Remember (18 page)

I wait there in front of her and look for any signs that she was crying or anything else. Her strategy must be working. She looks and acts like herself. "It sounds reasonable."

"Having nothing to say is unlike you. You should always have something to say." Her endless ability to seek out areas for improvement resurfaces.

"I'll work on that. I’ve been wondering what that necklace of yours means?"

“This?” She holds the pendant up with the necklace.

“Yes.”

She grabs the pendant and just yanks sharply. To my surprise, it releases easily. She hands me the symbol still a little warm. “It signifies science, the constant asking of questions.”

"Good luck with your study." I return the pendant.

"Thank you for your support."

(—)

I find a place under new studies for neuroscience, so anyone who thinks about this will see my study. The ad reads: 'Learning Improved: Looking for participants to enter a semi-invasive study. How to make teaching more effective? Participants attend a free course on basic neuroscience. If anyone is interested, please contact me, Dr. Conor Abby at the Stephens Institute of Neuroscience Research and Treatment'.

I post the ad and wait.

(—)

I get ready to leave, after finishing the survey, and decide to see if Claire left already. She promised to post the survey. I enter the office to sounds from behind the counter. Assuming this indicative of Claire, I wait for her to appear.

"It looks like you're still here."

"Actually I was about to leave." She stacks a few paper thin pads together and holds the rolled up bundle.

"Where are you off to?" I don’t notice my finger swiping the edge of the counter until a piece of grit grinds through my finger.

"I'm just going to meet up with some friends. You are welcome to tag along." She raises an eyebrow a degree in repressed surprise.

“I'm not one to turn down an invite." My answer relaxes her tense shoulders with the expected answer.

"Let’s go then."

"Right behind you."

Claire grabs her grey jacket from the counter slinging it over her shoulder. We retire from the office to the elevators, as normal. Her shoes make a softer clacking sound than the reverberating sharp sounds of usual heels. The red gleam means those boots that interested me. Obsession with shoes confuses me, but these are an exception. This time the elevator stops at B3 — like any other floor, at first glance. As we venture deeper, the walls become matte, wide, square tiles of muted and darker grey tones. We enter an almost cavern off the hallway, populated by an assortment of tables and chairs. A sample of the local people fills in a rest. We go to the bar, Claire right at home.

"These are two of my college buddies. This is Ian Hale and Corrine Azarola." Claire introduces the two people behind the bar.

"Hi, I'm Ian. Nice to meet you…" He says from thin, smiling lips. His extensive tech corrected eyes — pupils twinkling from different angles — stand vigil over a narrow nose.

"I'm Conor." I fill in the blank after seeing it.

"Good to meet you Conor.” Corrine surrounded by neck length hair beams back at me.

"This is someone I work with. He just decided to tag along." Claire explains.

"Interesting place, how did you guys land it?"

Claire slides her foot around to the front of her stool jabbing me with her toe.
Accidental.

"It isn't the difficult. Customers are always looking for new sims.” Ian moves to show me the back counter filled with near empty bottles. “We are pretty good, if I say so myself."

"How did you guys run into Claire?" Claire really kicks my foot with her heel.
Shut up.
I guess she already answered that question.

"As Claire says, we just happened to meet in inexplicable conditions." Corrine presses Claire’s hand briefly.

Claire’s ears turn red from the quote of her. "How is business going?"

"Good. Custom recipes," Ian replies.

"Intrigued." Claire requests.

"Mix and match choices," Corrine responds.

"Tomorrow's rush," Claire adds.

The three of them have a shorthand, I can’t fully decipher it from just that.
They just look at each other for a sec.
This feels as good a time as any.
"If you're open for business, I would like to try some of your drink sims."

"Sure, let me tell you about your options. As you should know sims are better due to their lower impact on the planet and your wallet." Ian sells his pitch.

"What will it be?" Corrine searched the empty bar for other customers.

"The orange seems good." My quick look turned up something not bad.

