Aurora Wolf

Screen Saver

by

Michael C. Keith

(mckradio@comcast.net)

In visions beatific – Milton

For Ralph Blyer the expression, “If he didn’t have bad luck, he wouldn’t have any luck at all,” was particularly apropos.  In the span of one week he had experienced a series of personal setbacks that left him depressed and forlorn.  First there was the burning pain in his neck that grew into a festering blister. 

“It’s the shingles, Mr. Blyer,” said his doctor, who then suggested he might visit a dermatologist.  “Although I have no doubt what it is.  I see these all the time, mostly in older folks.  It’ll start oozing and then scab over.  Eventually it’ll heal.  Usually takes three or four weeks.  I’d avoid close contact with people who’ve had chickenpox.”

Great, thought Ralph, now I have to ask every one I see if they’ve had chickenpox.

When he took the news to his girlfriend, Sandra, she seized the occasion to inform him that their relationship was over.

“You haven’t had chickenpox, so you won’t get it,” he protested after she dropped the bomb.

“I’m not worried about that, Ralph.  I just don’t think we’re right for each other.  I’ve been thinking about this for a while, and my astrologer said it wasn’t going to work out between us.  We can still be friends, though.”

“Friends?  What do you mean, friends?  I thought we were engaged,” responded Ralph in disbelief.

“Well, not formally.  No ring or anything.  Just talk,” replied Sandra scrutinizing the outstretched fingers of her left hand.

“I meant to get a ring and ask you, and I will.  You know I want a family more than anything,” declared Ralph with mounting desperation.

“I’m not sure I do . . . with you, I mean.  Sorry, but we’re just not a good match . . . not compatible.  We’ll both find someone more suitable,” said Sandra with a faint note of impatience in her voice. 

“Is that according to your fortune teller?  Just like that you’re calling it quits?” snapped Ralph his heart sinking.

“Melinda is not a fortune teller,” replied Sandra defensively.  “She’s a professional with years of experience.”

“Yeah, in breaking up couples,” muttered Ralph, realizing the woman he believed to be his life partner would now be one of many disappointing memories.  “Fine.  Whatever!” he blurted as he rose and left the restaurant that had been their favorite.

When he entered the busy street a vicious stab in the back of his neck reminded him of the bubbling eruption there.  As he approached his parked car, he angrily dug his fingernails into the sore but felt more sorrow than pain.

The downward trajectory of his mood continued with the news that his 2009 Corolla was subject to a recall due to sudden inexplicable acceleration. 

“Go ahead  . . . accelerate.  See if I give a damn,” mumbled Ralph pressing on the gas and changing his route for the dealership where he purchased the vehicle a year earlier.

                               * * *

“You can leave it, but we have no more loaners.  You could rent a car if one’s available at Hertz across the street and maybe get reimbursed from Toyota,” advised the service manager looking like he hadn’t slept in weeks.  “Or you can bring it back when we have some, but it won’t be for a while.”

“So in the meantime, I drive a potential torpedo?  No thanks.  I’ll leave it and borrow a car until mine is fixed,” said Ralph handing over his ignition keys.

“We’ll call you when it’s done, but like I said, it won’t be soon,” repeated the besieged parts and repair boss. 

Ralph made a couple of phone calls to friends to see if they could loan him an extra car but no one answered and he decided against leaving a message on their machines.  The next person he dialed was his sister, Pamela, who owned an old Mini Cooper she kept stored in her garage and in running condition.  It was her theory that the 1995 Super Mini Sidewalk, as it was called, would one day fetch a huge sum and for that reason he was not confident she would loan it to him.  Furthermore, he was not sure he wanted to drive something that resembled a circus clown car, especially on the busy Route 95 that took him to work.

“I don’t know, Ralph.  If you wreck it you pay top value.  She’s my retirement cushion, you know.  In mint condition and someday she’ll bring a fortune.  We’ve been together a long time and without a ding or a dent.  Just drive her like she’s a piece of delicate china,” instructed Pamela with a sternness that underscored her apprehension.

