25,500
by CC Thomas
Rescue Me
by Marta Sanchez
Artist's Bio:
Marta L. Sanchez, a self-taught visual artist, international speaker, and bilingual poet, was born and raised in the Republic of Panama. An African-American, Latina, of Caribbean descent, her experiences straddle rich cultures, full of diversity, giving her the unique and vibrant perspective she expresses in her work. Sanchez uses her voice and art to empower, educate, and inspire her audiences.
"What is a thousand years? Time is short for one who thinks, endless for one who yearns."
–Alain
Jennifer could tell by the look on his face that something was gravely wrong; had known it when she received the message to come in right away, two weeks ahead of her next scheduled appointment.
"It's the baby, isn't it?" Her tone was beseeching. "Something's wrong with the baby?"
She and Paul had waited too long after all. For many women, forty-one isn't too old, but they had known there might be complications. When they had finally decided the time was right, getting pregnant had been too easy, too quick.
The doctor's eyes quickly moved to some spot above her head and Jennifer braced herself for the news, felt dizzy and sick in the endless moment he took to open his mouth.
"It's your life report." He stopped there as if going on were too embarrassing.
"My report?" Jennifer asked, confused. "The scans show I have over 10,000 more days left."
As soon as she had made her first appointment, the doctor had run his own Cellular Life Scan, although Jennifer had provided him with her official copy that had arrived just weeks before on her birthday, a mirror image of every report that had arrived every year since she had been born.
According to her life scan, Jennifer would live to the ripe old age of sixty-nine years. That figure, 25,500 days, had colored every moment of her life.
When Jennifer was born, Cellular Life Scan had been optional for new parents, but she had been fortunate to be born into a family who saw the wisdom of such knowledge. Knowing atn early age that she would live 25,500 days had allowed Jennifer to enjoy her life, really enjoy every moment of it without the worry of what tomorrow might bring.
While, of course, the Life Scan could not predict accidents or unforeseen circumstances, the reliability with which it predicted when the cells in the body would cease to regenerate was nearly perfect across the human population.
It was originally created and designed after the Social Security collapse of the early 'twenties, when it looked as if the resulting financial turmoil would threaten a new collapse of the stock market. The federal government had deftly stepped in and announced this new technology that would allow each participant to find to the exact day when his or her cells would simply stop reproducing.
Although in the early days the life scan had been controversial, many people now saw the sensibility of such data. Knowing the exact moment of cellular degeneration had largely changed the population into a more thoughtful and careful society, one who knew how much to save for retirement or medical situations, one where drug users and alcoholics saw right away how devastating their disease could be.
Jennifer, however, had never had to worry about such concerns. This year, and every year, her life scan report had shown exactly 8,730 less hours, 365 less days on her march to 25,500.
"I know how long I have," she began to explain. "My husband and I waited a bit longer than most."
Dr. Overbrink now looked straight into her eyes as he delivered the blow, interrupting her explanation.
"I'm sorry, but you don't." He stopped short, holding his news jealously, eking it out slowly.
"I do!" Relief flooded through Jennifer as she reached down for her purse, ready to fish out her Life Scan Card. He had made a simple mistake, then, and could just scan it again for a new report.
His words stopped her short, "I don't need to see it again, Ms. Wiseman. I've checked and double-checked."
"Checked what?" Confusion was creating tension in her voice and she fairly screamed the words at him.
Again, his eyes moved to the top of her head. "Truthfully, I shouldn't be the one to give you this information, but with your condition," he gestured to her still-flat stomach, "and your age, we-they-thought it best to learn it from me."
In a flash, Jennifer realized she didn't want to hear another word he had to say. She wanted to get up and run straight from the office as if this action would deny her next reality.
He must have sensed her dreams of flight because now his words came fast and furious and her brain struggled to make sense of them.
"When we scanned your official card, we also had to take a blood test and rescan, a full cellular workup. It's standard procedure when women become pregnant or are thinking of becoming pregnant. We've had some women," his eyes met hers briefly with a glint of hostility, "who have little time left and get some deranged idea they want to be a mother before their time runs out. You and I both know that children should not be deprived of their mothers, or even created for such selfish reasons. Such later unwanted children create a burden for society. If we allowed every woman to conceive and carry a child that just wanted to….well, I'm sure you can see the chaos that would create. That's why we scan every female prior to fertility treatments."
