The Unlicensed Consciousness

by Travis Borne

  “Well, what time you get off? Maybe we can go dancing? Ever square dance?”

  Jon grinned, beer discharge blast brewing, and he joked, “You’re kidding, right?”

  He was in part. Mostly it had just slipped out; truth was he felt nervous around Valerie, but in a good way—unlike any girl he’d ever met. Such a beauty, and clearly, she was his opposite in every way.

  But Valerie appealed to Jerry’s words and took him as serious as a hypnotist, “No, never, Jerry, but I would love too.” She paused but not for more than a second. “Okay, I get off at eight and you can pick me up here. I need a ride home but I get ready quick.” She looked him up and down. “Wait till my papa sees you, you’re nearly twice as tall as my tallest brother.” Jerry shrugged as if he’d already heard every exaggeration possible; he was a laid-back plush-toy in her presence.

  “Okay. I’ll be here. And yes, Jon, I know the perfect place,” Jerry said, word-slapping his bud. “You and Jodi should join us.” Valerie smiled at Jon, widening her eyes like take that, and okay, your turn.

  “I think we’re gonna have a quiet night, maybe a movie. Jodi has quite a hangover from last night. But thanks, you two have at it.”

  Valerie left to tend to a few newcomers; said she’d bring them back a few beers shortly. After a couple minutes she was at the bar, leaning forward while awaiting the bartender. She looked back at Jerry, who was unable to not notice. She threw a single leg up and arched her back in a friendly tease. They both looked at her. A few other men gawked too, but ceded quickly after seeing the titan she’d locked her gaze onto.

  “I gotta give it to you, Jerry,” Jon said. “Cheers.” And he gulped the last warmish swig of his only second beer after lifting it in congrats.

  The Saturday afternoon was picking up and the bartender finally slid a bucket of beers her way. Hips swaying naturally from side to side like poetry, Valerie brought it to the table and slammed it down. “Don’t forget, big man. I get out of here ‘a las ocho’, that’s 8 o’clock.” She said the Spanish time sensually and slow, and the English time directly and stern. Before leaving again, she puckered her luscious bright-red lips and blew Jerry a kiss. She made a show of it. Jerry was mesmerized. He would not be late, and there wasn’t much that could stop Jerry when he was determined; he’d reign king on a demolition team, but ended up selling dildos and porn, which had, of course, worked out just dandy.

  Jon and Jerry kicked it a bit longer and enjoyed a final bucket of beers: Jon drank two, Jerry four. Jon phoned Jodi, asking if she felt better. She said she did and he told her he was on the way.

  “Well, I’m gonna take off, Jerry, it’s been, interesting. And have a good night with Valerie.”

  “Thanks, bro. Y’all have a good one too,” Jerry said.

  It was nearing 6 p.m. so Jerry ended up staying to wait for Valerie. He quickly made some new friends and a salsa competition began. It got rowdy and the competition was fiery; it came down to the last two competitors: Jerry and Han. Jerry made it up to a #8, tortuously named Pop’s Belt O’ Fire, before throwing in the towel. Atop and below the bottle’s logo were flaming belts. It had a picture of a father spanking a mischievous child who wore a black-and-white prison uniform. He dangled him by one arm, and the belt no less, was ablaze, as well as the red-faced kid’s ass. The oriental dude ended up winning with a #9, Throat Acid, the logo on the bottle too gruesome for words. He not only lost his color, turning from powder-puff to Betelgeuse, but some of the blotches looked permanent, as though blood vessels had erupted leaving volcanic warbles on his face. He ended up running out of the bathroom, screaming. Han neglected his winnings, dashed out the door, and wasn’t heard from again.

  38. The Date

  Jerry drove Valerie home, and on the way, he began to clam up. Embarrassed, he did his best to keep it together while Valerie chuckled. Oh yes, she heard his stomach rumble, and loud enough to be heard over the diesel engine. And oh yes, she knew.

