Seeing the Future is Depressing

When you are older, say, late 40s, you will become tired of life, and this is why: you know what will happen.  Not at the end, which you do know, but that's not why you're tired.  You're tired of life because you know that getting out of bed means your socks, your slippers, your robe, the bathroom, stretch, cat litter, cat feeding, breakfast, and so on throughout your day.  You're tired because if you go out, you know what will happen.  You know what it's like.  You know your reaction.  You know when you'll be tired.  You know when you'll be sore, when you'll be angry, when you'll be filled with regret.  You also know what others will do and how they will react.

You are tired of life because you see the days stretching forward and you see the lines of repetition, even the supposedly special events.  Your naive excitement flakes away with repeated experience.  You know there is no secret cave or an amazing person or hidden knowledge or adventure around the corner.  They have all disappointed in the past.  Even the exciting events are predictable.  The forest isn't endless.  There is no cache of money.

Your experience has made you see the future and seeing the future is disappointment because the future is the past is the present is the repetition of it all.  It is why some people in "mid-life crises" will try to change their lives drastically: buy a flashy car, find a new spouse, experience a psychotic fugue.  As anyone will tell you, it won't work.  You know the car needs to be washed and the price of gas is going up.  The new spouse is the same as the old spouse.  The psychotic fugue will end and there will be paperwork.

Dementia could fix this.

Autonomous Vehicle

An autonomo slowed down when it sensed Kate walking and pinged its mandatory after midnight inquiry.  Kate slashed down with her free hand and the vehicle continued on its way, probably back to its charging station for the night.  She hoisted her sliding pack back into position and cinched the straps over her shoulders.

A Sky Full of Ships

The stoplights blinked red, reflecting in the standing water on the cracked pavement.  A v-shape of at least a dozen ships whined by overhead making Anna's inner ear itch with subsonic sound.  She fought the urge to look and fought harder the urge to run.  

Inspiration #11

At first, the government didn't acknowledge the protests, but when women began meeting in larger and larger numbers, they began scoffing.  Scoffing is always first.  Second comes delegitimization, which burned out after the effects of the larger numbers of women protesting were impossible to ignore.  When delegitimization no longer worked, undermining was increased.  Undermining involves spreading of rumors; in this case, that the women weren't protesting on their own, but rather that they were being supported by members of the opposition party, foreign governments, terrorists, or even aliens.  However the protests had grown too large for undermining to work.  The government hadn't counted on the protests lasting so long or engaging so many.  They had no step after undermining, but they did have a leap: bombing.

First line inspiration from "Biographical Notes to 'A Discourse on the Nature of Causality, with Air-Planes,' by Benjamin Rosenbaum" by, indeed, Benjamin Rosenbaum: "On my return from PlausFab-Wisconsin (a delightful festival of art and inquiry, which styles itself 'the World's Only Gynarchist Plausible-Fable Assembly') aboard the P.R.G.B. Sri George Bernard Shaw, I happened to share a compartment with Prem Ramasson, Raja of Outermost Thule, and his consort, a dour but beautiful woman whose name I did not know."  A neat story on the surface with a deep layer underneath.

Inspiration #9

My grandmother remembers when they still had deliveries by people, right to where you lived, and it was provided by a nationwide system.  Every person agreed to pay what they could once a year in exchange for big projects and services like that, which they could never make work on their own.  Incredible.

Inspired by first line of "Lieserl" by Karen Joy Fowler: "Einstein received the first letter in the afternoon post."

Inspiration #3

Mutants aren't nearly as interesting or as much fun as movies have led people to believe.  Amil dropped a coin he could ill afford to give away into a beggar's cup because the beggar had a dog.  He wasn't proud of himself, but while he could brush off pain to humans, pain to animals was intolerable.  The beggar's too-thick tongue didn't allow him to speak, so he had apparently trained his dog to tap a paw on a scrap of cardboard upon which was scrawled, "THANK YOU" in thin, crooked hand.

The mutant beggar made Amil think back to mutant superheroes; while tragic and misunderstood they were still heroes with powers, each more dramatic or frightening than the last.  Real mutants had twisted DNA, either before or after birth, that didn't cause them to be super-human; they became less desirable as human.  Mutants' DNA twisted and turned from humanity, and humanity, abhorred, turned from them.

Inspired by "The Healer" by Aimee Bender.  "There were two mutant girls in the town: one had a hand made of fire and the other had a hand made of ice."

Continuation of Wednesday, February 25, 2015

Continuation and revision based on an idea of where it should actually go!

Pageant Question 10: If you could go back to a certain time in your life, what would it be and why?