"But Paul and I didn't need treatments," she said weakly, as though making an excuse.
"You were scheduled for treatments."
"But we never went. I found out I was pregnant before we could even begin."
"That's exactly how it got by us at first. I read your official report, double checked the data and simply went by that, delaying the blood scan until you were already pregnant."
But what's the problem? She wanted to scream this at him and perversely didn't want to know the answer at the same time. She bit her inside lip to keep from yelling out, and clamped her fingers to stop from scratching his puffy lips with her nails.
"Your life scan report is a double-coil, rare but realistic when you look at the massive numbers the agency has to deal with."
"I don't understand." She sighed the words, barely audible in the too-quiet room.
His sigh was louder than hers as he turned from her and reached for two pieces of identical white paper on his desk. He spoke slowly as he modeled for her, rolling the two pieces of paper one inside the other until only one was visible.
"A double-coil is when two individuals get their life scan reports mixed up or combined. But this only happens when the reporting data is nearly identical. The sorting system thinks it belongs to only one person or switches the data sent to the families and this can go undiscovered for long periods of time."
He held the paper aloft and Jennifer shuddered, wondering at this stranger hiding inside her, ready to take her baby and steal her days.
"In your case, there was another Jennifer Wiseman born at the same hospital on the same day."
He was back to doling out mere snippets of information.
She decided to wait him out, would wait in this chair in his office for the rest of her 10,000 days if it meant keeping her baby, would gladly wait out the next twenty seven years in this vinyl chair.
His eyes started scanning the area around her head and Jennifer gripped the chair's armrests until she felt her nails dig through the material straight to the metal beneath.
"Your original life scan report showed roughly twenty seven more years of cellular regeneration. That report belongs to the other Jennifer Wiseman."
"How long?" she croaked.
"We have some decisions to make."
"How long?"
For a moment, she thought he didn't know, hoped wildly for some lesser number like twenty years, or ten.
"One hundred and eighty days."
The magnitude was lost and she couldn't compute it. "What?"
"One hundred and eighty days, roughly the time you are expected to carry this baby to term."
The room around her started to smell funny and for a moment Jennifer struggled to recognize the unfamiliar scent. From her side vision, she noticed Dr. Overbrink deftly reach for her with one hand and behind his back with another. When his hand appeared again, he was holding a needle.
Quickly Jennifer identified the smell.
It was danger.
She jumped to her feet and sidestepped him, throwing off his approach. She made him stumble and drop the needle to the floor where it fell with a musical clunk against the tiles.
It lay between them, spinning in a lop-sided circle counterclockwise, silver tip glinting brightly against the pale blue tile.
She was closest to the door and started toward it slowly.
Dr. Overbrink cautiously slid out a hand towards her. "You're not going anywhere, Ms. Wiseman. It isn't safe for you to leave in this state."
Jennifer wondered how her orderly life could have turned into a nightmare so fast, wondered how she could have lost 10,000 of her days like a child blowing dandelion seeds into the wind, like a millionaire tossing pennies to beggars on street corners.
"We've called your husband and he's on his way. You've just had some terrible news, but we need to consider the baby. There are some decisions that need to be made."
In her mind, Jennifer pictured the child snuggled warmly under her abdomen, unaware. She could tell by looking at the doctor's face that he, too, was considering the child inside her.
She heard the clatter of footsteps and knew if they were to reach her, her child would not live to be born.
She turned and ran down the hallway, glanced quickly to see that the doctor had not followed, and raced outside to her car.
She had no thoughts but to escape, to flee. Adrenaline was coursing through her body and as she turned the car around in the lot, she saw several nurses and security guards run toward her.
She punched on the gas pedal and careened out into traffic, knowing they would not get close enough to follow her.
How far would they go to bring her back?
Adrenaline changed to fear. Had she broken some law by running? She knew vaguely there were laws regarding unborn children and mothers whose life scans collided, but had never considered such laws would ever apply to her.
She did know enough about the law to know they would not allow her to continue to carry the child without her living long enough to raise it, especially since she was so early in her pregnancy.