  Soon she was introducing him to her parents. His color was flushed and beads of sweat starting forming. But he fought it and did his best to be mannerly. He introduced himself, and shook everyone’s hand. Valerie's parents spoke little English, and had to look up at Jerry as if he was a walking cell tower, but they immediately welcomed him in with open arms, quickly taking a liking to his polite southern manners. And, they didn’t hide the fact they'd never seen such a large man! Jerry found himself ducking numerous times. The house was an older one and well maintained, small and full to the brim with family, yet had low ceilings and even lower entryways. It didn’t take more than a few minutes until he bonked his head. Then, as though it was a final straw, and a trigger, he could hold it no longer.

  “Valerie, can I use your bathroom?” Jerry whispered. The big man didn’t look at all well. A stomach of pork and beer and hot sauce had turned him into a stiff-cheeked, walking tree. Valerie smiled and pointed the way, and he ended up in the bathroom for a good twenty minutes. The sizable family stood outside the door the whole time, wondering if he was okay. Even Valerie’s parents joined with concern—and perhaps morbid curiosity. The teenagers giggled at the thunderous, wall-shaking sounds, and Valerie did her best to shoo everybody away, most unsuccessfully.

  Things smoothed out rather quickly after Jerry finished his war with the family toilet; it passed the eating contest of champions and ultimately the lone porcelain one proved itself worthy.

  Later, before starting his diesel, Jerry said, “Most embarrassing moment of my—”

  “Don’t even worry about it,” Valerie said, putting her seatbelt on. “After what you did back at Rita’s, I’m surprised you're not in the ER—like poor Han. Did you see his face?” They both laughed, thinking about the ridiculous competition.

  Jerry smiled at her. And Valerie smiled beautifully in return. The awkwardness fell into oblivion. He patted the seat beside his right tree trunk and Valerie unbuckled herself, slid over, and buckled in next to him. She put one hand on his leg.

  “Well, let’s do this,” she said. And jokingly, “Square dancin’ time!” Both puffed a final chuckle. And they were off.

  “Dang it if I don’t feel like a teenager again.” He hit the gas and black smoke spewed from the tailpipe.

  “Me too, big man. Me too.”

  They danced. It was a nice but quick night out, and yes, actual square dancing at a hole-in-the-wall joint Jerry had sort of known about but never tried. As interesting and fun as it was, they ended up sneaking out early. Next, Valerie's turn to choose. They had coffee at The Beaner and enjoyed a solid hour of bonding conversation before Jerry brought her home before eleven.

  In front of the door, under the light of a yellow 80-watt they stood attempting a goodbye. The neighborhood was quiet and the windows of the house dark. Valerie reached to pull Jerry’s head closer. He took a knee and she whispered into his ear, “I like you, Jerry. I—” Blushing, she appeared bashful, nervous in front of him, unable to finish her sentence.

  But Jerry knew. He felt the same. And he told her so.

  They read each other's body language well; a potent attraction existed between them. And Jerry really did feel like a teenager in high school, one with a smokin’ new girlfriend—the hottest girl in school! And her skin was hot. His too. The close moment made them magical rock crystals, like those in that movie, and they were glowing and igniting in close proximity. And like their earlier moments, the awkwardness fell away once again…as they both realized they felt the same about each other. They had endured the love-at-first-sight jitters. They survived the awkward moments of their humdinger of a first date. And it was coming…

  “Well, it has been my pleasure to spend the evening with you, Val—”

  It came. She planted the most luscious-lipped kiss Jerry had ever experienced. He reached around her thin waist and lifted her up. Her legs bent at the knee while he passionately returned the kiss. Her many brothers, young and old, even her papa and mama peeked through the curtains. She let out an excited high-
pitched squeak as he happily spun her around under the porch roof. Laughter erupted when glass went flying. The back of his head hit the bulb, breaking it off. Moments later the door cracked open and a hand squeezed out holding a flashlight. With an angry smile, Valerie took it from the giggling youngsters and pulled the door shut. She used it to remove the shards from his brown curls. His thick hair had prevented a gash.

  “Good night, Val,” he said, giving her a nickname while rubbing the back of his head. “I do hope to see you again—and I’m really sorry about the bulb.”

  “How about tomorrow, mountain man?” Valerie flirted, unable to resist this time.

