attendants strapped him and the driver into their seats. While the driver went through the systems checks, Josh mentally sat back and relaxed, preparing himself for pulling some clue out of chaos. On the dash in front of him, the car's emblem stared back at him. He had named it the Ford Eagle 4H. Everyone thought the 4H was for four hemispheres. It was supposed to be an ultimate expression for global, counting two hemispheres for the outer world and two for the inner world of imagination. But that wasn't the real meaning. His original inspiration for a flying car had come from reading Henry Ford's journal and studying his drawings and schematics. The Eagle 4H was the Eagle For Henry.
At last the car began its run down the concrete strip. Everything was smooth and responsive until they reached flight speed and lifted off. He kept up a constant stream of comments on what he saw, heard, and felt, and he was amazed at the severity of the vibrations. There was a lot wrong! Always before, the trouble began when the driver attempted to turn in flight, and it was the same this time. He could actually hear and see the driver's seat jostling around to compensate for the rough path of the car as it dipped and swerved. He saw the driver begin to fight the controls, and the vibrations became much more violent. The thought occurred to him, and he voiced it for the recorder, that his presence may have exacerbated the situation, causing the vibrations to be worse.
His last observation, faithfully dictated to the recorder, was that the controls might be too responsive and therefore contributing to the problem. Then several things happened at once. The car crashed into the concrete pavement, he felt his seat's cushioning system kick in, and his vision and thoughts abruptly went black.
- - - - - - - - -
Fred and Jen arrived at the hospital as soon as they heard. Kate and the kids were in the waiting room, sitting with heads down or pacing impatiently. Josh was still in the E.R., but the doctor had already come to tell them he had many cuts and bruises, but no broken bones, and he had not yet regained consciousness. They were investigating the possibility of internal bleeding or concussion.
After a long wait, the doctor returned. Josh was still unconscious, and that was a concern. They had found no internal bleeding, but he was convinced there must be a concussion, even though the usual indicators were not present. Except for remaining unconscious. They were going to move him to intensive care and monitor him closely. Visiting would be limited for now, but they expected him to improve over night.
Fred's chance to see Josh eventually came, and he walked into the room quietly. Kate was sitting at the bedside, holding Josh's hand. He saw bandages on Josh's face and head, and some on his arms. One of the bandages was over Josh's temple.
Fred couldn't resist taking a look. He pulled the tape off of one side and looked at the jagged cut on Josh's temple. It was just as he remembered, only newer. It hadn't healed any yet.
“What are you doing?” demanded Kate in a hushed but indignant voice. Fred put the bandage back in place and smoothed the tape down, saying nothing.
Just then the doctor returned to check on Josh. After looking at all the monitors and the chart, he said, “This is an unusual case. There are still no signs of concussion except for his remaining unconscious. And he has very active brain waves, which wouldn't be the case in concussion. It's more like he's asleep and dreaming, and we can't wake him up, although the brain activity is closer to what would be happening if he were awake. Physically, he's asleep or even comatose. But we never see this brain activity in a comatose patient. Maybe he will wake up tomorrow morning as if he just had a longer than usual night of sleep, who knows? We will keep monitoring him and wait for any change.”
- - - - - - - -
Josh opened his eyes blearily and squinted at the bright room. It was a hospital room, and that realization nudged his memory. The crash must have been worse than he thought. Maybe the cushioning system didn't kick in soon enough, or maybe his presence in the test car had made the crash much more damaging. He wondered how the driver had fared.
He sat up and looked himself over. Some cuts and bruises, but otherwise he felt okay. He was about to get out of the bed when a nurse came in. She made a little fuss at him, making him stay in bed until she had taken his vitals and answered her questions about how he felt. No dizziness, no headache, pretty much normal.
Before she had completely finished, the doctor came in and asked all the same questions. Apparently satisfied with the answers, he smiled and said, “I don't see any reason why you can't leave, Mr. Smith. I'll start the paperwork, and you should be out of here in a couple of hours or so.”
