Roger's Story
Note -- these stories build on each other, starting with the earlier dates. The characters are completely fictional, even my blog profile is fictional. The first story is here.
[draft]
I parked in front of the small, single story house. It’s tan brick construction, narrow carport, looked like so many of these homes from this period. Most of the homes on this street were probably rentals. The yards were not kept up. This house had its lawn mowed.
I got out, checked the address again on the mailbox standing next to the driveway, and then walked up the driveway. I paused, sometimes people used the doors inside the carport as the “official door,” others used the front door. I decided to use the front door. I pressed the doorbell button. It didn’t seem to work. I waited a minute, and then knocked firmly on the door. In a few moments, it opened.
Roger Smith greeted me, “Hey.”
“Hi, I’m Earl Flask of the Atlanta Casual Observer.”
“Come on in.” Roger opened the door wide and stepped to the side. Looking at Roger close up, rather than in the witness stand at Peter Stone’s trial, I could see that Roger was in the prime of his life. He looked very fit. Not an ounce of fat. His handshake was firm and strong.
I walked in and stood in the entrance of a tiny living room. The sofa looked a little well worn, the wingback chair also looked well used.
“Come, have a seat.” Roger motioned to the wingback chair. I sat down and Roger sat down on the sofa. “My wife, Pamela, will be coming in a second. She’s getting some cookies out of the oven.”
“You guys didn’t need to do that.” I protested, “Especially considering the wedding you’re having tomorrow.”
Roger said, “It’s catered, it’s all taken care of, we’re having a big party. You’re welcome to come.”
“Thanks,” I replied, “I’d love to come.”
Pamela came in with a plate of cookies. Roger and I stood up. Roger said, “Pamela, this is Earl Flask, the reporter.”
“Nice to meet you.” Pamela put down the plate and held out her hand. I shook it. Pamela obviously wore a wig. She looked somewhat tired. The bloom of her youth had faded.
“Roger said you’re with the Atlanta Casual Observer. Never head of that before. We tried looking it up on Google. It didn’t come back with anything. Here, have a cookie.”
“Thanks.” I said. I took one.
We all sat down, Roger and Pamela sat comfortably close to each other on the sofa.
I continued, “We keep battling Google to include us in their search engine. It seems to be a loosing battle.”
I paused, then, “The reason I’m here is to hear your story about being the first person to be transported in history. You work at Q-Corp, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Roger answered, “I’m a lab technician. I hope to finish my college degree and move into an engineering job.”
“Roger, what was the process of selecting you to be the first person to be transported?”
“Well,” Roger started, “on June 30th, a month before being transported, my boss came to my work bench and said that Dr. Stone wanted to see me right away. I asked my boss why, but my boss said he had no idea. So, I dropped everything and went up to the top floor. They were all expecting me and I was led into Dr. Stone’s office. Dr. Stone and Rita, the company lawyer, were sitting waiting for me. When I entered, Rita got up and shut the door, then sat down. They both looked very serious. I wondered if I screwed up something and they were going to fire me.
“Dr. Stone said that they wanted to ask me something that was to be kept strictly confidential. I wasn’t to talk to anyone about this, except my wife, and she had to keep it quiet. I nodded, and then Dr. Stone told me about the transporter. The transporter project had been a secret project but now they were going public about it. They wanted to pick me to be the first person to be transported. Dr. Stone said before I was to give an answer, he wanted me to know some important things about it. He wanted me to know that the transporter would make an exact copy of me in the receiver 50 feet away, and then it would wipe out the original me. I asked if that meant I would be killed. Dr. Stone said that when I came out of it, I would feel the same. He said some people might say I was killed, but if I felt the same, looked the same, wouldn’t it make sense that I survived and was alive?”
Roger continued, “I told him that I didn’t feel like doing it. Then Dr. Stone said he would pay me 10 million dollars if I would do it. But there were some conditions. I would get 5 million dollars for just going in the transporter, and the other 5 million after Dr. Stone was cleared of murder charges. I said that changes everything. I asked what would happen if I didn’t make it out of the transporter, would Pamela get the money? Dr. Stone said she would, and the same conditions would apply, she’d get 5 million dollars if I died in the transporter, and the other 5 million when the murder charges go away or are dropped. Then I said I’d do it. That’s when Rita talked about it all over again, going through everything. Then she got out some papers for me to sign.”
