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Memories for Sale!
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Memories for Sale! |
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Bruce Junior Member
since 2000-08-02
Posts 15Internet, Cyber-Space, Everywhere |
Memories for Sale! "You can't be serious." Steven Danforth leveled his best "Never doubt that I am always 'serious,'" glance at Mason. "Mr. McClain, we're in the preliminary stages of development as I speak. We have more funding than you could imagine and from higher places than you would believe. We have a staff of over 200 of the top people in their respective fields. At this moment, they're justifying the theoretical mathematics and beginning other essential efforts which neither you nor I would understand, or in fact care about." He took a long sip of tea, creating a dramatic pause. "All we need from you is an outline of probability." Mason shook his head for what seemed the thousandth time this morning. He kept trying to see through the joke. But the guy in the thousand-dollar "suit" was not the type of man to make jokes, much less be involved in such an elaborate prank. No, Steven Danforth was the type who suspended his students for calling him "Dr. D." A sense of humor was as foreign to him as blue collars and nametags. So that meant that the director from MIT was in fact, serious. But if you had asked Mason, he would have told you he'd had no idea the whole idea would have been taken seriously. His idea to relive memories was a joke at the least, and half-hearted wishes at the most. So when he wrote a story about it, it was with that half-cocked smile on his face - the one that told anyone who knew him that he was amused, not serious. In reality, he never even expected anything to come of it. It was often that he'd write of something that caught his fancy and then forget it after it was done. That's how he was as a writer. He never expected even half of what he wrote to meet other eyes… it was more for personal gratification and exercise. "Memories for Sale!" was a surprise in that respect. It was one of those "fillers," a piece thrown in to bring a collection up to 250 pages. When his editor accepted it (and even titled the collection after that story), he took the news with a bemused and somewhat surprised grin. But even at that time, he would never have guessed. It was another thing he'd come to accept about the industry: People liked the weirdest things. He'd tell you though, that when the collection sold half a million copies he'd started to wonder. And by the time the movie was finished, he was definitely shaking his head in disbelief. But the real clincher was standing in front of him right now, asking for an "outline of probability" for a real working model of the machine he employed in his story. The 'memory machine' had been mentally created during a particularly lonely day; one of those days when he strafed the line between depression and insanity. Granted, he told himself. It had been over two years. But it still hurt. A man of extremes, Mason loved as he wrote - with full force. 'Dramatic,' people called him. He'd shrug at their simple explanation of who he was and go about his day. Whatever you called it, even now, three years following Alicia's death, he still missed her. It was the whole whirlwind romance, replete with white wedding and house on the hill. Though he made more than enough money writing to maintain a fair-sized family, Alicia would still go to work every day. It wasn't so much that she had something to prove, rather, she loved what she did. It was the children, Mason thought. They became her children, facing that lack in our lives. And that was the only emptiness in their relationship: Alicia was unable to conceive. It was a constant enemy to her mind-frame, and there on a daily basis. But even so, their life was all but perfect. Mason still looked at her with wonder when she returned home and they'd often act like teenagers, going out on dates and spending weekends in bed. But of course it ended - life isn't a fairytale… at least not Mason's life. The call came, freezing with false empathy worn thin through repetition. The officer told him in vague details how Alicia's right rear tire had blown while she was driving along the mountain path leading up to their secluded home. One moment she was coursing over blacktop; the next, she was floating out and away from the cliff overlooking Lake Mansaard. A funeral, tears, and three years still couldn't take away the pain of not being able to trace his fingers over her face. In dreams, she stood over bed, short hair tickling her jaw line while she shook back and forth in pantomimed dance. She would lower herself to cup his chin in her hand, splaying the fingers of her other hand on his bare chest. Then she would lean down and breathe gently in his ear… Mason shook his head and reached a hand for the teapot on the table separating him from Dr. Danforth. The other man surely noticed the hesitation, but tactfully (of course), said nothing. While he was