The old lady bustled around the kitchen, scrambling eggs, frying
up onions and potatoes, and brewing up a steaming pot of coffee
while Roger waited patiently at the breakfast table.
"I'm making everything just the way you like it," she said.
"Just the way I did when you were a little boy."
Roger didn't mind his grandmother's attentions. She was lonely,
and serving him made her feel better. Besides, he was hungry and
those eggs and home-fries were starting to smell quite nice.
In just a few minutes, Gran placed a heaping mound of food on
Roger's plate and encouraged him to 'eat up'. He grabbed his
knife and fork, and began to consume the tasty, high-cholesterol
feast. Then, he took a sip of the well-creamed, well-sugared
coffee which she had poured into his mug. The hot liquid helped
ease the heavy food into his stomach and jump-started his
digestive processes. He was reminded of breakfast's gone by, in
a kitchen filled with brothers, sisters, aunts, and cousins.
After Roger cleaned his plate, Gran began her familiar litany.
"Do you want more eggs, Roger?" she asked. "Or more potatoes?"
"No thanks, Gran," he replied. "I'm stuffed."
"How about more coffee? Do you want another cup of coffee?"
"No thanks, Gran."
"Would you like a sweet bun? It'll just take a second for me to
heat up a sweet bun for you."
"Gran, please. I don't want any more food. I can't eat another
bite."
"How about a couple cookies?" she asked. "They won't take up
much room."
"No thanks, Gran."
"But you're a growing boy. You need your strength!"
"Gran, I'm hardly a 'growing boy'. I'm a forty-five year old
man. And, believe me, I've had plenty to eat!"
The old woman peered closely at Roger, to see if he was being
truthful. "OK," she said, reluctantly as she took Roger's plate
and mug and rinsed them off in the sink. "If you're hungry
later, I can always fix you a tuna fish sandwich or something."
"I know I can depend on you, Gran. I know you won't let me
starve," Roger replied.
"Well, you're still going to stay and visit with me for a while,
aren't you?" she asked, hopefully. "You will stay and look
through my Valentines with me?"
"Of course, Gran. I said I would," Roger replied as he pushed
himself from the kitchen table, wandered into the living room,
and settled onto a large, overstuffed couch.
"Oh good," the woman said. She clapped her wrinkled hands
together and disappeared into the bedroom. An instant later, she
reappeared with an old shoe-box full of 'Valentines'.
These keepsakes were more than mere greeting cards. Valentines
were a true product of 22nd century technology. They were exact
digital recordings of various relatives at specific time periods
in their lives. All Gran had to do was push a button on the face
of the card, and a living, breathing facsimile of a lost loved
one would appear in the room, ready to join in a conversation or
start an argument, give Gran a kiss or join them at dinner.
When the technology was first developed, scientists intended to
use it to preserve the great minds of the day. Imaginative
individuals has visions of physicists working out problems with
colleagues of later time periods. Writers from one generation
commenting on the peculiarities of the next. Political
scientists analyzing current events from long-dead perspectives.
But after a decade or so, these high-tech micro-processor
packages became popular simply for their ability to reproduce the
images of old friends, lovers and so forth. The devices were
marketed as personal mementoes and sold in card stores and
novelty shops. Gran treasured them as much as her grandmother
had treasured 'Polaroid' snapshots and candid video footage.
Gran sorted through her Valentines and pulled her number-one
choice out of the box. "First, let's visit with your cousin
Ida," the old woman said. "She was always your favorite."
"Gran, Ida and I never got along. Your memory must be failing."
They went through this routine every time they got together.
Gran would insist on starting with a particularly obnoxious
relative and Roger would find himself with no say in the matter.
"Please, Roger. Let's visit with Ida," she begged, giving her
grandson a mournful look.
"Fine. We'll start with Ida," he said, resigning himself to the
prospect of visiting with this long dead relative.
Gran pushed the button on Ida's Valentine and his cousin popped
into the room. This was Ida at age twenty-seven, before illness
and ill fortune had mellowed her into a more agreeable companion.
"Hello Roger. Hello Gran," the Ida-image said. "From the smell
in this apartment, I can tell that Gran's been cooking and you've
been eating again, right Roger? You're going to have to watch
your calories. With all the food Gran stuffs into you, it's a
wonder you don't already weigh three-hundred pounds."
"It's good to see you too, Ida," Roger said. Ida flashed Roger a
toothy, sugary smile and sat down on the couch, next to Gran.
"How're you feeling Gran?" she asked. "Arthritis bothering you
or anything?"
