Detour from Normal (38 page)

"The Cream philosophy," said Ali. Christine nodded.

"Exactly, Cream takes it to a new level by applying the same philosophy to every user and website utilizing our own proprietary rating and
ranking protocols. As some websites and users rise in an effort to be the cream, others who refuse to improve sink. At a certain cutoff, Cream blocks those users, isolating them from the Cream web. The aim is to promote and reward good practices so users of the Cream web will be guaranteed the finest, safest, least prejudiced, most trustworthy, fun, and productive environment conceivable. Within the Cream web, everyone will be freer and more equal than ever. Because of that, within the confines of the Cream web, you will be able to connect with people of the world like never before."

"Wow, that's really exciting. Is Cream available yet?" asked Kiran.

"It's in beta testing with some of our major clients and will be available for general use in a few months."

"Mr. Hartford, can you tell us the one thing you like most about Cream?" Ali asked.

"That's tough. I can think of at least ten things right off the top of my head. How about letting me share three?"

Ali laughed. "I should have expected that. You certainly are a bulldozer—there's just no stopping you once you get rolling. OK, but only three. We still have the rest of the show to do."

"What can I say? All right, the top three..." He hesitated momentarily and the three anchors leaned closer in anticipation. "First, Cream continually learns from its user interactions and improves itself to make the Cream experience even friendlier and better. Second, Cream puts the best of everything right at your fingertips. You no longer have to suffer through hours of frustration and depend on chance to find what you're looking for. Finally, Cream is nondiscriminatory. Everyone is equal in the Cream web regardless of race, religion, nationality, size, shape, or color; if you are rich or poor, what your age is, or if you are pretty, ugly, handicapped, diseased, or disabled."

"Outstanding," said Ali. "I have just one final question. It might be construed that the ultimate goal of Web Immersion Technologies is to control the Internet with Cream. How would you respond to that criticism?"

"That's a valid concern, but not what Cream is about. We could waste our time trying to control a rapidly expanding and evolving Internet and fail, or we can skim the cream off for our users to create a virtual paradise: purified, organized, streamlined, and customized for each Cream user right now, leaving the Internet itself alone for others to deal with. We're happy to share with anyone the path to becoming a part of Cream. Shine. Be the brightest and best; be the fastest, most useful, most entertaining, most important, most educational, or the friendliest. If you shine, you won't need to come to us; our doors will already be open to you."

"Thank you for joining us on this
American Morning"
said Kiran. "We wish you and Web Immersion Technologies the best of luck."

"Thank you for having me. It's been a pleasure," said Tucker.

"Stay tuned for more news. We'll be right back after this break," announced Christine.

That was a fascinating product. I was amazed at how long the segment was. It was unusual for CNN to devote so much time to one topic. Suddenly I was being shaken by an unseen force. "Ken? Ken!" someone yelled. I opened my eyes, which surprised me because I had thought I
was
awake. Instead I was lying sideways on the sofa. My arm was curled under my head and was damp with drool. I blinked and looked around, not believing it had been a dream. It had to be the most sophisticated dream I'd ever had. I guess that's how it is when your full brain comes back online again.

"Sorry to wake you. I didn't want you to miss breakfast."

"No problem, Al. I guess I was really out. I can't believe I slept through all this noise," I said, now able to hear all the normal breakfast commotion.

"You must have been really tired."

"Matthew kept me up most of the night. I can't wait to get out of here and sleep in a real bed without Matthew waking me all the time."

"I bet he's really going to miss all of your help."

"I wish there was a way to transition someone else in to help, but I don't think anyone would care. What's for breakfast today?"

"Uh, I think it's a breakfast burrito."

"Great, I love those things. Thanks for waking me. I have to go get something from my room."

I rushed to my room and retrieved two packets of hot sauce that I'd hidden behind a sock in one of the shoes in my cubby. I loved the stuff. The last time they had breakfast burritos, I had scored the unused packets from other patients. I ran back out and waited for my name to be called as they read names off the paperwork attached to each tray.

"Ken? Ken Dickson?" That was my cue. I rushed to the cart.

"Easy, boy, here you go."

"Thanks," I said, taking the tray. I sat at one of the tables and wasted no time peeling open the tinfoil wrapper, unrolling the burrito, and pouring three packets of fiery sauce on it. I took one bite and was in heaven. My tongue was on fire, my lips were on fire, my entire mouth was on fire—that was heaven to me.

As I savored my burrito, I thought about the dream, wondering what the point was. Two thirds of the way through the burrito it came to me, and the point was astonishing. The dream was telling me that through
science and innovation, we could create a place that encourages the best of human interaction and fosters the finest of human ideas. We could create an environment free of everything that holds us back from reaching our full potential, an environment much like the real one I had envisioned. The difference was that it would be a virtual environment, a virtual Utopia. Instead of mankind losing their negative emotions, those emotions would simply be excluded by using a software tool like Cream. Everyone would still have their negative emotions, but within the Cream web, they would be free of the effects of them.

I was energized by that realization. No longer did I need to fret about changed people. Cream was so much more plausible, so much more likely, even probable—so much so that it seemed inevitable. It made sense, much more sense than people being randomly infected by some kind of un-disease that made them better instead of worse. Utopia wasn't dead after all; it had simply undergone a metamorphosis. The stage was set for its opening show. There was not one changed person in the audience. Instead it was filled with Internet users of every sex, shape, size, color, and religion. They were all waiting breathlessly for the show to begin. The lighting and sound crews were in place, the supporting cast was ready, and the stage crew was anxious to raise the curtain. All that was needed was for the real world equivalent of Cream to take the stage and let the show begin.