filling the cups, Mason concluded his mental remembrance. It was two years later, as he was dressing before his monthly visit to Alicia's gravesite, that the 'memory machine' was born. He'd been watching Journey to the Center of the Earth while getting dressed. In retrospect, he didn't see how the connection was formed, but that's the way his imagination worked… The movie got him thinking of time travel, which led to a tangent of the past. He then morphed that into an idea of going back in time and preventing Alicia's death. It had been one of the few times he'd laughed since her death. Memories for Sale! The idea, while attractive, was too absurd to be anything but amusing. It of course was ridiculous, but as a writer, that's what he dealt in. Fantastic translated to bread and butter (or chips and tequila as was more likely these days). So in a single spurt of creativity, Mason pounced on the idea of an intergalactic salesman who delved in the art of time travel. His wares were of things his clients already had: Memories. For a fee, a large fee, the client could purchase a trip back to their favorite memory. The clincher to his story though, was that unlike other time travel adventures, in this one you could stay in your past. It amounted to taking over your own persona then, knowing what you knew now. You were basically given the chance to live your life over again, making different choices. In the story, some people chose different career paths, while others married or didn't marry a certain person. And then the main character… yeah, he went back and saved his true love from an early demise, thereby living happily ever after. What it turned into, as a story for Mason was a form of catharsis. It allowed him to do his wishing in a more tangible form, and to provide a happy ending. Of course it wasn't really a happy ending, but it helped to bleed away a little bit of the pain. That it was the first story since Alicia's death that didn't end in tragedy was also a sign of healing. And he'd forgotten it until the short story collection, where it eventually grew into this. "Look Dr. Danforth," Mason said, setting the tea down and crossing a leg across the knee of his faded jeans. "You have to understand that I find this all very difficult to believe. I wrote Memories for Sale! as a fantasy novel, not as an autobiography. Just as with now, when I wrote it, you couldn't have convinced me that anyone would approach me with the idea of converting a story into reality, much less ask me for help on it." Steven Danforth nodded and leaned forward, elbows perched on his knees. The teacup dangled loosely from his fingers, forgotten in the excitement of the moment. "But don't you understand Mr. McClain?" Dr. Danforth fairly bubbled out. "Your idea is exactly what started this! Everyone loves, no; I think needs the idea that they can change that moment in their life. Everyone, and I mean everyone Mr. McClain, has something in their life that they wish they could change. The memory machine gives them exactly that chance." "All fine and good," Mason responded shortly. "But how did we span from an almost magical idea into something verging on reality? And how, please tell me, can I help you? I'm not a mathematician. I'm not a scientist. Nothing I know can help you." Dr. Danforth shook his head, his peppered hair moving only slightly. He opened his mouth to say something, reconsidered, then leaned back. "I keep finding myself wanting to convince you of the idea; not the reality, but the possibility. I keep forgetting that you came up with the idea, that you wrote it. I've grown so accustomed to trying to put across the attractiveness of the idea first, that I fail to realize that's probably what caused you to create it in the first place. "As to the shifting from 'magical' to 'reality,' well that's a bit harder. I wholly understand where your disbelief is coming from Mr. McClain; I was there once myself. I don't know if you realize it or not, but your story struck a chord with many people, many. And I'm not just talking about the bored housewives who picked up a copy of your collection with a dozen eggs and a gallon of milk. When it was turned into a movie, you hit a much bigger audience. "Did you know Mr. McClain, that Memories for Sale! was re-released in seven different languages? It was such a hit over here, that it was decided to share the joy, not to mention profits, with some of our global neighbors. It hit there just as it did here. Among some of the people entranced by your story, were people like engineers, scientists, and quantum mechanics… people who take chances and push the envelope, people who make yesterday's impossibilities today's possibilities." Mason was retreating into the cushions of the sofa, disbelief flooding over his mind, washing him in a gray haze. He wasn't sure whether it was the idea itself that was overpowering him, or the fact that he'd initiated it. Everything that had formed his life until now seemed threatened. If the fantastic was removed, then what was there for him to write about? He'd