  Jerry couldn’t resist either and tipped a hat he didn’t have. “You can count on it.” And he strolled toward the gate, cautious not to trip or embarrass himself again. He saw movement at the windows and yelled, “Good night, everybody.” Several shouts of buenas noches, Jerry returned from the darkness.

  The lights flipped on in her house and she went inside. Her smile was ear to ear. Mama made coffee, Papa grabbed a beer, and the boys surrounded the table, anxious for details.

  Jerry left ecstatic. Driving home in his diesel truck, he spoke to himself and his late father. “Pops, she might just be the one.”

  39. The Blocker

  Bump-bump, bump-bump. She awoke in his arms, ear to chest. The glass west wall of the bedroom was an alarm clock to die for. The city lights faded into morning sunbeams. And the magic skimmed the city, sending back a warm orange glow that illuminated the ceiling and walls behind their bed.

  Ana stretched her nude body under the sheets then looked up at him. “Buenos dias, mi amor,” she said. He’d already been awake, staring, deep in thought with one hand behind his head. Cheek tugging to steal his attention, Ana attempted to yank out some seriousness. Herald fell out of his thoughts and tickled her hip bone. And she squirmed evasively before striking back. The fun under the sheets began—with laughs, giggles, and love.

  Herald pulled strings to make it happen fast and she already had her citizenship. She’d moved in three weeks earlier after a teary-eyed goodbye. Ana had been abandoned as a child. Rosario, her foster mom, never could have kids of her own, but Ana was her daughter. And Herald offered, but Rosario declined—she had a clinic to run and decades of clients who were like family. Managing the goodbye, be it with one or one hundred was still difficult, but Rosario, as sudden as the circumstances were, was happy Ana had found someone.

  Herald inhaled Spanish, speaking it almost perfectly after a couple weeks. Ana was the icing on the cake, helping him to perfect the accent. He taught her many things about his job and let her in on many secrets, some he never told anyone else, involving her completely. And she comforted Herald, providing much needed balance. A natural alternative to the insane schedule, Ana allowed him to maximize his gift far better than the Uberman sleep schedule—or addictive drugs. They were a special match and she stayed right by his side during the painful withdrawals. She was, however, frightened by his visions of the future, but trusted him and never looked back.

  Finally back to a normal day-work night-sleep schedule, he still found sleeping the entire night difficult. He would get up and record much of his thoughts and ideas and many times code with his portable sitting on the bedroom floor by the wall of glass. The nightscape sprayed his eyes, every sparkle was a buckshot blast of ideas; he had to choose which to pursue. But last night he’d gotten the full eight for the first time in ages and felt a renewed sense of contentment. Today, he’d conquer the code armed with clarity of mind. After a hot, homemade breakfast, which he enjoyed much more than the hex-dish pre-preps, he went to the lab and got started. The blocker was nearing completion, ahead of schedule.

  Knock, knock.

  Turning, he could see Jon waving through the one-way. “Come on in, Jon,” Herald said. Jon entered and walked over to one of the lab’s stations where Herald was assembling a tiny device.

  “Is that it?” Jon asked. “It’s smaller than I imagined it would be.”

  “Sure is, and just about ready. Got the last of the hardware in a few days ago. You have the algorithms?”

  “Here they are,” Jon said, pulling the file from his pocket. “And like you said, no one noticed anything different from the main project. I did recognize that many were reverse modifications of some of the ones we did two months ago.”

  “Only a few last-minute touches.” Herald squinted in concentration and put together the remaining few parts and closed up the casing. “There. Now we only need to put together the algorithms you and your team finished. I’ll show you, check it out.” With enthusiasm Herald headed to his main console. Jon inquisitively followed.

  He paused, smiling up at Jon, holding the file between his fingers. “If this works, we’re all set.” He set it on the reader. The file unlocked and appeared on screen. He loaded the visual configuration, taking the main interface out of code view and began to drag and drop the many algorithms appearing from the file, each into predetermined spots; one by one they lit up green while snapping into place. “Jon, this interface is the back end of the system. Having this perfected is crucial and makes easy work of dividing our immense project into manageable parts. We divide then manage these units via drop slots, therefore allowing us to dole tasks to the team.”

