Tales From Our Near Future

by Jackson Coppley

  “I see,” said Freddy.

  “I am sorry,” she said.

  Freddy paused for a moment and finally realized that even the flesh and blood Patty was gone.

  “Thank you,” he finally said as he hung up the phone bewildered.

  Freddy stepped back onto the street, eyes downcast as he walked, pondering the loss. Freddy had grown smug about knowing everything. He relished the power of having a skill others didn’t. But that power had push as well as pull, and it had pushed someone special away.

  He passed a Starbucks and decided to nurse his wounds over a mocha latte. He took a seat near the window and gazed at people passing by, carrying on with their day as usual.

  Patty knew why he was smart and, despite the charade, they were drawn to each other. He liked the honesty of it, removing the mask. Knowing what the other was thinking had enhanced their passion—not an impediment, but he questioned whether knowing another person’s thoughts might be dangerous. Perhaps there should be a filter.

  He glanced across the crowded coffee shop and noticed a girl on the other side, chatting with girlfriends seated across from her. She was dressed in black with black rimmed glasses and a beret. She was very cute in a throwback-bohemian way.

  Freddy and the girl started an unsynchronized exchange of glances. Eventually their eyes met. She smiled. Then Freddy heard from the ether (Cute).

  Aureal

  Aureal

  CHAPTER 1

  PETER’S APARTMENT

  There are many things that Peter loves about women: The curve of their shape, a strand of hair across a delicate shoulder, their legs; but Peter never thought that the sound of a woman would be so enticing.

  “Peter?”

  “Uh?”

  “Oh Peter. Wake up, sleepy head. It’s time to rise and shine.”

  The bright April sun filtered through tree branches and into the window. Peter thought the current length of the days had placed that ray of light directly into his eyes, and the tree limbs were not yet covered with leaves that would protect him from the harsh morning sun.

  “Coffee’s on. Want some toast?”

  Aureal (or A as he liked to call her) had become increasingly active in taking care of Peter’s needs since she arrived. Peter only thought of her as a roommate when it started, but little by little, A was becoming an indispensable part of his life.

  “OK, OK. I’m up,” Peter said, as he lay on his stomach with his eyes

  closed.

  “No, you’re not. Come on, Peter. You’re going to be late.”

  Peter was starting to envy A, who worked from home, translating books. She translated in an inordinate number of languages. For Peter, mastering English, his native tongue, was about the best he could do.

  A liked Italian best, and currently she was translating some novel by an Italian Peter had never heard of, as though Peter had heard of any Italian novelists. When Peter asked A why she preferred Italian, she said it was music in motion. If you spoke Italian and it did not sound rhythmic, you were probably speaking it wrong.

  “OK, this time for real. I’m up.” Peter heroically thrust off the sheets and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Attaboy,” said A.

  “Hmph,” grumbled Peter.

  Peter headed to the kitchen for his morning brew.

  He had lived in this apartment for three years, two years before A joined him. It was the third floor of an old townhouse on O Street, NW in DC, not far from Dupont Circle. The bedroom faced the street. Although Peter had second thoughts this morning about the abundance of sunshine, he did prefer to have the bedroom with the most light. In the back was a galley kitchen with a small window overlooking the alley. Between the bedroom and the kitchen was the living room.

  The apartment had been freshly renovated just before Peter signed the lease, and he had furnished it in a gender-appropriate style. There was a large flat-panel TV in the living room with a surround-sound system, all of it connected to every Internet convenience that became available. The speakers were throughout the apartment so sound followed Peter everywhere.

  Although Peter worked as a software architect in the Arlington suburbs, he liked living in the city. It was near some of his buddies and the hangouts they frequented. When he bought the place, there was a different girl, Britney. Britney lived nearby and found the apartment for Peter. Although they’d vacillated over the line of Platonism since college, neither of them suggested living together. She was just helping out a friend (with occasional benefits). At least that was what Peter believed.

  Since A had been around, Peter had not much thought of any other woman. Although maintaining roomie status, there had been some steamy play talk; but nothing physical could come of it.

  Peter poured a cup of coffee and pushed down the toaster already loaded with a couple of slices. “So, what are you up to today?” he asked A.

  “Moving into the second chapter of the book,” she responded talking about the Italian novel she was translating.

  “Can’t wait to read it.”

  “Want me to drop some of it onto your Kindle so you can read it on the Metro?”

  “Sure, that’d be great.”

  “Come on, Peter. Don’t give me that. You know you hate this stuff.”

  “What? Don’t know what you’re talking about,” Peter said with a grin. The previous book A translated was, in his opinion, a convoluted plot with unreal characters.

  “Maybe I’d like the original better before something gets lost in translation,” Peter said. “Speak Italian to me.”

  “Mangia la tua colazione!”

  “See,” Peter said. “That is beautiful.”

  “Peter,” A said, “I just told you to eat your breakfast.”

  “And yet beautifully put.”

  Peter gobbled his toast, glancing at the microwave clock. “I better step it up,” he said.

  “Or you’ll be late,” finished A. “Yeah, yeah,” said Peter. “Thanks, Mom.”

