Generator

by O. J. Anderson

conclusion

“The night’s entertainment schedule.” Anna flipped through the pages of the TV Guide. “There’s a supposedly funny movie starting at seven that we haven’t seen. Although, at eight, there’s a good one we saw a few years ago, and we both said we’d like to see it again, so it’s more of a sure thing. The seven o’clock may be risky, so I’m bringing in your second opinion.”

Riley said, “We could run the seven o’clock hour an as informal interview. If things don’t work out by eight, we can tell it that we’ve decided to take the evening in a different direction. We’ll say it’s nothing personal and give it a good word, but that we just have to go with the more solid performer.”

“Brilliant.”

His resentment gone, Riley sat down next to Anna.

“Coffee?” she asked, “Is that what you plan to have with pizza? Because if so, I may just have a problem with that.”

“I’m listening.”

“How about soda?”

“Are you recommending or suggesting?”

“Is there a difference?”

“Huge difference,” Riley said, “A chasm between them. If you’re suggesting it sounds like you think it might be a good idea; maybe you have some personal experience, maybe not. On the other hand, if you’re making a recommendation I think you’re basing it in some kind of evidence, hard and steady facts. Perhaps you know something interesting about the melding of flavors, or maybe something technical like acidic values and synergistic taste properties.”

“I was only thinking how coffee doesn’t really go with pizza.”

“Oh. Good enough, then. Soda it is.”

The delivery guy arrived a short while later holding a pizza meeting with Riley’s specifications. He set it down on the coffee table. Anna was holding the magazine open, showing him a page.

“There’s another one of those totally banal relationship quizzes this month,” she said, flapping the magazine at him. “It’s supposed to tell us how well we know each other. Let’s do it. Want to?”

“Haven’t you noticed that I’ve spent the better part of the past eight years trying to avoid those? They’re intentionally designed to make women feel good by making men look bad. Girl power stuff. There’s no possible way I can come out looking good from this. Besides, it was probably done by a couple of chick-lit idealist interns who don’t really know much of anything.”

“It could be fun.”

“Fun? Let me tell you why I shouldn’t take this quiz.” Riley put his arm around her. “You see, the mind of a woman is like an unsolvable labyrinth of riddles vigilantly patrolled by a militant estrogenic cryptkeeper. That’s where the expression ‘no man’s land’ comes from. Did you know that? And you say it could be fun? Even after fifty years of marriage the best I could hope for is a proficiency at dividing my time between self-defense and working the puzzle.”

“Wow. I had no idea men were under such duress.”

“Yes, we are. All of us. Women have it easy. The mind of a man is like...” Riley pointed to the TV Guide. “It’s like the TV Guide. You open it up whenever you happen to be interested, and everything is arranged in a semi-orderly fashion with concise little vignettes. It’s a very simple system we have.”

She put the magazine down and told him that it wasn’t a big deal anyway.

The manner in which she dropped the subject troubled him. It was the quick incision she made that cut it out of their evening. He suddenly wanted to go back and take the damn quiz. It really wasn’t a big deal and she wasn’t trying to trap him in a corner behind some idiotic flurry of acrobatic guesswork.

It could have been fun. That’s all. He said, “You know what? We can do the think if that’s what you want. I was just saying...”

She waved him off but he circled around for another pass.

“No, really, if you want to...”

There was a squint, a wrinkled nose, and a tight shake of the head.

Eventually, the supposedly funny movie started, but Riley couldn’t get into it. Total waste of time. A movie was nothing more than a block of time where the purpose of watching was only to find out what happens at the end. He had no say whatsoever in how it ended, when it ended, or even prolonging the movie indefinitely should he happen to like it so much that he would want the movie to never end. The movie offered no information, advice, treatments, tests and their results, or anything else productive.

The only reason Riley sat through it was because she wanted them to.

Off the end table Riley picked up last month’s JAMA and rolled it into a tube. He tapped the back of his neck with it, his knee, he poked his chest, and sometimes breathed through it until Anna put a pillow on his lap and laid her head on it.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “Do you need anything?”

“Nope.”

“If you need something, I’ll get it. It’s no problem, really.”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

“Do you feel sick, or dizzy? Because if you do...”