I asked Pamela, “So what did you think when Roger told you?”
Roger and Pamela looked at each other, then Roger turned to me, “Well, I didn’t tell Pamela. I knew she wouldn’t go along with it, no matter how much Dr. Stone paid us.”
Pamela nodded.
I was surprised, “So, you didn’t say a word about it?”
Roger looked a little sheepish, “No, not a word. Pamela didn’t find out what was happening until the night after it happened.”
I asked, “Did Dr. Stone and Rita know this?”
“Yes, and they were okay with this.” Roger answered.
I said, “So, nobody knew, all this time up to the day of being transported. Then what happened on that day?”
“I got up that morning, just like every other morning, drove into work, went to my workbench. Dr. Stone came personally to see me and walked me back to his office where Rita was waiting. They asked again if I was okay with this and that I could back out if I wanted to, and ran through how I would be copied and the original of me would be eliminated. I said I’m okay.
“Then the company doctor examined me. Then I was led down to the floor the transporter was on. I had practiced with them the previous week so I was familiar with everything. There was a crowd of reporters. I climbed into the transporter, they shut the door, it got dark, I stood there for a few moments, then the room seemed to change, I was a little disoriented, they opened the door, and I stepped out 50 feet away from where I was before. The reporters asked some questions but I don’t remember what they asked. Then I was led off to see the doctor, he gave me a physical. He said I looked fine. Then they told me they just created a new bank account for me, had some bank official come in, had me sign more papers, and that they put 5 million dollars in it. Then they said to take the next month off. By this time, it was evening. The doctor drove me home and went into the house with me. That’s when Pamela found out what happened.”
“So, Pamela, what did you think, how did you react?” I asked.
“At first I thought Roger was in some big trouble.” Pamela answered. “Then when the doctor introduced himself and started telling me what happened, I was confused, it didn’t make sense. Then I finally understood and I was frightened and angry. I cried. They killed Roger and who was this man? Then Roger said it’s him and he held me, saying he was sorry. I asked him why did he do it.”
Pamela stopped; tears were in her eyes.
I asked Roger, “So why did you do it?”
Roger said, “I did it for Pamela. You see, we’ve had a rough marriage. We’ve only been married for four years. Two years ago I had an affair. Pamela found out after a month the affair started. She confronted me. Pamela told me to pack my bags; our marriage was finished. It was that night I realized I threw away something more precious than anything else. I told Pamela I was sorry, and I found a cheap motel that night. Over the next year we started all over. I romanced her and did everything to win back her heart.”
Roger stopped, all chocked up, and hoarsely whispered, “Pamela took me back. She forgave me.” Tears were streaming down Roger’s face. Then Roger’s voice came back, “I thought we had a new beginning. Then Pamela got cancer. Breast cancer. Cancer in both her breasts. She had a double mastectomy, radiation treatment, and chemotherapy. I saw this as a chance to help Pamela. Ten million dollars can do a lot in helping her. I’d gladly give my life for her in an instant. I can’t repay her love. She had taken me back after I was such a jerk.”
“Did you hear what happened with Dr. Stone and his wife?” I asked.
“Yes, I felt sorry for Dr. Stone.” Roger answered.
“Did it ever enter your mind that you’re not legally married to Pamela, and with all this money you could start a new life?” I asked.
“What! Without Pamela, I couldn’t do that. Without her I have no life!” Roger answered. Roger turned towards Pamela and put his arm around her. “When Pamela had the double mastectomy, she was devastated. She told me she lost her womanhood. I told her that was not so, she was much more beautiful than that, that I loved her now for better or for worse. Pamela is the love of my life. She is my life.”
I was crying, remembering my wife that died just over five years ago. The interview had ended.
…
Pamela and Roger’s remarriage was a big party. The Smiths had lots of friends over. They included me as if I was their lifelong friend.
[draft]
I parked in front of the small, single story house. It’s tan brick construction, narrow carport, looked like so many of these homes from this period. Most of the homes on this street were probably rentals. The yards were not kept up. This house had its lawn mowed.
