The Entropy Sessions

by Novo Dé

  “Hello there, hope you weren’t waiting too long,” he begins, their staff reading my mind again. “I’m your anesthesiologist, Dr. Toriyama, here to perform one of our many preliminary exams before the surgery. The good news is: you’ll be out for the rest of em.’ So just relax. Go ahead and lay down. I promise I don’t bite.”

  I do as instructed. He then goes through the usual physical check-list, taps his NCL a couple of times and proceeds through the process very effortlessly.

  “Alright Mr. Nielson…any allergies?”

  “Just. Penicillin.”

  “Good good. Anything else?”

  “Nope,” I reply. He then blinks repeatedly on that note, presumably placing in new detail on my chart through his NCL interface.

  “Perfect Perfect. That’s everything I need. Now a nurse should be in on my heels to—ah here she is,” he says, stopping himself short as a young lady in nursing scrubs enters the room.

  “She’s going to set you up with an IV and probably give you a sedative to help you relax, and then move you in the bed to the next holding area.”

  “Oh. I thought this was the pre-op suite—”

  “It is,” the nurse chimes. “But not the surgerical pre-op suite. Think of it as a pre-, pre-op suite. We just getcha prepped in here honey.”

  “Gotcha,” I say with a slow nod.

  The anesthesiologist exits, leaving me with the nurse, now performing a series of duties to further prep me for surgery, all with an almost musical-like grace, signaling to me that she’s done this countless times before, putting me at ease a bit more. The sedative helps too.

  Once prepped, her and what appears to be an aide that comes out of nowhere unlocks the hospital bed with a strong clack, and off we go.

  Now with the sedative really kicking in, I can feel myself melting into the hospital bed a bit, a sense of comfort blanketing me. And thank god, because as they wheel me through the corridors, all I see is the ceiling and walls, now feeling like I’m in the promotional ad itself, but the sedative also keeps me from caring.

  But that doesn’t keep me from the sense of eeriness I see in the walls, that I feel in this moment, a moment I never thought I’d be a part of, soon now with my very own NCL implant.

  Eventually, we reach our destination, and I’m met with Dr. Toriyama again.

  “Hello there again Nr. Nielson. Well we’re going to hang out here for a bit, and once we get the green light that the surgeon is ready, we’ll start you on that IV drip – the anesthesia – the real good stuff, and you’ll be off to La-La land. And the surgery, it’ll be over in a heartbeat.

  “Ok,” I say back, surprised he didn’t say ‘it’ll be over in a blink of an eye,’ or some stupid fucking pun like that.

  Now in the actual pre-op suite, I’m positioned in a way where I can see the adjoining room, the actual surgical suite, with all the little worker-bees rummaging around, prepping and laying out all the surgical instruments, the robotics, creating the sterile field, all with an orchestral precision. The movement again, musical, like that of the initial nurse. Quite beautiful actually.

  And this has to be the time where the long wait occurs, like I’ve encountered countless times with my past medical needs. But as I soon as I finish that thought, a new medical personnel enters the room, clearly another physician from the look of his scrubs, different than all the rest.

  “Looks like we got the green light,” I can hear Dr. Toriyama say from afar.

  The new individual comes over to my bedside and with an outstretched hand, asks for a handshake. I oblige.

  “Just wanted to come over to introduce myself before we started the procedure since I didn’t get a chance to meet with you before hand, given the schedule change – I’m Dr. Hitchens – I’m going to be your attending surgeon today for your NCL implant. Just wanted to see if you had any questions before we got started. Anything I can answer for you?”

  “Is it too late to back out?”

  And he smiles, and then laughs a bit.

  “Everything’s going to be just fine Mr. Nielson – I promise – it’ll be over before you know it.”

  “Are they…is it…really worth it?”

  “I think so. When people come out the other side, they, they say they feel like they have a new life ahead of them…with the implant. Some would go so far to say, that they’re born again, that they get to start over,” he says with a pause. “I just need a final verbal…are you ready to proceed?”