Ralph took a cab to his sister’s house where she reluctantly handed him the keys to the pristine Cooper and again read him the riot act concerning the care and maintenance of her prized vehicle.

Driving the car home was a frightening experience for Ralph.  He had never been in an automobile where everything on the road around him looked like a two story building.  He dreaded having to take it on his commute to work, which involved 18 miles of one of the busiest and dangerous highways in the Northeast, so it was with great caution that Ralph drove the diminutive coupe the next morning.  While he managed to successfully navigate the highway he hit a deep pothole on the street leading up to his office building.  Before he noticed the canyon-like depression, the car dropped into it and had to have its front end lifted out, a task easily accomplished by two young software designers that Ralph recognized as recent hires by his cyber ware company.   

“Man, that thing weighs less than my Vespa,” remarked one of the rescuers, adding, “I think you’re going to need a new bumper and alignment work, buddy.”

“Imagine it won’t be easy to find parts for it,” observed the other Samaritan.

Ralph thanked them profusely and moved the damaged vehicle to the parking lot of his employer.  He spent most of the morning fretting over how he would tell his sister about the accident.

Then as the lunch hour approached he was asked to report to his boss on the third floor.

There goes my raise, he thought, climbing the stairs to meet with Kyle Jennings, the firm’s vice president.  Ralph had asked for a cost of living increase in his salary, which he felt more than reasonable since he had not had a pay hike in three years.  He had been emphatic about his need for more money and Jennings said he needed time to consider the request and confer with HR.  Ralph left that meeting with a sense that something else was on his boss’s mind.

“Hi Ralph.  Come in and have a chair,” said Jennings, and Ralph figured that bad news about his raise was near at hand.

But the news was worse . . . far worse than he could have imagined.

“I’m afraid I’ve got something unpleasant to tell you,” said Jennings after telling his secretary that they were not to be disturbed. 

His request for a raise had been turned down before but never with such formality, thought Ralph, settling into a leather wingback chair.

“As you know, things haven’t been so great for the company recently.  Product hasn’t been moving like it should, and that has prompted us to make some changes.”

What changes, wondered Ralph, and then he found out to his profound chagrin.

“We’re letting several people go, and I’m afraid you’re one of them.  It’s a business decision and nothing at all personal.  You’ve been a good employee and it disturbs us to have to do this.  I hope you understand,” said Jennings with what Ralph later felt was feigned sympathy.

“I’ve been here 14 years, Kyle, and just like that I’m fired?” Jesus, I’ve done some of the company’s best data abstraction and structuring work.  Almost every piece of software we’ve produced has my mark on it, Ralph groused rising from his chair. 

“I agree.  You’ve always thrown yourself into your work.  Obsessively so at times . . . but that’s not a criticism,” said Jennings averting his eyes from Ralph.  “Look, times are different.  That’s all.  We have nothing against you, really.  But don’t worry we’re going to do right by you with 6 months severance pay.  Of course, we won’t be able to cover your health benefits during that time,” declared Jennings stiffly as Ralph stood before him like a deer caught in the headlights.

Ralph could find no further words to express what he was feeling.  To him this was the coup de grace.  In one impossible week he’d been diagnosed with a repugnant and painful disease, been dumped by the woman he hoped would have his children, discovered his new car had a phantom propulsion feature, wrecked his sister’s beloved vintage Mini Cooper, and been canned from the only job he ever really liked—and at the depths of an economic slump.

He dared not think what else might go wrong, but then concluded there was nothing to worry about since the worse had already happened.   

He emptied his desk, gathering up his few belongings and left the building realizing that despite all his years with the company, he had no real friends there.  Not even anyone he cared to bid goodbye.   How sad is that, he mused, as he drove his sister’s disfigured vehicle home all the while holding onto the steering wheel tightly as it shook to and fro from the trauma of being swallowed up by the earth.