Chapter 32

LOOSE ENDS

After finishing my breakfast, I asked Al if I could shower and shave. He nodded, rose from his chair against the wall of the main area, and walked to the storage room to fetch me a razor and washcloth. He escorted me to my room's bathroom instead of the one in the quiet room that I usually had to use. That one had no hot water, and Al was letting me have a little luxury today. That was as close to heaven as I could get in Gracewood: shaving with hot water and a fresh single-blade razor.

Next I hit the shower. The foamy soap from the dispenser on the wall doubled as body soap and shampoo. I made the most of it, then dried off and dressed myself in a pair of brown dress slacks, a brown woven leather belt, a cream tropical-print dress shirt, and penny loafers that Beth had left me. It felt so uplifting to be out of my cargo pants, scrubs, and running shoes. Once dressed, I walked out to the main area and paid homage to the day on Emma's calendar. I rested my hand on it for a moment longer than usual, dreading that it was the last time I would do so and that it was the last day I would see Emma, perhaps for the rest of my life. That was a sobering thought. It seemed so strange that I could form a bond with someone and then never see him or her again. As I stood by the calendar, the catcalls started:

"Hey, check Ken out. What a hunk."

"Woo-hoo, look at you."

"Where's the party, Ken?"

"Hubba-hubba."

I finished my homage and took a sweeping bow to the women in the room. "Thank you, young ladies," I said to the women who were for the most part over forty and upward to their seventies. Then I joined them watching TV to pass the time until 9:25 a.m.

At nine twenty-five, the call came for anyone wanting to go outside. Grace wanted to go, so I offered to wheel her out. It was a sort of position of honor since everyone liked the cranky old woman for her fighting spirit, and I always enjoyed verbally sparring with her on the way out and back. I always won because I unfailingly responded with kind words to her catty ones and broke through her tough armor. Once outside, I parked her in her favorite shady place in the grass near the basketball court, and went to the hose reel to wait for Emma. Time passed and I began to wonder if she had the day off. Finally, the door to the yard swung open and Emma strolled out. She smiled as she made her way to the hose reel.

"You look sharp today," she said.

"It's my last day. I thought I'd dress up."

"Oh," she said. I didn't know what to make of that. It was so open ended. She said nothing else, just walked over to the faucet, opened the lock on it, and connected the end of the hose. I unreeled the hose, pulling it out to full length as she turned on the faucet. We then proceeded to prune flowers and pick up debris from the north flowerbed. We didn't talk much, but Emma sang and that was fine by me; it was what I longed for the most. It was how I wanted to remember her. When we finished,
I watered the flowers and she headed to the south flowerbed to prune and clean it.

I loved watering the flowers. It was so peaceful and calming. The nozzle had many settings, but we always turned it to the one marked "rain." I gave the flowers a few more raindrops than usual before shutting the nozzle off and pulling the long hose to the south garden. Emma had finished by the time I arrived, so I started watering it right away.

"I'm going to miss this. I've really enjoyed taking care of the gardens with you," I said.

"I've really appreciated your help."

"I even helped on days you weren't here. Did you know that? Your friend did as you asked, but whenever possible I offered to water to make sure the job was done right."

"I didn't know that. Thanks."

If this sounds like a strained conversation, that's because it was. It wasn't Emma's fault. Like the other patients, I was considered a danger to myself and others. As far as she or anyone else knew, I could snap without warning. I wasn't what you'd call good "friend" material. We probably could have gotten along wonderfully if we'd met randomly outside, perhaps picking out what Emma called six-packs of young flowers at Home Depot. Perhaps we could even have had a good friendship, but in here, this was as good as it was ever going to get. In fact, during my weeks at Gracewood, this was the best anyone had managed with me, even family. It was frustrating. It made me wonder if things would ever be better. What if that was how my life was going to be from here on out?

"Well, I just wanted to say one last thing, Emma. I hope that if we ever meet again, it will be under better circumstances." Once I'd said it,
I felt that it was right up there with Emma's "Oh." It didn't begin to convey what I really felt—that it was difficult to imagine what life would be like without her in it. I wished there was a way we could remain friends after my recovery, but it seemed impossible in light of the circumstances that had brought us together in the first place. Emma didn't respond; those were the last words spoken between us.

I finished watering and rolled up the hose, then went over to wheel Grace in one last time. As my unit merged together at the doorway and I led the pack inside (Grace was always first to go in), I paused, and looking back at Emma, I took my hand off the wheelchair handle for a moment and waved. She raised her hand slightly and waved back. I wheeled Grace through the doorway, and Emma was gone from my life.

After coming in from the recreation period, I went to my room to clean up and get my things together. I disassembled my stuffed pillow and stripped the bed, then took all the bedding to the hamper in the hallway. I went through my plastic cubbies and collected my meager belongings. I took the picture of the pretty brunette out of my left cargo pants pocket and put it in my left dress pants pocket. I then put all my belongings in a brown paper grocery bag. As quickly as that, I was ready to go. Everything I owned filled half the grocery bag. It was hard to imagine that that was what my life condensed down to. It suddenly made me embarrassed to think of all the junk awaiting me in the normal world. I would never think of it in the same way again.

Before I left the room, there was one more thing I needed to do. I walked over to Len's bed and reached into my left pants pocket for the picture of the blue-eyed brunette. I unfolded it one last time and silently said good-bye to her, then folded the picture up again and, chuckling, placed it under Len's pillow.