  And I begin to nod.

  “Yeah let’s do it.”

  And the surgeon smiles.

  “See you on the other side.”

  Dr. Hitchens then nods to the anesthesiologist to proceed.

  “Alright Mr. Nielson, here we go,” Dr. Toriyama says, helping, with the assistance of his staff, push me into the surgical suite and put me in position.

  “Alright, here comes the good stuff,” he says, as I see the surgeon enter the room, now fully scrubbed in, and being dressed by his staff with all the formal sterile attire, with a clear methodical approach, again almost musical in their movements.

  “Alright, start counting down from 100,” he says to me.

  And I do as instructed, my eyes becoming heavier and heavier with each passing number; my body becoming heavier and heavier, a numbness now in my extremities, and a blur to my already limited remaining vision.

  And soon, I’m in a dream – a perfect dream – I’m back with Juliet on our first date. It all goes exactly how I remembered it: her picking me up, the Italian, the conversation, the banter, the connection, but the ending, the ending is memorably different. I tell her I ‘want to kiss’ her and she allows me to proceed, and the kiss, is everything in that moment.

  But as we continue to embrace each other, a powerful white light takes over my being, my surroundings, and begins to pull me away from the moment, and as I’m pulled further away, I can equally feel the heaviness of my eyes begin to lift.

  And soon, with a full flutter of my eyes, I’m transported back to the pre-op surgical suite. Awake. Assumed to be at a time of post-operation, overcome with a sense of drowsiness as I begin to come to. Eventually, I see what appears to be the surgeon coming towards me, presumably to check on me, but as he approaches, I only get tiny sections of what he says as I continue to acclimate to normalcy.

  “…elcome back Mr. Nielson…ll done here…ing to give you some time to rest and then you’ll be on your way…nd yes, it will all be worth i...” and as soon as he appeared, he was off again.

  Embracing my state of drowsiness, I try to return to sleep, hopefully back to the dream. But before I do, I know I must know a truth, so I tip my head down and to the left.

  My right hand then finds my rough facial hair at my chin. My fingers begin a superior ascent through the contours of my face, until I find what I’m looking for at my right temple, the only tactile information I need before I return to my slumber, the only answer I need to reveal that this was all real – I find my NCL – smooth, pristine, new.

  February 13th, 2052

  How did we all live without the NCL? How have I lived without it? How was life even before this? I look at my smart phone now with disgust, a now understandable shunned relic of the past. It’s hard for me to still use it in public in fact.

  And it’s only been about a week, but it’s already changed everything in my life.

  Everything.

  I even feel like my health has improved since the implant.

  Like I’m getting my life back.

  My hair feels fuller. I don’t see bags under my eyes anymore. My cheeks are filling in, the bones no longer a sharp protrusion. The color in my face, returning. I’ve even gained a little weight back, my appetite now normalizing.

  I’ve even noticed myself straying from the couch more as well; my walks around my proximity arrest now plentiful.

  Overall, I just feel better since the implant. Healthier. My god how quickly we’re allowed to bounce back – a long far-cry from
the surgeries of yesteryear, a time seemingly long ago – no long rest periods anymore. No long waits.

  And the use of the device itself – simply a joy – I know, hard to hear right, implausible to think so soon, but it’s simply true.

  The interface feels flawless; the navigation effortless. I know I probably still look like a beginner to most, the firing of my eye musculature still a real conscious effort, but I’m gettin’ there.

  Hell, I don’t even mind the updates. Don’t even notice them for the most part in fact. Now that’s something I didn’t understand until now, until I had an NCL, that most of the time, an onlooker is the only one seeing the update in you, noticing the change in you, not the user. I always thought they felt it, noticed it to its full extent, but that’s simply not the case. Sometimes, sometimes you can, but most of the time, it’s nothing, barely a noticeable blip in your day.