Josh's mind was stuck on the idea of paperwork taking two hours or more, so he didn't register the “Mr. Smith” for a minute, and by that time, they had both left the room. At first he wondered if he just didn't hear the name right, but then he looked at the plastic name band wrapped around his wrist. It said John Smith, Protestant. He frowned at the band. This hospital must be a very old and out of date one, because there was no bar-coded patient ID number, and he was sure they had given up putting the patient's religion on ID bands years ago.
Since he wasn't going to get any answers sitting in bed, he walked over toward the closet to get his clothes, and his eyes glanced over the daily calendar on the wall. He stopped when he saw the big 9. It was made like a tablet of paper, to tear off a page each day, and the day of the month was very large, with the month printed in small letters at the top. It said July. Today was July 9th. Which was totally crazy, because his accident had happened in December.
His brain whirred over the many discrepancies while he dressed and went into the bathroom to comb his hair. He looked in the mirror and saw the big cut over his temple. It was starting to heal, but it was still red and ugly. How long had he been here? And where exactly was here?
He remembered his wallet was in his pants and pulled it out. It opened to his driver's license, which had his picture on it, but the name said John Smith. Most of the other information was wrong, too. There was an address he had never heard of, and it said his birthdate was 01-15-34. His brain got stuck again when he noticed the expiration date: 01-15-85. He stared at the little plastic-coated card, wondering if he was losing his mind.
Inexplicably, an image came to him of Fred looking him in the eye and saying “July 24th. Remember that!” He had been talking about July 24th, 1984, the day Kate almost got run over by a truck. The story flooded into his memory. John Smith. About 50. Gray hair. Looked a lot like Josh. Been in a bad accident. Had a new scar over his temple.
Now he was sure he was losing his mind.
- - - - - - - -
Josh was dawdling over his pie. He was watching Kate play in the garden. He loved to watch her. She was so fascinated by everything around her, and if things weren't interesting enough, she imagined them different. Right now she was pretending the tomatoes were talking to her, telling her how ripe they were, and when they could be picked.
“Mom! This one is ready! Can I pick it?” she called.
“Is it red all over?” Jen called in return.
“Yes. It's very red all over.”
“Okay, you can pick it.”
Kate bent to the tomato and very carefully removed it from the plant, holding it to her nose. “Mmm, this is a good one!” She ran over to her mother and held the tomato up.
Jen smiled. “Yes, I see. Thank you for finding it.”
Kate ran into the house to put the tomato on the sink.
Josh smiled to himself as he ate the last bite of pie. He still had trouble believing he was really here, watching the four-year-old Kate learning and playing and just being Kate. He had been here several days, and his soreness was pretty much gone. That was good, because he needed to be able to move when the time came. Kate could run awfully fast.
He had done a lot of thinking, lying out in the barn at night. He'd been scared and grateful. Scared that he would fail to do the job he was here to do, that he wouldn't see her in time, or that he would stumble and not catch her, or that he would chicken out. How horrible that would be! But he had come around to the fact that he had already done it, so he knew he would be able to do it.
Grateful that he had these wonderful fourteen days to watch his beloved wife as a child and love her even more. Most grateful that he would have a chance to give her back her life. He thought about dying, and he wasn't afraid. He had a deep faith, and he knew he would be in a better place. He would miss Kate, of course, but he had enjoyed 28 good years with her, and he knew that was more than most people got. And besides, of all the ways there were to die, this was the best, giving his life to save hers. When that truck hit him, he wanted to be thanking God for letting him do this.
- - - - - - - - -
Fred knew he couldn't put it off any longer. He needed to gather up John's belongings and see if he had any family to notify. He walked into the barn with a determined stride. There wasn't much. John only had one change of clothes with him when he arrived, carrying everything in a shopping bag. In fact, there was the shopping bag, right there next to the pile of straw and blankets John had made into a bed.
He looked into the bag. There was only a Bible printed by the Gideons and an envelope. Fred wondered if John had taken the Bible from his hospital room, but as soon as he saw his own name on the envelope, he forgot everything else and picked it up. It had “Fred” written on it, and also “Personal” and “Urgent,” both underlined twice. Slowly he opened it and pulled out the single sheet of paper.
Dear Fred,
This is probably going to be difficult for you, but I need you to do something for me. I need you to remember for 45 years what I did and tell me about it on Thanksgiving, 2039, so I know what I’m here for, when I get here. That sounds confusing, doesn’t it? I’ll try to explain.