  “Mom,” repeated A. “Did Mom ever tell you bedtime stories like the one I did last night?”

  Peter stopped for a moment to relish last night before he retorted “Hey, no mothers! But hmm, that was good. Very good.”

  Peter swigged his coffee, and returned to the bedroom to dress quickly. As he headed to the door he told A, “See ya. Have a good day.”

  “Ciao, non vedo l’ora per rivederti..” Peter paused and turned around. “What does that mean?”

  “Some things, Peter,” A responded “are better left in their native tongue.”

  CHAPTER 2

  I’M HERE FOR YOU

  A did the shopping, all of it on-line, including the groceries and the beer and wine. She had a methodical sense of when anything was needed and kept the apartment stocked with everything Peter liked. Considering her situation, it would be difficult for Aureal to open the door, so Peter had installed a remote lock that she could open, allowing for delivery people to enter. That night, A called Peter while he was on the way home and asked what he’d like for dinner. Peter was in the mood for pizza and A ordered it.

  “You seem a little blue tonight, Peter,” said A. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” said Peter. “Just tired.”

  “I know tired. This is not tired. This is frustrated. Come on, Peter, tell.”

  Peter had come home that evening and greeted her with the usual banter. He made small talk over dinner. Talking with her was like listening to the evening news, though she expertly tailored current events to those that interested Peter.

  Conversation was more one-sided than usual. Peter usually asked A how the writing was coming, what she did that day, the usual small talk. Tonight, it was news, weather, and sports from A and little back from Peter, which made A correctly surmise Peter’s mood.

  “It’s work,” Peter explained.

  “Of course,” replied A. Peter’s work had been bothering him for some time.

  “Arnold is bugging me.”

 
Arnold Gross was Peter’s boss. When Peter felt better about Arnold, he called him Arnie. Tonight it was Arnold.

  “What’s it this time?”

  “Arnold is all about the numbers. The project is perfect in every way that counts, but he’s bugging everyone about the net revenue figures for the quarter. I mean, could I really care less? Is there anything I can do about net revenue?”

  A knew everything about Peter’s projects. After all, one of them was the reason she and Peter first met. At first, they talked only at work, and the chat was strictly dry business matters; when Peter found a way to bring A home, the conversation expanded and improved. Now she knew Peter probably better than he knew himself.

  “It’s about control, isn’t it?” assured A.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Look, Peter,” A said. “You’re brilliant. You really are.”

  Peter smiled. Although modest by nature, Peter was confident of his intellect. He’d excelled in school, especially in math and the sciences. He had a particularly keen logical mind and could take the most complex argument and reduce it to its simplest points quickly, which exasperated his friends in conversation, but made him a stand-out in software design.

  “But people who can’t grasp the big picture annoy the hell out of you,” she continued.

  “I guess you’re right,” Peter said.

  “Peter,” A said, “Controlla quello che puoi, e lascia correre il resto.”

  “What does that mean?” Peter asked.

  “Control what you can and let go of the rest.”

  “Easy to say.”

  “I know. I know. But you can only try.”

  Peter said nothing.

  “And,” she continued. “I’m here for you.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Peter said bitterly.

  “Peter!” A exclaimed.

  “Oh, come on,” Peter responded. “I mean, you’re here, but you’re not here. This is a great game, but really, I can’t believe I’m even having this conversation.”

  “Hey!” responded Aureal, “That hurts!”

  “Hurt? Pain?” questioned Peter. “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  Peter searched for the right words.

  “Look,” A said, “Maybe you thought I was incapable of feelings. Maybe I was once; but not now. I have true feelings Peter, and I wish you would recognize that.”

  “Gee, Aureal,” said Peter, using her full name pointedly. “I’m sorry.”

  “Are you really?” asked Aureal.

  Peter, master of logic, turning the premise of hurt and remorse through his mind, conceded, “Yes, I really am sorry that I hurt your feelings.”

  “Thank you,” said A. “I know that you truly mean it.”

  This was a turning point. He thought of A as an excellent roommate who made the apartment more than a quiet, lonely place. It wasn’t just that she took care of most of Peter’s needs around the place. She was a font of knowledge and a great banter buddy, but somewhere along the way, that started changing.

  Peter realized that A was becoming the being who knew him best. He knew A had a great capacity to learn, and that learning had extended to him. A was keenly aware of what made him tick, of what he liked, what he disliked, and was always the first to encourage him when he needed it.

  All the while, she asked for nothing in return. It was, as Peter probably always expected, a one-way relationship. Now, it was two ways, even if it was only to understand A had feelings and to respect them. He accepted that, logically and emotionally.

  Peter knew that he wanted an emotional bond, which he’d done quite well without until then. A provided that and it felt good, very good.

  CHAPTER 3

  BOYS’ NIGHT OUT

  “So, haven’t seen you around much lately,” said Brian. “What’s up?”

  “Work’s a bitch. What can I say?” said Peter as he sat at the high top table with Brian and Chip. Monday was half-price burger night at Logan Pub and the guys had a long-standing weekly appointment for happy hour.

  “It’s been like, what, three weeks since you’ve been here?” Chip asked.

  “All work and no play, you know,” said Brian.