 

When my beautiful baby boy turned three, I stopped going to play group, swim at the Y, and "Mommy-n-Me" yoga.  Cutting off his grandmother was harder, but not impossible.  I packed away most of the toys in our apartment and all of the diapers as well as the training toilet.  If anybody who cared to know me cared at all, they would have been seriously concerned.  It was far worse than they could have imagined.

Raising Calvin alone was not easy, and I abused myself every day with thoughts of how stupid I was when I had slept with his father.  I barely even remembered the man, and he was a man.  He wore a suit and everything.  I was old enough to know better, and this guy was so professional, so pulled-together, I thought he was okay.  He wasn't.  Luckily, he never tried to contact us.  He had to have found out I had a baby, but not so much as a peep.  I say I was lucky, though I really could have used the money from child support.  Calvin and I lived in an attic apartment in the city, and even though we didn't have a lot it was cramped.  I couldn't imagine how women and girls who weren't educated managed when I could barely make it through social services application processes.  I was persistent, though, which is why Calvin was enrolled in so many great programs.  Not anymore, though.

It was the morning of Calvin's third birthday, and spring finally seemed to be around for good.  I was up extra early to decorate and set out his presents (a real vintage Speak & Spell I found at a thrift store and fixed up, a stuffed dog that had to have been donated new, and some clothes--sorry, kid.)  In the morning, Calvin usually woke himself and called me from his bedroom, "Mommy!" he'd call in a sing-song voice.  "I'm a-way-ake!"  Bustling about, taping up streamers, I didn't notice he hadn't called yet, and it was after eight.  I wasn't a nervous mother, but of course I worried.  I pictured him, smothered in his pillow.  I pictured having a doctor explaining "sudden infant death" could happen to toddlers, too.  I pictured him kidnapped by his absent father, whom I might not even recognize if I saw him on the street.

Calvin, however, was awake.  I found him sitting up in his bed, staring at his hands.  He turned them over and looked at the backs, then again to the palms.  The look on his face frightened me because it was so intense.  "Calvin?" I asked from the door.  "You okay, buddy?"  My voice startled him, and my toddler looked up at me, stared for what seemed like a very long time, put his hands to his mouth and burst into tears.

I ran to his bed and held his shaking body.  What in the world had scared my baby so badly?  "It's okay, it's okay," I crooned over and over, rocking him.  Finally, Calvin was down to sniffles, and he said something he had never said before, "Mom?"

"Mom?" I repeated, sitting back to look at him.  I smiled, thinking that suddenly my baby at age three now thought himself old enough to graduate from "Mommy".  My smile faded when I saw his glistening blue eyes searching my face so intently.  "What is it, Calvin?  What's the matter, buddy?"

"Mom... I can't believe it's you.  I'm really here."

 

  He walked off in a straighter, more purposeful way than I'd ever seen, and came back with the box of tissues from the bathroom.  After that brought a new burst of tears, I finally pulled myself together.  "You okay, Mom?"  I nodded.  "What were we going to have for breakfast?  I'm starving!"

  I haven't had those since...  For a long time."  I noticed the pause, but ignored it to make my little boy's favorite breakfast.  I realized Calvin, at thirty-five, was older than me.

computer," and "Can we have sushi for dinner?"  Nonna's coffee mug would often mysteriously drain itself of liquid.

This is all physics.  My calculations for returning to my own body."  Calvin didn't hear my quiet objection that he was in his own body.  He slapped the table.  "I wish I could have brought my notes with me!  How stupid of me not to realize Bernmann wouldn't have written his papers yet.  Why was I so dumb?"  He looked up with the eyes of a nearly middle-aged man.  "I know you always told me that my father was brilliant, but there's got to be a run of stupid in my genes, too."  Calvin couldn't miss my look this time, and he tried to backpedal.  "No, Mom, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

and an individual could travel along his time stream."  He took my silence as additional proof I couldn't follow and waved one chubby toddler hand.  "It's not important, Mom.  What's important is that I get back to being me, and you will have your Calvin back.  I'll be able to see what happened in the future because of my changes here."

My baby slid out of his booster seat, never taking his eerily old eyes off of me, his sobbing shadow of a mother.  I thought he was going to give me the hug he always did when I was feeling blue, but this was not my little Calvin.  My Calvin sensed when I was sad and tired and threw his arms around my neck to cry with me.  This Calvin's eyes were cold, and they saw me start to bend when he came near.  He stopped, his mouth tight.  "Mother," he began, "pull yourself together."

"I can't, remember?"  I indicated my wasted chest, "I don't have all of me anymore."

His eyes narrowed, "This is what you're mad about?  That I saved your life?  You'd be dead by the time I'm ten if it weren't for me."

"At least I would have my Calvin."