“No, I’m all set.”

“Are you tired? Do you want me to help you into bed?”

Anna patted his leg and gave a little squeeze. “I just want to rest here for a while.”

She soon fell asleep and Riley picked her up as gently as he could and carried her to the bed. He pulled the blanket up over her and kissed her on the forehead.

Over the next few months Anna’s health took a turn for the worse.

* * *

When the doctor recited the time of death it was 3:12 pm. Still holding on to Anna, Riley felt a hand fall softly onto his shoulder. The doctor then said, “I’m sorry.”

Without looking up he nodded and said, “Yes, thank you.”

“Everything is ready. We’ll begin immediately.” The doctor turned and walked briskly from the room.

The nurse slipped her fingers around Riley’s wrists, but she didn’t pull them away. Timing was crucial now and Riley knew it.

He stood and let the nurse guide him towards the door. She said: “The procedure will take about twelve hours.”

In the hallway the nurse motioned for him to sit in the chair. “Someone will be here to speak with you shortly. Then you should go home and get some rest. We’ll keep you updated.” The nurse hurried off.

Riley sank in the chair. If only he could get some rest.

A few minutes or a few hours later came heels clacking down the hallway. The woman, wearing a black jacket with an identification tag clipped to the pocket, introduced herself as Claire Duvane and asked Riley to come with her for a few moments.

Claire Duvane’s office was dimly lit and modern, with several diplomas arrayed across the wall. “Please sit,” she said, walking behind her desk. Her manner was businesslike and deft; all the necessary documents were neatly arranged on her desktop. She sat, clasped her hands together and leaned on her elbows. “First let me say how sorry I am about your loss.”

Riley nodded.

“I know this seems like a terrible time for this, but it’s the hospital’s policy that we reconfirm your intentions post-mortem.”

“Right. Sure.”

“Do you still want to go ahead with the procedure?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Then I have to remind you of the risks.”

“You don’t need to remind me of the risks,” Riley said.

“She won’t be the same person, Mister Reynolds. The chances are that she won’t remember you. She probably won’t remember anything from her former life. “

“Then I guess we’ll get to know each other all over again.”

“Sometimes people are disappointed with the results of the procedure. They let their emotions override rational thought. Then, a few months later, they want to discontinue the modifications. The financial and emotional commitments are too much.”

“I’m very aware of all this,” Riley said. “I’ve put the house on the market, sold most of our possessions, and I’m taking as much overtime as I can handle.” He then took a deep breath and leaned back in the chair. “I’m just not ready to let her go.”

“Very well,” Claire Duvane said. She took the first of five forms and handed it across the desk. “I’ll need your signature here.”

* * *

Riley had brought a few of Anna’s things from home: some of her stuffed animals, her pillow and blanket, a small framed photograph of the two of them on the beach while on their honeymoon, and some flowers.

Holding her hand against his cheek, he stroked her arm. She was so beautiful. Phase one of the procedure had gone well. For this he was thankful, even though she didn’t know who he was. The central power unit was murmuring away somewhere inside of her now. She was alive, and that’s what mattered.

Anna’s gaze was fixed on the honeymoon picture, transfixed by the image of herself, although it was doubtful that she knew who it was.

Riley reached across the bed and took the picture off the table. He held it closer for them both to see and said, “That was taken on our honeymoon in Mexico. About eight years ago. We had such a great time. Every day we slept late, ate great food, took walks on the beach, danced, and played in the water. It was paradise. We couldn’t have been happier.”

Her hand was almost as soft and smooth as it used to be. A little colder perhaps, but better than the alternative. Still caressing it against his cheek, he thought of how much he would miss it.

Tomorrow would begin phase two of the procedure: the simul-flesh wrap. So he intended to enjoy her slender, pale hands as long as he could. Over the next few weeks would be more procedures. Heart, liver, lungs, intestines. All soon to be replaced by biotek components. Organic machines.

Anna said, “It looks warm there.”

“It is.”

Slowly she turned her head towards him. “Will you take me there some day?”

Riley smiled. He leaned across the bed and kissed her cheek, then whispered into her ear, “Yes, dear. Anything for you.”