"No, I can't complain," the old woman said. "When you get to be
my age, you get used to a few minor aches and pains. My feet
swell up at night, sometimes, and when it gets too hot, I can't
sleep, but otherwise, I'm fine."
Ida began to tell Gran all the details about her father's last
gall bladder operation, to Roger's dismay and the old woman's
delight. In reality, this operation had occurred some 35 years
previously, but to the twenty-seven year old Ida-image, it was
the latest in family gossip. Roger found himself dozing off on
the couch.
"Roger! Roger, stop snoring," Ida demanded, waking him from his
impromptu nap.
"Oh leave me alone, Ida. You always were such a fuss-budget."
"Now Roger, be nice to your cousin," Gran said as she watched her
two grandchildren glare at each other across the couch.
"Gran, we've had enough of Ida, haven't we?" Roger asked. "Let's
go on to the next person, OK?"
"I'm sorry if I bore you, Roger. I guess I'm not as exciting as
some of your other friends," Ida said, just before Roger pushed
the button on her Valentine, sending her back to oblivion.
"OK Roger," Gran said. "It's your turn to choose. Who shall we
visit with next?" Roger reached into the shoe-box and pulled out
a handful of cards. He passed by Uncle Herb and Aunt Edna,
Johnny Crawford, and cousin Sue. Finally, he found a well-worn
Valentine with the name 'Bev Stafford' imprinted on its cover.
"Let's visit with Bev, Gran. You always enjoy seeing Bev."
"No Roger, You always enjoy seeing Bev," the old woman replied.
"But she is a sweet girl so, go ahead, push the button."
Roger tapped the face of the card and . . . nothing happened.
"We've been visiting with Bev a little too often, I think," Gran
said. "Looks like we broke her Valentine."
"Nonsense," Roger replied, a small prick of panic growing in his
chest. "Let me try again." This time, he was successful. An
attractive, nineteen-year-old blonde girl popped into the room.
"Roger! And Gran! It's so good to see you both."
"You're looking nice today, Bev," Roger said. "Don't you think
so, Gran?"
"Bev always looks nice," his grandmother replied. "Just a little
skinny. You could use a little more meat on your bones, Bevy."
"Oh Gran, Roger likes me just the way I am," the girl said.
"And if you're twice as plump, he'll like you twice as much,"
Gran said in her most refined grandmotherly tone.
"Is that true Roger?" Bev asked in coquettish fashion.
"Of course, it's true," he lied, enjoying the interaction,
immensely.
For long moments, Roger continued to chit-chat with his
girlfriend of years gone by. They discussed old friends, old
movies, politics of the past . . . a wide range of topics. Bev
kissed him, tentatively, and Roger held her hand with affection.
Meanwhile, Gran hurried into the kitchen and came back with a
plate of cookies. Roger helped himself to a chocolate chip treat
while Bev chose the oatmeal raisin.
"I've got some cold lemonade in the kitchen, if either of you
want any," Gran announced.
"No thanks Gran," Roger said.
"I'm fine here," Bev said. But the old lady either didn't hear
or didn't want to hear, because seconds later, both Roger and Bev
had ice-filled glasses of lemonade in their hands.
"It's freshly made, so drink up," Gran said. Roger swallowed a
gulp of the sweet-tart liquid and was reminded again of his
childhood and family.
Gran moved to her stereo and turned on some old, popular dance
music and soon, Bev and Roger were dancing romantically around
the living room. Unfortunately, somewhere in the middle of their
two-step, Bev disappeared.
"Her Valentine is breaking down, Roger," Gran said. "We're going
to have to get it repaired."
"You're right, Gran," he replied. Dave, the Valentine repair
man, was going to have another profitable job on his hands in a
day or two. Bev's Valentine was an off-brand model and it often
broke down during operation. That was disturbing, but Dave's
repair jobs were usually top notch. Roger was sure that Bev
would be around for his next visit with Gran.
For now, though, it was time to move on. So Roger grabbed a
handful of the 'magic' cards, and looked through them, one by
one, trying to decide which friend or relative to visit with
next.
"Hey Gran, do you want to see Gramps?" he asked. The old woman's
face lit up with joy.
"Oh yes, Roger. Let's see my Stanley," she said, anticipation
clearly evident in her voice and manner.
Roger began rifling through the cards again. He picked up three
cards and showed them to his grandmother. "Do you want to see
him at thirty, at fifty-five or at seventy?" he asked.