"Going." Claire says.

"See you tomorrow. How do I do this?"
My quick dismissal of Claire guilts me.

"Here take this and apply it." Ian hands me a coin node.

I put the node on the back of my palm over the metacarpal vein. "That's it?"

"Yeah."

I suddenly have a glass of clear liquid in my hand, decide to drink it, the glass nears my mouth, and hits me with a strong citrus sent, oranges. The liquid enters my mouth with the familiar burning. The pleasant taste of fresh oranges coats my tongue, just like I ate the real thing. Just the glass appearing shatters that illusion.

"You guys are ready good."
I imagine that goofy slow grin crossing my face.

”It's good you appreciate what you are getting," Ian says.

I steel myself into stoicism
. “I just don't get the drink just showing up in my hand."

"We have to change some stuff to make the "real" thing different." Corrine wipes down the pristine bar.

"Thanks for a great experience."

I choose to head out, leaving the node behind. As I leave the lounge, my mind just clears. Looking back, the place is called
Zensation
. Taking off the sticker changes nothing. Some wandering leads me in the right direction. I finally get to the tenth floor with some lingering questions. Claire just goes back after asking them some questions. She comes to a bar and doesn't drink anything. Why? Anyway, time to get in.

Fri 6/9/17 3:32 a.m.

A
warm oak booth surrounds me. We wait in some kind of eating place, Claire and I, holding hands across the narrow table. Someone drops off a plate of chocolate, containing one piece, shaped into a lightning bolt. We each grasp a side and break it off. The chocolate held on the precipice of our mouths, offers us a reflection of each other. We communicate words to each other by some inexplicable way. We know each other that well.

Are you ready?

What about you?

Do it.

Do it together.

We nod in unison. The chocolate falls off the precipice into the abyss below. We intensely look at each other, any wavering destined to failure as the chocolate tests us with temptation. I feel drowsy as the sinister effect starts taking to which I look more closely at her. Everything about that face, every describable detail fills my head. There must be something else.

I focus on her eyes. The cornea, a thin covering of a sensitive looking glass, shines back at me a mini reflection of the environs, a whole universe. The iris forever protects the pupil from extremes in light, gracefully changing to match the needs of its partner. Dark brown in its nature. They are incredibly more exquisite than that, the dance between varying colors of olive, ochre, and onyx. The iris is but a simple ring of innumerable complexity enhanced with a fade to dark at the edge.

The chocolate is too strong for me. This isn’t the end, tis more work needed between us. I drown in the taste, the extreme sweetness of white chocolate — nothing getting in the way, except more coco butter. The richness of it gives way to nutty flavor, the sweetness receding to a more complex sensation. The gradation moves to the darker end, flavors swinging further, more coffee like. A burnt taste takes over the amorphous completely. I can’t breathe.

I try to cough, signal anyone. I rise up and find some help. Nothing working, I desperately return to the booth. Claire approaches me. My plight apparent, she grabs my arm with a soft touch so I feel pain and collapse.

A room meets my opening eyes, a room open to the high jungle, continually bathed in mist, moisture condensing on the white walls, carved stone like. The small room houses a dozen or so tropical plants growing up from the ground. I sit at a table aside Claire, a table dominated by its floral inhabitance. It stands as a topiary cradling an iridescent glass covered tray. The perfect place for the resident moss, submerged in a pool of water, rippling and shimmering. Someone else sits across the table though I can never figure out whom.

“Mr. Abby, you have a swallowing dysfunction. I recommend monthly treatment with moss to prevent continually choking. Would you like to try some?”

The who opens up the moss habitat. I reach in the cool water — a welcome break from the hot, humid room — grasp a piece and let it disconnect from the colony. Still dripping, I position it under my tongue, wipe my face with the back of my arm, and shake it off. I fish out the moss and gently reintroduce it to the environment. Claire looks at me.

Are you ready to attempt eating something?

Yes.

Here is a cracker.

Thank you.