“I can’t do this anymore,” he repeated to himself as tears collected on his chin and fell to his lap.

                               * * *

As Ralph climbed the stairs to his apartment his elderly landlord, Mr. Lancaster, greeted him with news about a water leak.

“It’s fixed now but I’m afraid it soaked some things in your place.  I opened the windows to let it air out.   Should be okay.  Tub in the apartment above you overflowed.  Going to get rid of that tenant as soon as his lease is up.”

“That’s perfect,” replied Ralph with a maniacal chuckle that startled Lancaster.

While his couch and rug were drenched, Ralph was thankful that the water had not reached his computer just inches outside of the leak zone.  The ceiling where the water had penetrated had a bulge in it, and he expected it would begin to let go any time, so he moved his iMac into his small bedroom.  As soon as he plugged it in, the screen glowed although he had not yet turned it on.  Weird, thought Ralph, who sat down before the monitor that displayed the colorful animated images that his Desktop Preferences called “Flurry.”  Its undulating lines had always drawn and calmed him, and he could feel the tension of the day slowly disappear. 

Minutes became hours as Ralph coalesced with the screen’s luminous fractals, becoming one with them.  It was not until a shaft of light cast by the rising sun hit the computer’s screen that he emerged from its spell.  Exhausted he collapsed on his bed and spent the day in a deep luxurious sleep.  When he awoke it was night and he returned to his computer and changed his screen saver to one title “Beach.” It displayed a magnificent tropical shoreline.  It was a place Ralph had always hoped to visit and now he could by projecting himself into cyberspace, by melding his mind with the glorious images on the screen.  Virtual reality mitigated the oppressiveness of his woes and renewed him. 

                               * * *

Over the course of the next few nights Ralph experimented with a variety of screen savers deriving great satisfaction from all of them.  He meandered rich forests, traveled infinite galaxies, and partook of the world’s greatest art.  All were experiences exceeding his wildest dreams, yet he still felt a gnawing emptiness deep within his soul.  The one thing he wanted above all else he felt he would never obtain, and it began to dull the pleasure he derived from the distractions his computer provided.

Finally he turned off his iMac and sat in the dark, his spirits sinking by the minute.  The idea of committing suicide began to fill his thoughts, and he pondered ways to do it.  He had no prescription drugs to overdose on or a gas stove to poison the air around him.  Maybe he could jump out of his bedroom window but he calculated that since he lived on the second floor it would probably just cripple him, and given his most recent run of “luck,” he feared that was exactly what would happen.  Razors, he thought.  He could cut his wrists.  On his way to the bathroom to fetch blades, his computer screen came back on.  There before him was the answer to his prayers.

 

                             * * *   

After not hearing from her brother for a week despite leaving several messages on his machine, she reported him missing to the police. They responded by visiting Ralph’s apartment and after getting no response to their knocking and calls they located the landlord to gain access to it. 

“Haven’t seen him for several days, but he’s not the social type.  Stays to himself mostly” offered Mr. Lancaster as he opened the door for the officers that then searched the premises for Ralph.

“No one’s here.  That’s for sure,” concluded one of them.

“Guess we have another missing person report to file,” said the other as he and his partner headed out of the apartment.

“You know, come to think of it, I thought I heard some voices and kids laughter coming from Mr. Blyer’s apartment yesterday.  I came up to check it out, but by the time I got here there wasn’t any sounds at all.  Quiet as a crypt.  Maybe just an old man’s imagination, eh?” said Lancaster, his voice trailing off.

“Could be,” replied one of the officers making sure the apartment was secured.

“Yeah, more than likely,” said the other nonchalantly.

When the door was closed the computer screen lit up and the voices and laughter Lancaster thought he heard began to slowly rise from a murmur.  On the monitor appeared Ralph with his stunning wife and two perfect children happily posing at the entrance to their beautiful house.

____________________

Michael C. Keith is the author of numerous books, articles, and short stories.  He teaches communication at Boston College.