tried non-fiction, but it held as much appeal to him as things like guacamole and dirty diapers did. And that didn't even begin to cover the ramifications of what normal life would be like if such a machine were possible. "…which is why we need you," Dr. Danforth was finishing. "I'm sorry," Mason said, blood rushing to his face. "I didn't' catch the last part." Dr. Danforth's steely gaze grabbed onto Mason, fixing his attention. "It is not the scientific aspect which requires your cooperation, but rather in the theoretical arenas. What we need from you is a probability outline, something to give us a place to start." "A place for what, exactly?" "How to overlap your prior self, how to track exactly which memory you're going to travel to." Mason nodded, half-thinking of the comment and half-thinking of the possibilities. He hadn't taken it seriously when he wrote it of course, but now that the opportunity might actually present itself… "See, Dr. Danforth," he explained. "It's not your body which travels, but rather your mind, or your soul, whichever you prefer to think of as the integral part which forms you. As I conceived it, there are an infinite number of dimensions, each self-contained. For example: If I lift my hand at this moment, what follows is the result. It affects the entire planet." Dr. Danforth arched his eyebrows, ready to claim disbelief. "I know," Mason assured, holding a hand out. "Sounds far-fetched, but it's the whole thing where the butterfly flaps its wings in China and the wind blows here. We're all basically just energy, atoms grouped together. The air around us is composed of the same base materials we as humans are. Everything, our world, our existence, is like a giant pool of water being affected by every stone cast into it, every bug landing on the surface, every boat rowing. So if I lift my arm, everything from the air around me to the third baseman of a baseball team in Australia is affected. "Granted," he admitted. "We might never even see or notice the change, the ripple if you will, especially if it's from something so minor as body movement. But if we take the example a bit farther and talk about me driving down the road, we can see what amounts to a larger ripple. "If I turn right, I go to the store and come home. Nothing noticeable happens. But if I turn left however, I run into a school bus and kill three kids." The doctor leaned forward, intent and horrified by Mason's telling. "Tragic, yes. But what we didn't know was that one of those kids would have turned out to be a serial murderer. Had he lived, he would have killed three men and half a dozen women. One of those women was the mother of a future president. That president was the one who signed a treaty uniting the various nations of the world into a single entity." "All because you turned left instead of right," Dr. Danforth said, amazement creeping into his tone in spite of his stolid demeanor. He was obviously shaken. Mason reasoned that the man had likely thought no further of his actions than what was immediately apparent. Anything extending beyond himself faded into nothingness, as it impacted his person none. "Exactly," Mason asserted. "Now this applies to the memory idea in that for each 'memory' we have, and each reaction we have, you can calculate innumerable variations of the future following that action. In theory, there is no such thing as impossibility. Again, for each action, a new future is created - and it expands exponentially. When a something as simple as holding your breath for half a second creates an entirely new future, there is no end to possibilities." "So it will be impossible to find the right point, place and time to pick up that memory. I mean, if there are infinite possibilities…" Mason smiled warmly. "No, remember that I said there is no such thing as an impossibility. The only thing we have to factor in, is the plausibility. That it can happen doesn't, of course, mean that it will. What may work in the flow of a universe where I didn't raise my arm, and the one we're in at the moment may be two entirely different things." He paused for a moment, entertaining a private smile. "In fact, I'm quite possible that there are universes where the memory machine already exists." Dr. Danforth shook his head, apparently being slightly overwhelmed. "So what about finding the exact time and place of a memory?" "Well," Mason drawled. "In theory, that's actually fairly easy. There are infinite possibilities, but we only have to work from the perspective of a single one of those possibilities: Ours. "The events that occurred in your past are the same as in mine. We are both existing in the same possibility right now, sharing just one of the countless futures which exist. Trapping a memory for someone, anyone, will be a simple matter of timing. Placement is simple… in theory of course." "Of course," Dr. Danforth responded. "Of course…" The two men lapsed into a not uncomfortable silence, both pondering thoughts of possibilities and probabilities. Mason bent across the table, absently refilling