The cracker goes in my mouth. The salt comes on first, the mild sweetness, and as digestion begins, grows sweeter. The crunch of the dry cracker, broken, breaking down into crumbs sounds through my ears until I chew everything out thoroughly as choking is not an option.

I swallow it in small portions. Everything goes well. First one is good, now, on to the next allocation, swallow, try to make it go down right, and fail. I can’t breathe. I try getting help. They aren’t looking. I try everything, nothing working. Claire holds my hand with both of hers, oblivious to my situation. I feel myself fading away, and I wake up.

(—)

I look into the starry sky of thousands, if not millions, of members. A swatch of yellow, white, brown crosses my skylight, a hazy shroud of matter covering the brilliant core of the galaxy. I try to calm myself. Sleep is tricky with tension. I manage to let the sleep come and carry me off.

Fri 6/9/17 8:22 a.m.

"H
ey, Claire." I meet up with her just as we both leave for work.

"You look good, considering." I appraise her clothing choices today. A skirt to just below the knee of large decorative cutouts backed in a lighter black and a dark red top with billowy sleeves under a two-button jacket.

"You have mastered the artful doge." My whisper reaches her ears with a sideways look directed at me.

"With or without you, everything went as planned." She reacts with normal speech.

"I'm not so sure.”
Another whisper from me.
“Why did you go down there in the first place?"
An edge of something, bitterness or accusation, not sure which, accompanied everything I said.

"I actually go there once a week or more often. I help them keep the place up and updated." Claire presses down on the elevator and we wait.

What’s taking so long?
"Are you sure that's it?"

"Believe what you want. I don't drink, sims or otherwise." She crosses her arms — her lighted cufflinks glaring out.

"Good to know." I enter the opening doors with a spin.

Claire drops her arms and accompanies me in. "How is your study coming along?"

"Good, I'd have to say." I look away from the reflection of her.

Claire rolls her eyes up and nods a few times. "I’ll not be busy until 9, today.”

"Is it okay if I stop by and distribute my survey?" I try looking for anything interesting up on the ceiling but just see the convex mirror above.

"Sure, see you then."

Claire rushes out of the elevator like always. With the survey figured out, what’s left? The classes and tech. Hopefully, I garner enough subjects by next week. Just fifteen joined in the first week of the 2-week window. Gary’s gadabout laugh guides me over to him. What can be so funny?

"Hi, Gary." An empathetic smile follows suit.

"Oh, it's you," Gary says, still laughing.

A moment of puzzlement.
"What is so funny?"

"Just watch this dream."

I pull over my chair, sit down, and we watch the dream.
I come into an apartment with groceries, putting them on a table. Something slips under my foot. I go out the window and struggle to stand on a fire escape. Slips follow everywhere I feel stable again… and again. I grab the rail for another try. My hands meet a rail covered in banana peel, where I slip again and tumbling down the stairs. I
t ends there.

How can that make him laugh so hard?
"It isn't that funny.”

"It wasn't the first time for me either."

"It seems almost scary in a murderous way."
Qualifying my answer?

"If you watch it a few times, it becomes less scary and funnier."

I just humor his ideas. It’s just a sim recording.
"I guess I can see it now. Just add a comedy sound track and it's all set."

"How is your project coming?" Gary switches roles like shoes.

"Okay. I just have a lot to do."
My okays mean okay, unlike some other people.

Gary disconnects me from his desk after just a month of membership. "I'll let you get back to it."

The cold shoulder disappears with rush of hurry. Shoot, almost 9. I better see Claire before it’s too late. The survey can wait, but I should fit it in if I can. I stop by my desk to get it. Also, ask about the number of people who entered the study.

"Hi, Claire, do you still have enough time?"

She continues hurriedly. "Yes. Give me the survey."

"There you go." I put the pad on the counter and slide it over.

She checks the length, one page. A ream of pages comes out from behind the counter, out of which she counts ten. "Okay, here is a stack of pads."