I got out, checked the address again on the mailbox standing next to the driveway, and then walked up the driveway. I paused, sometimes people used the doors inside the carport as the “official door,” others used the front door. I decided to use the front door. I pressed the doorbell button. It didn’t seem to work. I waited a minute, and then knocked firmly on the door. In a few moments, it opened.
Roger Smith greeted me, “Hey.”
“Hi, I’m Earl Flask of the Atlanta Casual Observer.”
“Come on in.” Roger opened the door wide and stepped to the side. Looking at Roger close up, rather than in the witness stand at Peter Stone’s trial, I could see that Roger was in the prime of his life. He looked very fit. Not an ounce of fat. His handshake was firm and strong.
I walked in and stood in the entrance of a tiny living room. The sofa looked a little well worn, the wingback chair also looked well used.
“Come, have a seat.” Roger motioned to the wingback chair. I sat down and Roger sat down on the sofa. “My wife, Pamela, will be coming in a second. She’s getting some cookies out of the oven.”
“You guys didn’t need to do that.” I protested, “Especially considering the wedding you’re having tomorrow.”
Roger said, “It’s catered, it’s all taken care of, we’re having a big party. You’re welcome to come.”
“Thanks,” I replied, “I’d love to come.”
Pamela came in with a plate of cookies. Roger and I stood up. Roger said, “Pamela, this is Earl Flask, the reporter.”
“Nice to meet you.” Pamela put down the plate and held out her hand. I shook it. Pamela obviously wore a wig. She looked somewhat tired. The bloom of her youth had faded.
“Roger said you’re with the Atlanta Casual Observer. Never head of that before. We tried looking it up on Google. It didn’t come back with anything. Here, have a cookie.”
“Thanks.” I said. I took one.
We all sat down, Roger and Pamela sat comfortably close to each other on the sofa.
I continued, “We keep battling Google to include us in their search engine. It seems to be a loosing battle.”
I paused, then, “The reason I’m here is to hear your story about being the first person to be transported in history. You work at Q-Corp, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Roger answered, “I’m a lab technician. I hope to finish my college degree and move into an engineering job.”
“Roger, what was the process of selecting you to be the first person to be transported?”
“Well,” Roger started, “on June 30th, a month before being transported, my boss came to my work bench and said that Dr. Stone wanted to see me right away. I asked my boss why, but my boss said he had no idea. So, I dropped everything and went up to the top floor. They were all expecting me and I was led into Dr. Stone’s office. Dr. Stone and Rita, the company lawyer, were sitting waiting for me. When I entered, Rita got up and shut the door, then sat down. They both looked very serious. I wondered if I screwed up something and they were going to fire me.
“Dr. Stone said that they wanted to ask me something that was to be kept strictly confidential. I wasn’t to talk to anyone about this, except my wife, and she had to keep it quiet. I nodded, and then Dr. Stone told me about the transporter. The transporter project had been a secret project but now they were going public about it. They wanted to pick me to be the first person to be transported. Dr. Stone said before I was to give an answer, he wanted me to know some important things about it. He wanted me to know that the transporter would make an exact copy of me in the receiver 50 feet away, and then it would wipe out the original me. I asked if that meant I would be killed. Dr. Stone said that when I came out of it, I would feel the same. He said some people might say I was killed, but if I felt the same, looked the same, wouldn’t it make sense that I survived and was alive?”
Roger continued, “I told him that I didn’t feel like doing it. Then Dr. Stone said he would pay me 10 million dollars if I would do it. But there were some conditions. I would get 5 million dollars for just going in the transporter, and the other 5 million after Dr. Stone was cleared of murder charges. I said that changes everything. I asked what would happen if I didn’t make it out of the transporter, would Pamela get the money? Dr. Stone said she would, and the same conditions would apply, she’d get 5 million dollars if I died in the transporter, and the other 5 million when the murder charges go away or are dropped. Then I said I’d do it. That’s when Rita talked about it all over again, going through everything. Then she got out some papers for me to sign.”
I asked Pamela, “So what did you think when Roger told you?”
Roger and Pamela looked at each other, then Roger turned to me, “Well, I didn’t tell Pamela. I knew she wouldn’t go along with it, no matter how much Dr. Stone paid us.”