My name isn’t really John Smith. You will meet me in about 15 years, and you will know me as Josh Mitchell. I will marry your daughter Kate. About 45 years from now, I will be in an accident and somehow I will wake up in a hospital here, now, in 1984. I will come to your farm and ask for work, so I will be here to save Kate from the truck. But when I come to in the hospital here, I will need to know what I’m supposed to do, and that is where I need your help.
I want you to start a Thanksgiving tradition of telling the story of the day Kate was almost killed by the truck and the man who saved her. You don’t need to tell it every year, but enough times to keep it fresh in my memory, and most of all you need to tell it on Thanksgiving, 2039. Make sure you emphasize to me that it happened on July 24th, because that will help me put it all together. But don’t tell me it was me that saved her. Just keep telling the story that John Smith was the one. You can say he looked like me, but don’t tell me it was me. I guess you better not tell anybody it was me, or people will think you’re nuts. I’ll leave it to your discretion whether or not to tell Jen. Please don’t tell Kate. It would put a heavy shadow over our marriage.
I need to know the details, like she came running out of the back door around 1 pm, and I started running after her before I could even see her, and you heard Jen calling her, and I grabbed her up and threw her to the other side of the highway. Put that all in the story, so I know what to do and when to do it.
One other thing. I'm not sure what happened to the me in 2039, whether I disappeared or died or what. But I know I'm going to die today saving Kate, so I will probably be dead in 2039, too. I want Kate to know what happened to me. You can show her the letter then, because she may not believe you otherwise. Kate, my love, I am so glad I could do this. I don't regret it for a minute, because it means we will have 28 wonderful years together. Don't be sad – we'll see each other soon.
Josh
July 24, 1984
- - - - - - - -
Fred stood at the door to the hospital room with his hands in his pockets, watching Kate watching Josh sleep, if that's what he was doing. There had been no change for almost a month now. His cuts and bruises were healed, but he still didn't wake up, and the monitors still showed the mysterious brain activity. The doctor had scheduled an meeting with them later today to discuss future treatment. Fred suspected he would suggest a skilled nursing facility, the kind of place where patients in a coma were sent to sleep away the rest of their lives.
His fingers touched the letter in his pocket. He had taken to carrying it with him every day, expecting any day might be the day Josh would die, and then he would show the letter to Kate. As the days dragged on, he began to feel he shouldn't wait any longer. Today he had decided she needed to know what had happened so long ago, before she had to make any decisions about sending Josh someplace to wait to die. He took a deep breath and stepped to her side.
“Kate, honey, I have a letter from Josh.”
He pulled the letter out of his pocket and held it toward her. She took it, half eagerly and half filled with dread, and began to read. He watched her face and remembered the day he first read it, how confused and unbelieving he had been. It had taken a lot of thinking through it to understand how undeniable the facts were. It had been written before all the events described in detail in the letter. In spite of that, he hadn't really believed it until Kate brought Josh home to meet her parents fifteen years later.
Kate was reading the letter over again. He waited until she turned to him, full of questions, then he began to tell her. He talked for a long time, going over every detail and every argument for or against. He told her the process he had gone through over the years, coming to accept the letter at face value, even though it was impossible. After seemingly experiencing every possible emotion, she ended up with the only question for which he had no answer: what was happening to Josh now?
The doctor came in for his daily look at Josh. He did a quick but careful exam, still looking for anything he might have missed that would explain Josh's condition. Then he went over the tests from yesterday, when he had requested every possible kind of brain scan and whole body scan that he could. He had not found anything that could be causing Josh to not wake up.
“As you can see, the monitors are still showing the same brain activity, which would normally indicate that he is awake.” The doctor waited for them to look at the monitors. “Let's go out to the office down at the end of the hall, so we can talk without disturbing your husband.”
As they entered the office and sat down, Kate began asking questions. The doctor answered each one thoroughly and patiently. After about ten minutes of this, the doctor's phone sounded an alarm tone. He looked at the display and abruptly stood up.
“It's your husband. He's in distress.”