  It was the first time Jon had seen it. He followed with curious eyes and realized the genius: it allowed Herald to focus on more important parts of the project, to use his genius exactly where it was needed. Herald dragged each component one by one into its slot, and all lit up green, except one. Herald dove into code view for that module, narrowed down the problem in the algorithm within thirty seconds, a universe of code, zooming deeper, deeper…

  He fixed it.

  Jon’s eye sockets repulsed his gawking eyeballs. He lost track of what Herald was doing within seconds. “W—ow,” he said with a stutter. “It would take me a day to find that error, considerably longer to correct it.”

  But Herald didn’t hear him; he was deeply immersed in his world. The screen zoomed out of code view and the visual interface swung back into place. Jon stood and watched as the rest of the placemarks illuminated green, then a line appeared connecting them to the source which filled the center monitor. A spherical graphic illuminated when data chunks were appended to it; the sphere grew ever brighter after consuming each module. Sucked of their lifeblood, each algorithm in turn faded to grey and fell with an animation of fading ash. There were about sixty in total; Jon brought twenty-four on his file. The hungry brain gorged on code and grew larger; the center screen lit the room and the outer displays went dim as the process completed.

  Herald pulled a chair and sat, digging deeper into the virtual world before his eyes. He was focused, trance-like.

  Ana walked in with a cup of coffee. She saw Herald hard at work so teasingly offered Jon the cup. “Uno, dos… estas seguro, Jon?” she whispered, waving its aroma in front of his nostrils. He motioned no thank you without peeling his eyes from the spectacle. It smelled great, but he just couldn’t turn away as Herald delved in and out of code view.

  Ana had seen Herald really work quite a few times already, but for Jon the door had always been closed when he went full-throttle hardcore. He’d never seen anything like this, not even close, and was unable to follow Herald’s progress for more than a second or so before losing him, again, then again. He looked to Ana, exhaustively thunderstruck.

  “He’s a machine,” Jon said, and his jaw fell, pulling his dry lips apart. Ana returned a humble smile. He gave up trying to follow any of the code so just watched Herald speed type, alternating between touch-pad controls and various other input devices.

  “Activate. Load 45,” Herald said, dictating commands while his hands floated with constant momentum. “Copy line. Join 290. Append.” He continued the dictation, speaking the words quickly, almost too fast to be understood. “Kill 476. Pop 2. Cut…”

  Ana quickly became good friends with Jon and Jodi, and since mo
ving in Herald let her stay in the room while he worked. She was the first to experience his gift in action. And Herald told her that she was special, unlike any other, she only contributed to his productivity, never a distraction.

  Jon sighed. He felt insignificant witnessing it, like a turtle or a slug. He knew Herald had always put in the most work, but just then gathered the full scope. He realized the team contributed less to the project; even less than he’d originally surmised. And with the feeling he changed his mind, now craving the coffee. Maybe a little caffeine would hit the spot right now, he thought. Perhaps his subconscious craved a deal of the speed he was witnessing and caffeine could somehow help fill the void.

  As if Ana read his mind—but she noticed, with a drained expression he looked at the cup—she re-offered and Jon eagerly accepted. She tossed him an I-told-you-so look and left to get Herald another.

  Only the pulsing brain remained, appearing center screen like its own universe, ready to big-bang. It was luminous and bright green, yet littered with what resembled measles. Herald tapped the red dots. Bugs, he mumbled and continued with now mostly unrecognizable dictation. He tapped one of the red blisters and the visual interface enhanced the section. On another screen the code appeared for that particular node. He narrowed in exposing hundreds of thousands of lines of additional code. Error lines gleamed in red text.

  Herald stopped, took a deep breath, then lowered his head as if meditating. He put his fingers together and pushed them toward the screens, cracking his knuckles, then he shook his head vigorously for a good three seconds. He rebooted his own brain, and dove back in. Once again, all screens were filled with thousands of lines in various color-coded patterns; many were indistinguishable symbols, another product of Herald’s ingeniousness: the need for more characters, each with new, independent meanings. He was back at full speed, attending to each measle, cleansing the electronic brain. He swapped back and forth frequently from his worn-out keyboard—not a single character remained due to wear—to the touch panel in front of it, occasionally reaching out to touch a point on the various screens, all while dictating.