"Well, he was just a kid at thirty," Gran replied. "I don't know
if I have the energy to see him at that age. And at seventy, he
was such a grouchy old bear. That was right before he got sick,
you know."
"I know." Roger tried to dismiss the vision of his dying
grandfather from his mind.
"So, let's see him at fifty-five. He was so charming at
fifty-five."
"Your wish is my command, Gran," Roger said as he pushed the
button on the appropriate card. His dapper, youthful grandfather
immediately popped into the room.
"Laura," he said, calling Roger's grandmother by her given name.
"You look younger every time I see you."
"Liar," she replied, giggling. "I'll bet you say that to all the
girls."
"No, just to you, Laura," he replied. "Just to my wife."
"How're you doing Gramps?" Roger asked.
"And who's this? Little Roger. My lord, you're almost as old as
I am."
"Well, you know how it is, Gramps. Time passes."
The stereo was still playing the old, popular dance tunes, so
Roger shortly found himself watching his grandparents cuddle and
dance across the apartment floor, just as he had done with Bev a
few short minutes before.
"You don't mind watching us old fogies have a good time, do you,
Roger?" his grandfather asked.
"Of course not. Enjoy yourselves," Roger courteously replied.
But after a short while, Roger could see his grandmother begin to
tire, so he suggested they switch to yet another relative.
"Bored with your grandad, already?"
"No. But, appearances to the contrary, Gran isn't as young as
she used to be. We need to conserve her energy. After all, we
have a lot of other people to meet with this afternoon," Roger
said.
"Well then . . . Till we meet again, sweetheart," his
grandfather said. The old man bowed gallantly to his beloved
wife, just before Roger pushed the button to send him away.
The rest of the afternoon was spent with a variety of family
members, including all of Roger's siblings. It was nice seeing
his sister Rose again. The poor woman had died in a car accident
at the age of thirty. But now, she sat with Roger and Gran,
talking about old times, as if nothing bad had ever or would ever
happen to her.
After Rose departed, Gran spent some time with Roger's mother and
father, and an uncle who'd died before Roger had even been born.
Then, tired of relatives, the old lady popped in a few of her old
bridge buddies for a chat. Roger even joined the ladies in a
game or two.
Finally, as the crowning achievement of their afternoon, Gran
called up a facsimile of Roger himself, at the age of fourteen
months.
"Look at yourself, Roger," Gran said as she toddled the
Roger-child on her lap. "You were so cute at this age."
"Yeah, I was adorable, Gran," he replied. "A regular 'Ivory
Soap' baby."
The baby gurgled and spit up on his grandmother's shoulder,
making Roger somewhat uncomfortable. "He's looking kind of
'finky' Gran. You'd better pop him out before you have to change
his diaper or something." Gran shot big Roger a disapproving
look at that remark.
"Your jealous, Roger," she remarked. "You're jealous of
yourself!"
"No I'm not," he stated, emphatically. "It's just embarrassing,
seeing myself this way."
Truth be told, of all the Valentine images, this doppleganger
was his least favorite. Roger was relieved when Gran finally
allowed him to 'pop' the child back into non-existence.
"Maybe I should hide that card in the back of a drawer somewhere,
so you can't find it," he said.
"Don't you dare, Roger. I love that child."
"Don't worry, Gran," Roger said with a smile. "I'm just teasing
you. I love little Roger, too."
When, at last, the clock on the wall read 5:00 P.M., Roger knew
his visit was drawing to a close. He picked up all of the
Valentines and placed them carefully back into the shoe-box.
"Well, Roger, thank you for visiting me," his
grandmother said.
"Any time, Gran." Roger picked up a final Valentine from the
couch and handed it to his grandmother. "But for now,
you'd better push the button, before this Valentine breaks down
from overuse."
"Oh, it's got plenty of life in it yet, Roger," she protested.
"Do you want us to have another broken card on our hands,
another card that has to be repaired?" he asked.
"No, but--but I want our day to continue. I want to be with
you," the old woman said.
"Now Gran," Roger said. "You know the rules. We've discussed
them before. You have to push the button."
"In just a few minutes," the old woman said. "Let's just spend a
little more time together. Just a little more time."
"No Gran, I'm sorry. It's time to say 'goodbye' for now. So go
ahead, push the button," he said, gently but firmly.
The old woman took her most precious Valentine in her hands
and moved her fingers across its cover. Then, she gave the
button a firm tap, and promptly popped out of existence.
Roger looked around his barren apartment and sighed. Then he put
the final Valentine into the shoe-box, walked into the bedroom
and placed his collection in his top dresser drawer.
end