He strode quickly back to Josh's room, Kate and Fred following. They watched in horror as the doctor and several medical attendants applied various resuscitative procedures. Several monitors were flashing red or blue lights, and nothing seemed to be helping.
“What happened?” demanded the doctor. “I saw him not ten minutes ago, and he wasn't bleeding, and he didn't have any of these huge bruises.” He glared around at the others, but they were shaking their heads.
“His ribs are broken!” exclaimed the doctor. “It's like a pile of concrete fell on him, or something! We need to get him to surgery, and get new scans, and ...”
Fred interrupted. “He was hit by a big truck going 60 miles an hour!”
Everyone looked at Fred, but they didn't stop trying to resuscitate Josh.
“He's going to die if you don't do something quick!” Everyone continued to stare at Fred.
Kate burst out with a wail, “Josh, come back! You don't have to die again!”
That seemed to galvanize the doctor, and everything moved very fast, so that in less than a minute, they had Josh rolling into surgery, accompanied by a parade of equipment.
Kate and Fred were left in the suddenly quiet hall. They moved to the waiting room and sat.
- - - - - - - - - -
Josh opened his eyes blearily. Gradually he realized he must have had some kind of accident. He was covered in bandages, arm casts, and leg casts, and several parts of him were hanging from various traction contraptions. He tried to lift his hand to feel his face, but he was unable to figure out where exactly his hand was.
My brain is mush, he thought, and fell asleep again.
- - - - - - - -
When Thanksgiving came along again, Kate volunteered to host it, knowing Josh would be more comfortable getting around in his own home. He still needed a cane to walk, and he tired easily. His mental recovery had been equally slow, especially his short term memory. When he started asking the same questions every day, his therapists gave him a notebook to write his questions and answers in, and he settled into a routine of reading it every morning and carrying it around with him.
After the meal began, Josh rapped his spoon on the table to get everyone's attention. He picked up his notebook.
“It says here that I'm supposed to say one thing I'm grateful for this year. Kate warned me last week, so I've been thinking about it and writing my ideas on my list. The one thing I'm grateful for this year is ...” He paused and looked around the table. “Kate. I'm most grateful for Kate.”
The younger ones clapped and cheered, and everyone was smiling and nodding in approval. They were all familiar with Josh's list of answers.
When the cheering died down, he continued. “Like I do every year!” Now everyone was cheering, including Josh himself.
“You better watch out. I'm remembering some things now, so I could be remembering what you said last year.”
That caused quite a lively discussion, which was thoroughly enjoyed by everyone.
After dinner, the usual groups gathered, and Josh and his cane aimed for the living room with the other men.
“Hey, Fred! Don't you have a story to tell about Kate and a truck?” he asked.
Fred looked at Josh warily. “Do you have that on your list? Did Kate tell you about it?”
“No, I think I remember there's a story you tell sometimes.” Josh frowned. “Am I remembering wrong?”
Tom, the main proponent of the angel theory, jumped in. “You're not wrong. Come on, Fred, tell us about the angel that saved Kate.”
Once again Fred found himself telling the familiar old story. He had foolishly thought he wouldn't be telling it anymore, but he hadn't told anyone the real truth except Jen and Kate, and Josh didn't remember it. So he told it, but this time his sense of urgency was gone. He had done what Josh had asked, and it had worked. The purpose behind the story telling was finished. It had become nothing more than a good story.
After he finished, the men were quiet for a while. Perhaps they had been affected by Fred's change of attitude. Josh was frowning slightly, obviously trying to remember. He did that a lot these days.
“And he wrote you a letter, didn't he?” Josh asked. “Do you still have it?”
Tom immediately went into debate mode. “Angels don't write stuff. There isn't any record of them ever doing that.”
During the chaotic discussion that followed, Fred beckoned to Josh to accompany him into the bedroom, where he pulled the letter out of his pocket and handed it to him. As Josh read to the end, Fred thought he now knew what the expression “his face glowed” meant.
“I remember! I did it! I saved her! Thank God!”
Security
Written for the Ranting Room for the 1/2/09 challenge, I think.