both their cups, though neither was empty. It seemed right at the moment. He realized from a distracted mental distance that he accepted the reality of the possibility; while at the same time he noted the irony of the statement itself. And thought he fought to keep the thought far away, the more he focused on pushing, the closer it came. He knew it would come up eventually, whether by him or another. It would be better, he thought. If I brought it up on my own. That, or someone else will when I'm less prepared to deal with it. "Dr. Danforth," He said softly, hesitant to break the contemplative mood. The man nodded absently, indicating Mason to continue. He didn't seem perturbed by the interruption. Perhaps all the years of experience dealing with students, who's moods were likely as liquid as mercury, helped him in situations like this. Not to mention, he did want Mason's help, so it paid to be somewhat conciliatory. "What… will…" Mason discovered that he couldn't find the words. Perhaps he wasn't ready to broach the subject. But Dr. Danforth seemed to understand. He smiled warmly, losing some of the stern demeanor he'd presented from the beginning of the interview. He nodded, as if in answer to Mason's unvoiced question, then spoke. "Of course you would have access to the machine. As a matter of fact," he grinned sympathetically. "It is all but insisted upon that you be the first real customer, once the memory machine is guaranteed safe and reliable." Mason lowered himself to the floor, legs splayed beneath the coffee table and his back resting against the couch. He placed his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Even after all this time it was all but unbearable. He looked up when he felt a warm, firm hand resting on his shoulder. Dr. Danforth looked him in the eyes with a fatherly smile, his gentle hand squeezing Mason's shoulder in reassurance. "We know, Mr. McClain," "Mason." "We know, Mason, about Alicia. I do my research before approaching a potential business associate. Not that it's private knowledge, considering the dedication you made in your Author's Notes before Memories for Sale!. Everyone at the institute, and all the backers know why you wrote it, why you came up with the idea. Not a few told us in no uncertain terms that you were to not only be allowed free access to the machine at your request, but demanded that you be allowed first access." His smile broadened. "I was one of the latter." Mason sat on the plush ivory carpet with his jaw agape. How the man knew what he was thinking was obvious… Mason had never been one to hold much in reserves. All his emotions were worn on the outside, his reserve reserved for his stories. Purgation was something he'd always had a difficulty with, since he held nothing back in the first place. "Thank you," Mason said simply, unable to convey with words what he felt inside. That others, people he'd never met, could care about him, about his feelings overwhelmed him. At the same time, it filled him with an inner peace as if he were no longer as alone as he had been. It gave him hope, and finally, a goal. Alicia, he thought with the first true smile he'd had in three years. I'll see you soon. |
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| © Copyright 2001 Bruce Doe - All Rights Reserved | |||
Jeffrey Carter
since 2000-04-08
Posts 2367State of constant confusion! |
First let me say WOW!!!!!! This is an amazing story....I would very much likr to see this stretched out into full novel length. I would have no qualms at all about buying and reading a story that is written this well...again WOW!!!! You sir are extremely talented. |
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Poet deVine
Administrator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-05-26
Posts 22612Hurricane Alley |
Yep. Bruce you've got talent!!!! |
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Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187St. Paul, MN |
WOW Bruce! This was great! One of the best works I've read in a long time, and like Jeffrey I would love to see this continued, it would take me no persuasion to pick up this novel. I'll never look at a Janitor the same way again!  Abrahm Simons "It doesn't matter if we turn to dust Turn and turn and turn we must I guess I'll see you dancing in the ruins" - Blue Oyster Cult |
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Elizabeth Cor Senior Member
since 2000-10-13
Posts 879Over the river and through the woods |
You have such a talent for dialouge... Do you talk a lot Bruce?  But something is missing... this story seems empty and I wish I had another way to describe my reaction, but empty is the most adequate word... for now. The idea is superb, as is your presentation of it... but oh, something in the personal is missing... what about a little more heart and a little less patheticalness? We know that Mason (NICE name, btw. heh.) isn't exactly an ideal role model... but give him character beyond that... this story deserves it. |
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