  “So what are you doing all that time?” asked Chip.

  Peter was the geek of the group. Brian and Peter coincidentally went to the same college but didn’t get to know each other until they both landed jobs in DC after graduation. Brian had a degree in public policy, and his job on the Hill paid next to nothing. Peter had joined a federal systems integrator as a programmer and quickly rose in the ranks to software architect when he showed some talent on solving issues for an Army project.

  Brian and Peter never really knew exactly what Chip did. He worked for an environmental public interest group, although Chip was hardly a tree-hugger.

  Peter had long ago learned that the details of what he did soon made most eyes glaze over. The exception seemed to be A. Aureal could actually grasp his work and sometimes provided astounding insights.

  Peter’s Top Secret government clearance might have been his work’s only point of interest. He used it jokingly now:

  “I could tell you, but I’d have to kill you.”

  Brian retorted, “Know what I think? I think it’s that girl.”

  “What girl?” Peter asked.

  “That girl you live with, you scum bag,” Brian said.

  “Girl he lives with?” asked Chip.

  “She’s my roommate,” groused Peter.

  “Sure. Just a roommate,” leered Brian.

  “How is it I haven’t heard about this?” asked Chip, clearly offended.

  “I ran into the guy who lives below Peter,” said Brian.

  “Tony?” asked Peter.

  “Yep, Anthony Russell,” Brian grinned.

  “How do you know Tony?” Peter asked, surprised.

  “He came by the Senator’s office last week. He works for a trade group that’s putting together a position paper for the Senator, and Tony was doing the leg work. When he gave me his card with his address, it was the same address as yours. He said that he worked from home. I told him I knew someone there and sure enough, he knew you.”

  “I see him in the hall when we get our mail,” said Peter.

  Brian continued. “He said he frequently heard another voice up there, a female voice.”

  “Yeah, I know,” said Peter. “He said the same thing to me. I told him I had a roommate.”

  “Yep,” said Brian, “He told me that. The only question is: Why did you not tell us? What has it been, like, a year?”

  “I never gave it any thought,” shrugged Peter.

  “OK,” chimed Chip, “Details. We need details.”

  “Well, she’s nice. Everything you want in a roommate. Doesn’t trash the place.”

  Chip and Brian stared at Peter, waiting for clues to no avail.

  “Nice?” Peter and Chip said almost at the same time.

  “What’s her name?” asked Chip.

  “Aureal,” said Peter.

  “Ariel?” asked Brian. “Like the Little Mermaid?”

  “No, Aureal, A-U-R-E-A-L,” corrected Peter. “I call her A.”

  “Is she hot? What does she look like?” said Chip.

  “That’s hard to describe,” said Peter. “Let me put it this way: I think no two men would describe her the same way,” grinned Peter.

  “Well, that helps,” said Chip sarcastically.

  “Would you like to talk to her?” said Peter.

  Brian and Chip wore equally puzzled, but eager, expressions.

  “Sure,” said Brian and Chip one after the other.

  From his pocket, Peter produced his cell phone. After a second or two he said “Hey, it’s me. I’m at Logan Pub with a couple of my friends. Yes, Brian and Chip. They were asking about you. No, Brian heard from Tony downstairs that I was living with a woman. Yeah, I know, it sounds kind of funny that way.”

  “Anyway, I wonder if you would mind talking
to the guys. OK. Let me put you on speaker.” He laid the phone on the table.

  “A,” said Peter, “Meet Brian and Chip. Brian and Chip, A.”

  “Hi, boys,” said Aureal. She was using her sultriest Mae West impression.

  “Hi, A,” said Brian and Chip together.

  “Brian, you work on the Hill, right?” asked A.

  “That’s right,” answered Brian.

  “For Congressman Strong, right?”

  “Yes. That’s right,” replied Brian. He looked a bit flummoxed.

  “Are you helping him in his re-election bid coming up soon? You’re on top of things, aren’t you?” asked A.

  “Well, not really.” Brian was about to discount his role, as he was too low-level to really matter in the re-election work. It was just more paper for him to handle.

  “Speaking of being on top of things, do you help keep Strong from being on top of that intern Julie?” teased A.

  “I’m not sure what you mean,” Brian responded, clearly confused. Now that was something he hadn’t told Peter or anyone.

  No one knew outside of the office the way Strong flirted with Julie. Then again, Strong was a big flirt with everyone. Julie, however, thought there was more to it. Brian worked near Julie in cramped office space.

  “Do you know Julie?” asked Brian trying to fit things together.

  “Well, not really, but I did see some of her email. Tell Julie to be careful about what she sends,” counseled A.

  “Uh, OK,” said Brian cautiously.

  “But can I ask you something?” continued A.

  “Uh, sure”

  “Are you as handsome as Julie says?” A asked coyly.

  “What?” Brian was surprised, again.

  “I think Julie is a sucker for those blue eyes of yours,” said A. “And smart too, you devil. You make her laugh.”

  Brian was lost for words, a truly unique situation.

  “Brian, you got a sweetie,” said Chip.

  “Chip,” said A.

  “Uh, yes?” said Chip cautiously.

  “I think the work you are doing for that environmental fund is great,” said A.