Jackie straightened her back with a low groan. She had been planting seedlings for hours. It was time to stop and refuel. Before leaving the garden area, however, she took a moment to look over her work, as required by the SSA. Not a single plant was out of place, missing, or damaged. The feeling of satisfaction and pride stayed with her all through the lunch period.
Robots were good for a lot of things, but there were some things that could only be done by humans or by robots that were so expensive it just didn't make sense. The seedlings had been grown in greenhouses manned by simple robots who planted the seeds, checked the temperature and moisture content of the soil, and monitored the lighting cycles. But handling the young, fragile plants when they needed to be transplanted to their permanent homes was a task too complex for them. The SSA provided manpower for many such tasks.
Jackie lived in the Oakville SSA complex, built only two years ago. She thought it was beautiful. There were rooms for all kinds of recreation, filled with art and attractively designed furnishings. The sleeping rooms were soothing and private, and each occupant was allowed to choose the colors and style of the walls, bedding, and clothing. It wasn't cheap to live here, but she thought it was well worth the amount she paid out of her modest paycheck. She didn't really need anything that wasn't provided here. The medical care and continuing education were free. Of course, they were mandatory, but that was only common sense.
Considering how her life had begun, she felt herself to be very fortunate. She had been abandoned before birth. At this thought, she looked around furtively. The SSA didn't approve of that way of looking at it, but it was the truth. Her "parents" had used in vitro fertilization and chosen only one child to keep. It was just too expensive to raise very many children these days. Most families had only one child. Any other embryos, or even full-term babies, were abandoned to the SSA, who had their ways of raising and nurturing them, and along the way training and moulding their view of life.
The SSA had made a business of it, with quite a nice profit. They specialized in supplying people to work in jobs that were best done by humans. Most technical work could be done well by robots, but the arts were beyond robot design. Whether it was gardening, acting, architectural design, or music, nobody wanted the lifeless, boring creations produced by robots.
The best part was the security of being brought up and trained by the SSA. She knew she would never be out of work and living on the streets. She wouldn't ever lose her home or a husband or child. If she got sick, the SSA would take care of her. There was nothing to worry about. Her life was stress free. She knew about stress. The SSA education on health covered all that.
When the lunch period ended, Jackie returned to her gardening. The afternoon would require the help of a robot assistant for tilling the soil in a new garden area. She had already drawn out a design in the computer's landscape design program, but she would need to supervise the robot to make sure it stayed in within the lines of her design. Robots tended to square off curves and straighten lines. The robot was waiting at the appointed spot.
"I am 4235," said the robot. "I have design 778. Beginning tilling now."
"Wait!" Jackie said in alarm. "You are to use design 788. Do you have that?"
The robot stood motionless for several seconds. "Yes, design 778. Beginning tilling now."
"No!" Jackie moved closer to the robot to use its small touch pad. She would need to override its commands and change the design number.
Just as her fingers reached the touch pad, the robot's tiller burst into action. Design 778 apparently began with a forward path of tilling. The tiller ripped into her left foot, tearing her soft fabric shoe into shreds and tilling it into the ground. She shrieked in agony as the tiller tore off strips of flesh and pieces of toes and flung them into the soil.
She fell to the side, still screaming, while the robot continued on its oblivious path. Jackie saw people running toward her, then her vision went black and a loud buzzing filled her ears.
As she was carried into the SSA medical center, her sight returned. She was lifted to a gurney and rolled down the hall. She saw the engraved sign over the doorway as she rolled under it, "Social Security Administration." Various people came and hovered over her, then left. There were voices yelling out instructions and other voices asking her questions. Her mind couldn't seem to sort them out, so she didn't answer. Gradually things calmed down, and she could concentrate on what they were saying.
"It's a wreck. Even the bone's gone."
"She's a gardener? Not likely she'll do that any more."
"How old is she?"
"36, it says here."
"Too old. She won't be able to pay in any more. She'll just be a drain on the system."
"Time to retire her."
"There's probably a lot of good body parts. That'll help."
"Yeah, sedate her and prepare her for surgery."
"I'll contact the organ registry."
"Hello, this is Dr. Hogan at the Oakville Facility. We have a termination here. Fatal injury. She was a gardener. Do you have a replacement ready?"