She heard a muted ringing sound and reached for her phone, knowing instantly who it would be.
Paul's face appeared on the mini-transmitter, fastened above her steering wheel and relief flooded through her body as she saw his kind, dependable face.
"Jennifer, where are you?" He looked worried, she noted, before glancing up again to the roadway.
"Paul." She tried to say more but the words froze in her throat, and she felt as if she might strangle on them, on this grief.
"I know, darling, I heard." There was pain in his voice as well as confusion. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"When? How?" She didn't know which question she wanted to ask, didn't know where to go or how to stop this day. She slowed her breathing to concentrate on his face briefly. "I didn't know, Paul. It all has to be some kind of horrible mistake!"
A glance at his face showed uncertainty. "Come to me, Jennifer, or stop where you are and I'll come to you."
"I can't, Paul! I think they're chasing me!" She glanced nervously in her mirrors, but could see no one approaching. Still, though, she felt the danger as palpable as another passenger in the car with her.
"Why did you run? You scared Dr. Overbrink to death! He was just trying to prepare you for the news, darling, not chase you."
"I thought…." She paused, feeling foolish. She could see now how she had overreacted. She had probably alarmed them all with her flight.
She started again, "I thought they would take the baby. I thought it was illegal. He made me feel like I had done something wrong."
Another look of confusion passed over his face, "Of course…."
He paused for much too long and Jennifer knew it was true. "Paul, no!"
"Jennifer, calm down! No one is going to hurt you! We'll work it all out. It's just a silly mix-up." He took a deep breath and said beseechingly, "Please, come home. We have to talk and I can't do it over this phone."
When she spoke, her voice held a steely reserve, "I won't let you take her."
"Her? Who are you talking about? The baby?"
"Yes, Paul. I won't let it happen. I don't care what the law says."
He was getting exasperated, desperate. "You don't even know if it is a her! You just found out about the baby, Jennifer! Please, be reasonable. Come home and we'll research what our options are."
Jennifer considered his words. She had just found out about the baby two short months ago and it still seemed unreal at times. She hadn't felt like a mother at the time.
But now, a fierce sense of purpose swelled within her. She knew her. She knew all about her child, had spent the last sixty days dreaming and thinking of nothing else.
She knew every freckle on her daughter's unborn face.
She knew her daughter would love strawberry ice cream, but only the kind with real berry chunks.
She knew her daughter would be scared of lightning bugs and fireworks.
She knew her daughter would love swings.
She knew this person inside her more closely than she knew any other human being on earth, even though she had never met her, might never get to meet her.
She knew a lifetime of memories that would happen because that was the way it should be.
"There's only one option, Paul."
He apparently heard the finality in her voice when he replied, "You don't get to decide that alone. The child is mine, too."
The look on Paul's face convinced her that his hope was to keep Jennifer and discard the child, as though that were a possibility.
She tried one last time, "What if you let go of the baby, Paul? I won't get my days back anyway. What if this is how it's supposed to happen?"
She choked back a sob before continuing, "Do you think I could live one moment of another day past one hundred and eighty days, knowing to get there I had to kill my own child?"
Jennifer Wiseman sat curled in the wicker chair of her living room, watching the rain run down the old windows of her farmhouse. She had stubbornly refused to sell her family's farm after her neighbors had turned tail and headed for the city, selling out to huge farming corporations. Thus, Jennifer's home sat in the middle of long fields of soy, an isolated farmhouse on forty acres, miles outside the city.
After her death, she knew the home would be auctioned and sold to the giant, her family home plowed over and overtaken by monstrous red combines and endless fields labeled with yellow and green markers.
That thought had never bothered her until yesterday, when the mail came.
Jennifer had always known that she would only live to forty–two years old and had never planned a thought for a moment past that.
She'd never had children to pass her home along to, had never married for the same reason, or cultivated deep friendships. Jennifer had just never felt she had much to offer in the way of long-term relationships. She had purposely burnt every bridge she could.
Until yesterday's mail.
At first, she couldn't quite believe it. A mistake of this kind only happened to other people, people she could read about in her monthly gossip magazines, and even then, she doubted the stories were true.
But she had called the Life Scan agency to confirm it and it was true.
Her whole life had been a mistake.