  And the connection I have with others now is unprecedented – I feel more connected with my family and friends now more than ever. The subconscious automatic updating, accompanied with their constant DRI stream, allows me to peer into their life, see what they’re doing, how they’re living, as if I’m right there with them. It allows me to comment on what they’re doing as well, even getting to talk with them on occasion, in real time no less; not after the fact anymore. A real gem of our times.

  Sure, I find myself wanting to interact with people in the flesh a whole lot less, but given all that I get through the NCL, it feels so much more worth it. I can connect with dozens upon dozens of people at a time so much more readily, and faster, and with less effort, than a short interaction with one person over coffee. I get it now.

  I get it.

  Documenting every step of my day-to-day life is a breeze as well. Along with my own subconscious updating, I do my fair share of voluntary, conscious uploading. Along with deciding to become an aspiring photographer with the photoshop-like software embedded in the implant, as well as showcasing my audiophile output mastery and that I’ve become a video essay enthusiast, my real guilty pleasure is sharing the gourmet dishes I get to enjoy on a day-to-day basis, at breakfast, and lunch, and dinner. It doesn’t matter that I eat alone – I have 44 followers now.

  I find myself compelled to comment on everything. And I feel good doing it. The subconscious uploading does a lot of the heavy lifting. I of course edit it if it’s not quite up to par, but it usually comes close to hitting home.

  Sure, it doesn’t allow me too much time to get to other things throughout the day, but I can’t seem to help myself.

  My voice matters now.

  Luckily, now that I have the implant, I don’t really need a lot of free time, as I’ve found myself utilizing the NCL to purchase all my groceries, every and all necessity, and sometimes the not so.

  Everything is so convenient now.

  I get it.

  Life’s just better.

  I don’t even mind the advertisements; they’ve made them so seamless. Sometimes I don’t even notice them at all. Even the ones in my dreams.

  Hell I don’t even mind the inceptions.

  It’s a good thing I don’t think too much on the subject, all my notifications now keeping me pre-occupied with any real consistent thought. I’m even aware of that too, but I don’t care.

  It’s just better this way.

  I’ve even grown fond of mushrooms myself lately, the very thing that makes me think of her.

  Juliet.

  Now the only remaining thing I haven’t been able to connect with.

  But fuck, everything makes me think of her. I mean, for all its advances, all its showed me, changed in me, it can’t seem to do the only real thing I got it for in the first place – bring me closer to her – my Juliet.

  Hasn’t been for a lack of trying. I’m not exactly sure what she’s going through, but one thing’s for sure, her NCL’s still on, and with no block on her end, it’s allowed me to peer into her life through the subconscious automatic uploading, and of course, constant DRI stream, now allowing me to be a voyeuristic bystander, given that there’s no active input.

  She’s left it on, but hasn’t actively used it once.

  And with such a gift, such an opportunity, such an invitation, I can’t help but watch her, day in and day out, her simply carrying out her life, now with a new routine.

  I watch and watch and watch, and look and wait for a change. Something. Anything to tell me she’s not trying to move on. That there’s still a chance; that there’s still hope.

  Eventually, I muster the courage to make contact.

  First I start simple, and add a ‘like’ to one of her subconscious uploads. And then to a picture. And then I leave a comment, but to no avail, no reply. And then on to a direct message, but to no avail, no reply. And then another. And another. All with the same end.

  Now in a new prison, I can’t seem to stop.

  I wish it was just mere convulsion, but it has already become a new obsession. One could say…an addiction. One that did not creep up on me; one I very much volunteered for.

  So I keep on…watching her.

  Checking the notifications, the bleeps, the bloops, new pictures, new comments, new video, new audio. I keep watching. Can’t look away now.

  It’s better this way.

  Because soon we’ll be able to share our own pictures, and comments, and videos, and audio.

  Together again.

  March 1st, 2052

  I will say this about Cohen’s practice: It’s definitely a well-oiled machine.

  I’ve never had to wait past our appointment time. Not once. In the beginning, I used to come in real early, well before our scheduled appointment, but once I noticed the constant trend of our appointments always being on time, I stopped doing that altogether. Now, now I show up at the exact time they tell me to. I’ve never had to wait.