Jackie straightened her back with a low groan. She had been planting seedlings for hours. It was time to stop and refuel. Before leaving the garden area, however, she took a moment to look over her work, as required by the SSA. Not a single plant was out of place, missing, or damaged. The feeling of satisfaction and pride stayed with her all through the lunch period.
Robots were good for a lot of things, but there were some things that could only be done by humans or by robots that were so expensive it just didn't make sense. The seedlings had been grown in greenhouses manned by simple robots who planted the seeds, checked the temperature and moisture content of the soil, and monitored the lighting cycles. But handling the young, fragile plants when they needed to be transplanted to their permanent homes was a task too complex for them. The SSA provided manpower for many such tasks.
Jackie lived in the Oakville SSA complex, built only two years ago. She thought it was beautiful. There were rooms for all kinds of recreation, filled with art and attractively designed furnishings. The sleeping rooms were soothing and private, and each occupant was allowed to choose the colors and style of the walls, bedding, and clothing. It wasn't cheap to live here, but she thought it was well worth the amount she paid out of her modest paycheck. She didn't really need anything that wasn't provided here. The medical care and continuing education were free. Of course, they were mandatory, but that was only common sense.
Considering how her life had begun, she felt herself to be very fortunate. She had been abandoned before birth. At this thought, she looked around furtively. The SSA didn't approve of that way of looking at it, but it was the truth. Her "parents" had used in vitro fertilization and chosen only one child to keep. It was just too expensive to raise very many children these days. Most families had only one child. Any other embryos, or even full-term babies, were abandoned to the SSA, who had their ways of raising and nurturing them, and along the way training and moulding their view of life.
The SSA had made a business of it, with quite a nice profit. They specialized in supplying people to work in jobs that were best done by humans. Most technical work could be done well by robots, but the arts were beyond robot design. Whether it was gardening, acting, architectural design, or music, nobody wanted the lifeless, boring creations produced by robots.
The best part was the security of being brought up and trained by the SSA. She knew she would never be out of work and living on the streets. She wouldn't ever lose her home or a husband or child. If she got sick, the SSA would take care of her. There was nothing to worry about. Her life was stress free. She knew about stress. The SSA education on health covered all that.
When the lunch period ended, Jackie returned to her gardening. The afternoon would require the help of a robot assistant for tilling the soil in a new garden area. She had already drawn out a design in the computer's landscape design program, but she would need to supervise the robot to make sure it stayed in within the lines of her design. Robots tended to square off curves and straighten lines. The robot was waiting at the appointed spot.
"I am 4235," said the robot. "I have design 778. Beginning tilling now."
"Wait!" Jackie said in alarm. "You are to use design 788. Do you have that?"
The robot stood motionless for several seconds. "Yes, design 778. Beginning tilling now."
"No!" Jackie moved closer to the robot to use its small touch pad. She would need to override its commands and change the design number.
Just as her fingers reached the touch pad, the robot's tiller burst into action. Design 778 apparently began with a forward path of tilling. The tiller ripped into her left foot, tearing her soft fabric shoe into shreds and tilling it into the ground. She shrieked in agony as the tiller tore off strips of flesh and pieces of toes and flung them into the soil.
She fell to the side, still screaming, while the robot continued on its oblivious path. Jackie saw people running toward her, then her vision went black and a loud buzzing filled her ears.
As she was carried into the SSA medical center, her sight returned. She was lifted to a gurney and rolled down the hall. She saw the engraved sign over the doorway as she rolled under it, "Social Security Administration." Various people came and hovered over her, then left. There were voices yelling out instructions and other voices asking her questions. Her mind couldn't seem to sort them out, so she didn't answer. Gradually things calmed down, and she could concentrate on what they were saying.
"It's a wreck. Even the bone's gone."
"She's a gardener? Not likely she'll do that any more."
"How old is she?"
"36, it says here."
"Too old. She won't be able to pay in any more. She'll just be a drain on the system."
"Time to retire her."
"There's probably a lot of good body parts. That'll help."
"Yeah, sedate her and prepare her for surgery."
"I'll contact the organ registry."
"Hello, this is Dr. Hogan at the Oakville Facility. We have a termination here. Fatal injury. She was a gardener. Do you have a replacement ready?"
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