Pamela nodded.
I was surprised, “So, you didn’t say a word about it?”
Roger looked a little sheepish, “No, not a word. Pamela didn’t find out what was happening until the night after it happened.”
I asked, “Did Dr. Stone and Rita know this?”
“Yes, and they were okay with this.” Roger answered.
I said, “So, nobody knew, all this time up to the day of being transported. Then what happened on that day?”
“I got up that morning, just like every other morning, drove into work, went to my workbench. Dr. Stone came personally to see me and walked me back to his office where Rita was waiting. They asked again if I was okay with this and that I could back out if I wanted to, and ran through how I would be copied and the original of me would be eliminated. I said I’m okay.
“Then the company doctor examined me. Then I was led down to the floor the transporter was on. I had practiced with them the previous week so I was familiar with everything. There was a crowd of reporters. I climbed into the transporter, they shut the door, it got dark, I stood there for a few moments, then the room seemed to change, I was a little disoriented, they opened the door, and I stepped out 50 feet away from where I was before. The reporters asked some questions but I don’t remember what they asked. Then I was led off to see the doctor, he gave me a physical. He said I looked fine. Then they told me they just created a new bank account for me, had some bank official come in, had me sign more papers, and that they put 5 million dollars in it. Then they said to take the next month off. By this time, it was evening. The doctor drove me home and went into the house with me. That’s when Pamela found out what happened.”
“So, Pamela, what did you think, how did you react?” I asked.
“At first I thought Roger was in some big trouble.” Pamela answered. “Then when the doctor introduced himself and started telling me what happened, I was confused, it didn’t make sense. Then I finally understood and I was frightened and angry. I cried. They killed Roger and who was this man? Then Roger said it’s him and he held me, saying he was sorry. I asked him why did he do it.”
Pamela stopped; tears were in her eyes.
I asked Roger, “So why did you do it?”
Roger said, “I did it for Pamela. You see, we’ve had a rough marriage. We’ve only been married for four years. Two years ago I had an affair. Pamela found out after a month the affair started. She confronted me. Pamela told me to pack my bags; our marriage was finished. It was that night I realized I threw away something more precious than anything else. I told Pamela I was sorry, and I found a cheap motel that night. Over the next year we started all over. I romanced her and did everything to win back her heart.”
Roger stopped, all chocked up, and hoarsely whispered, “Pamela took me back. She forgave me.” Tears were streaming down Roger’s face. Then Roger’s voice came back, “I thought we had a new beginning. Then Pamela got cancer. Breast cancer. Cancer in both her breasts. She had a double mastectomy, radiation treatment, and chemotherapy. I saw this as a chance to help Pamela. Ten million dollars can do a lot in helping her. I’d gladly give my life for her in an instant. I can’t repay her love. She had taken me back after I was such a jerk.”
“Did you hear what happened with Dr. Stone and his wife?” I asked.
“Yes, I felt sorry for Dr. Stone.” Roger answered.
“Did it ever enter your mind that you’re not legally married to Pamela, and with all this money you could start a new life?” I asked.
“What! Without Pamela, I couldn’t do that. Without her I have no life!” Roger answered. Roger turned towards Pamela and put his arm around her. “When Pamela had the double mastectomy, she was devastated. She told me she lost her womanhood. I told her that was not so, she was much more beautiful than that, that I loved her now for better or for worse. Pamela is the love of my life. She is my life.”
I was crying, remembering my wife that died just over five years ago. The interview had ended.
…
Pamela and Roger’s remarriage was a big party. The Smiths had lots of friends over. They included me as if I was their lifelong friend.
posted by Earl Flask | 7:24 PM
3 Comments:
Okay, I admit, this story is a glucose tolerance test. The saccharine is dripping from this. I do have an interesting story planned for Peter Stone involving Quantum Mechanics. I’ve got to figure out how to lead into the story without being overly technical (especially for me, because I get the details all wrong :o).
Aha! I finnaly figured out how to post comments! Though I don't know which post this is for. :)
Yeah, it's a bit complicated. That's because I turned on "word verification" to prevent automatic spamming that I was getting before.
Post a Comment
<< Home