  “The doctor is ready for you Mr. Nielson – Please just head on back to his office as usual,” the receptionist says as I enter the lobby, the process now seamless today. Didn’t even have to sit down. Didn’t even have to stop walking.

  Now a routine unto itself, I make my way to Cohen, and sit in our usual designated chairs. Always positioned the same.

  Let’s see if the bullshit I fed him worked, the nice neat set of lies I gave him, and his staff, and my probation officer, to explain my absence.

  “Tybalt, hello, long time no see. I was beginning to think we weren’t going to see each other again. What has it been…about a month now? Hope you’re feeling back to normal,” he begins.

  “I do. I feel…brand new in fact. Needed a little extra time to change some things as well, for the better,” I say, tapping at my right temple.

  He reacts with puzzlement initially, and then a smile, a smile like I’ve never seen before.

  “So I see. Please. I’m all ears. Tell me about it; tell me about everything I’ve missed in the last month,” he says, leaning in.

  “Obviously the biggest change is this,” I say, pointing to my NCL. “I’m a little surprised you weren’t all over it when I walked in. But fuck I had to, right? Didn’t I? Everyone. Everything. Was just, pushing me, pushing me towards it. That. That. I wasn’t complete, or some shit, until I had one,” I pause. “And, and, I gotta admit, I gotta hand it to ‘em doc, I didn’t think it’d happen so fast, but, but, I get it. Everyone was right.”

  And Cohen is back to his old ways - Stoic and staring – with an almost intense active listening posture now.

  “But it still hasn’t connected me with, reconnected me with, I should say, with ah—”

  “Juliet,” he says, finishing my thought again.

  I reply nodding.

  “Yeah.”

  “Fascinating…” he says with that same smile.

  And now I’m the one giving the puzzling stare.

  “Fascinating…because…?” I return.

  “Fascinating that that was the final trigger, in that moment, when she walked out on you; the only thing you n
eeded to push you over the edge. Not anything else. Just that. Just her. A pure emotional response. And then an awakening.”

  I feel a coldness now, draping over me, immediately after he said that last word.

  “Wait. What? How do you know? Let’s. Back up a bit. Did you already get all that from my DRI feed? Or did she—”

  And he begins laughing to himself with a subtle dissonance.

  “Y’know Tybalt, everyone thought you were going to come in here today guns blazing. Yelling. Screaming. A big ‘ole scene like you used to do. The whole thing. We knew today would be special. But not how. They all thought, they all thought you’d be all fire and brimstone after she told you about us…about our…little meeting.”

  He pauses with a stare, and then notices a cascade of events in my body language, non-verbal language, telling him I’m wanting to flee.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” he quickly quips, sharply, and then continues on where he left off. “They all thought that – but not me – because I know you. I know you now Tybalt. I know you better than anyone knows you now. Maybe better than yourself. In part, because, I’ve had a front row seat for all this, to bear witness, to see the change in you. I knew you’d wait, and wait, until you confronted me. But I knew you’d eventually do it too, just with a little more poise and collection than the others would want to believe.”

  I can feel my extremities tighten, my muscles, stiffening; Contractures; my vocal cords overcome with amnesia. Forgetting how to work.

  “But instead,” he goes on. “You come in here and the first thing you go into is…your NCL. Excuse me. You’re new NCL. Just like that. Not Juliet. Not the fight. But the NCL. Juliet merely a second thought. An important second thought, but still a second thought nonetheless.”

  Cohen pauses to think about what he just said.

  “Marvelous. Just Marvelous. You just…keep on surprising me Tybalt. There was a part of me that thought, you wouldn’t do it today, that you’d walk in here, and just want to talk about Juliet, and Juliet, and Juliet, and only Juliet like you usually yammer on about, continuing to bottle up everything else. But the fact that you went a completely different direction and brought it up, the most important thing you can bring up, almost right away – is everything – that you see it now is everything.”