He grabbed his hair and growled, "I am your Calvin!"

"No, you're not!  My Calvin wouldn't yell at his mother.  My Calvin would have hugged me when I'm sad.  My Calvin wouldn't call his mother 'smart enough'!"

"And my mother was an angel!" he screamed.

I shook my head, "Because she's dead, Calvin.  She's dead and you made her into an angel, but you disdain the real, live woman before you who is your mother."

"My mother would have given her life for me!"

My voice was quiet, but steady, "I did."  I knew he wouldn't understand the future I had before my unplanned pregnancy.  I knew he couldn't fathom that I had a life for myself that ended once he came along.  He thought I was stupid because I let his father get away.  He thought I was stupid because I didn't get my degree or have a prestigious job or a nice house.  He probably thought I had been stupid to ignore my own body and get cancer.  I realized now that Calvin, the thirty-five year old Calvin of the future, was using me just as much as his father had; he wanted to prove his theory, and saving my life was secondary.  He thought of me as much as his father had.

Calvin looked up at me, his small chest heaving, his little fists clenched.  I could practically read his mind: How dare you get in the way of my discovery?  I wondered if he could read mine: Where did I go wrong in raising you?

"I'm done."  Calvin's sudden dismissal of our argument was stunning.  He started gathering up his papers.  "I need a backpack."  I couldn't imagine at that moment why, but just then he was straining to reach the middle of the table, so, of course, I helped him stack the papers he couldn't get to.  He wouldn't look at me.  "A backpack.  Please.  Now."

I moved to get my old pack from the closet, even while wondering why.  My deluded mind forced his actions to fit what I thought was best; he was gathering his papers into the backpack for my safekeeping here, like I said.  But it wasn't true.  Calvin had gone into his room and was already zipping up his baseball-themed windbreaker.  I had always had to help him with zippers, but, of course, his fingers were as clever as his mind these days.

"What are you doing, Calvin?"  I shivered.

"Leaving."

I laughed, which made him turn his narrowed eyes in my direction.  I explained, "But, you can't leave.  You're only three!  Where can you go?"

"I'm going to the university and I will find Dr. Bernmann and I will explain what happened.  I don't think it matters now that it would be a paradox..." he froze in the act of zipping the backpack closed and a slow smile illuminated his face.  Calvin turned to me, "My, God!  It was me!  It was me the whole time!"

I didn't understand, but my baby was looking at me and smiling, so I knelt and smiled, too, "What was you, Calvin?"

"I'm the one who inspires Bernmann to write his paper.  I invented the entirety of time travel myself!  It was me!  Me!"  As Calvin laughed, I realized he wasn't looking at me at all, but rather at his genius.  He hefted the pack to his small shoulder; it was nearly as big as he was and I imagined seeing him as he would be on his first day of school in two years.  He turned to me, smiling with his angel's face at his own glory, "Goodbye, Mother.  I'll have Dr. Bernmann return my three-year-old self when I'm gone, and, I guess, I'll see you now and later."  Calvin went to the door put his hand on the knob above his head and said over his shoulder, "By the way, Mother, why don't you buy me some more advanced books?  If you work a little harder raising me, maybe I can reach my full potential despite your...circumstances."

I couldn't move.  It was like I was kicked in my ruined chest, and I could only watch my baby leave, walking down the stairs to our apartment one at a time.  I heard his little feet in their second-hand sneakers take each step, one foot then the other, one foot then the other, because his legs were so short.  I faintly heard the door to the outside open and slam shut, and I pictured Calvin shoving it with both hands, the triumphant smile still on his face as he planned out how to convince this Dr. Bernmann to listen to a toddler.

Despite his words, Calvin was my baby, and I ran to the window the overlooked the front sidewalk and threw it open to call to him, ask him to wait for me and I would do whatever he wanted.  Simultaneously, traitorously, I felt like as big a sucker as I did when I cried to his father's back when he walked away.

I saw Calvin on the sidewalk.  I saw a group of local college students breeze past him, ignoring the toddler on his own because what did they care?  They had tests to take.  Calvin walked to the curb between the parked cars.  I opened my mouth to shout before he got too far to hear me, but he had already stepped out into the street.  It was another college student, hurrying on his way to class, worried about finding a parking space, not thinking that a toddler would walk out into traffic in the middle of the block.

My baby is gone.  He came back to save me, and I lost him.  I'm in classes now, fulfilling one of the dreams I had before I made the foolish mistake of sleeping with a man I thought cared.  I'm majoring in physics, and I'm a Teaching Assistant for Dr. Bernmann.  He likes me a lot, and I've inspired him to so many breakthrough ideas.  What keeps me up at night now is wondering: how far back do I go?