Before yesterday, she had liked her simple life. She had enjoyed the sunshine and her parent's garden and small farm and had worked hard to carry out the legacy they left her after their too-early deaths, a legacy she had spent the past two years slowly erasing in preparation for her own last days.
She knew her life could have gone much differently, saw on TV those who decided to use their brief sparks before eternity to achieve some sort of greatness, or to carry out the most selfish, dangerous stunts. Those kinds of lives had never appealed to her; had seemed too busy and frivolous. In their wild quest for infamy and notoriety, they allowed too many precious sand grains to fall through to the bottom of the bottle.
Jennifer knew where each of her minutes went, saved and savored them.
She had meticulously planned out her last one hundred and eighty days and not one of them included a wasteful moment.
Her plan seemed pathetic now, when she had so many yawning years before her.
Her vision became misty and she blamed it on the rain outside, but could feel the tears sliding down her cheeks, feel the top of her shirt getting wet and cold with her grief.
A gift it would seem to most people, forty more years of life. But to Jennifer, that time stretched before her like an endless desert.
She felt her grief give way to anger.
What right had they, to take her life? What right had this new Jennifer to take her last days and to leave in its place a black emptiness of loneliness?
She wondered, what could she have been if she had been given the choice? If she had known that she would live to be an old woman, would she have lived the same life?
She didn't know and that thought was agony inside her head.
She had spent forty-one years in preparation for her death; she didn't know how to plan a life.
Picking up her coffee cup, she sighed and stood up to go into the sunny yellow kitchen, the color mocking the gray of the day outside.
Standing at the sink with her fresh cup, she thought at first her eyes were playing a trick on her, thought the yellow walls had somehow bled outside into the endless green fields.
But no, the yellow was getting closer, even though she was standing still.
She squinted and saw a yellow cab tearing down the small gravel road.
She had never had a visitor before, not since her parents had died two years ago, and wondered how much excitement her small life could handle.
Jennifer had never been this far outside the city before and had been nervous after learning of the address. The remoteness had seemed alien to her, but the farther she traveled into the green fields of corn and soy, the more she knew her decision was right.
It was almost as if the earth were parting to allow her in, welcoming her with this gift, and through the rolled down window, she heard her secret race ahead, from field to field, saw the plants bend and sway, like a wave of hello.
On the long, final drive, she knew this was the right place, as if she had dreamed it a thousand times.
Jennifer put down her coffee cup, saw that the rain was easing up, and stepped out onto the back porch.
Jennifer saw the woman standing there and wondered briefly at her sanity. Was she really going to give her child to this woman she didn't know, on the basis of her name alone?
She had a moment's wild hesitation and almost screamed at the driver to turn around and carry her back home, but her glance was distracted by a swaying movement to the side of the house.
An old willow tree, branches bending to the ground, held within something black and smooth. Jennifer squinted and saw the tire swing, twisting and turning slowly in the wind, waiting.
Jennifer stood calmly on the back porch, the scent of her grandmother's lilac blossoms wrapping around her with comfort.
Jennifer paid the man handsomely to forget this address, to forget this face.
"I need some help with my bags," she called out.
Jennifer didn't hesitate and was surprised by the eagerness that carried her over to the woman, surprised by the shopping bags.
"I've never swung on a tire swing before," Jennifer said, pointing to the willow tree.
Jennifer smiled with the childhood memory of a father who was never too busy to push.
And Jennifer knew she had made the right decision.
CC Thomas has had poetry published in The Chaffin Journal, Hot Metal Press, The Litchfield Review, Bellowing Ark and Bibliophilos and appeared as a featured poet at The Kentucky Folk Art Center in Morehead, Kentucky, as well as being selected as a finalist in the 7th International Poetry Contest sponsored by Mattia. She has had several nonfiction articles published and was recently awarded first prize in The Heartland Review's short-short fiction contest and received Honorable Mention for Lucidity's winter volume. She is also looking forward to this fall's release of two books that include her works, One Minute Monologues and Dying Breaths: Waverly Hills. As well as being on staff at a local newspaper, she currently teaches reading and writing at the middle school level and has been in this field for 10 years. She has a Master's of Education degree with a focus as a Reading Specialist in young adult literature.
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