Vicariously Inc.

The rough wood of the little old dock is warm beneath me, and the sun is setting into the lake. It was almost perfect. It was a good Summer. But here I am, sitting at the edge of it, staring at a sunset that would simply go on forever if I let it, and instead of reflecting on how great this has been I’m stuck on what went wrong. I’d been involved, I had participated. But only some had laughed at my joke during the barbeque sequence. I should have seen the issue with the bug spray. And the frog still weighs on me.

I don’t think it matters if you do one playthrough or a hundred. After all, we’re not stuck in the old days where the only option was to live with it. What difference does it make? The timeout options appear, hanging in the air as bats chase bugs through them in oblivious loops. Move on to the Next Memory or Overwrite and Restart. I can do better. I hit Restart.

“So, I’m standing there, staring at the doctor, just absolutely blown away, right. Because he sounds like he’s speaking another language. So, I hold up my hand,” Jake stands up in front of the barbeque and mimes himself. He’s holding the greasy spatula loosely in his three fingers, he always smells like the grill; meaty, charred, smokey, vaguely delicious. “And I say to him, you already sewed me up, it’s not like I can lose them again. Of course I’m going back to work tomorrow. You think admins going to clean me out of the machine? Hell no. Besides, I got rent, I got bills, I got debt, I got responsibilities. I can’t afford to take time off for this, and I sure as hell can’t afford six months.”

Four of us sit on the dock, each cradling a beer bottle as we listen to the story. We all laugh, of course. I missed something here, last time. It’s all about reading reactions. Bri smiles and turns her head away, laughing through her nose. Mikey laughs like a donkey, in long drawn-out brays that end in diminishing variations of the original. Jake smirks, lets out a short burst of quiet laughter that speaks to his being ‘blown away’. I chuckled. It’s a placeholder. What had I said last time? Something like, ‘some of us have to work, doc.’ They’d laughed, but it almost seemed forced. I hate thinking on the spot like this and I can feel the interaction window passing. Ok, what about this, “they’re two fingers short staffed now, they need me more than ever.” I smirk as I say it, raising my beer in salute to Jake.

Bri has sucked in her lips; she’s looking at me and I can see her trembling as she bites back her laugh. Her eyes are wide and sparkling. Mikey brays the loudest laugh I have ever heard from him; it goes on and on. Jake is looking at me funny, his smile is strange, loose maybe. I get a simple ‘heh’ from him before he turns back to the grill and away from us. Mikey gets his braying under control; he takes swig and nods in approval at me. Bri is biting her finger and looking elsewhere, she’s smiling. Jake is silent, his only movement is the flipping of the meat. The grill speaks for him in hissing sizzles. They look to me now to carry the moment. I’m happy to do so.

The rest is largely the same, until I get to the bug spray. Some things are off. Jake’s in a bad mood, he doesn’t say much and what he does say is short and curt. Probably just angry because I’m winning this thing. Can’t take that I’m better than him. Maybe he’s programmed that way. I’m on top and that’s what matters, my dreams, my rules. This is it, coming up now. Almost time.

“Do we need bug spray for this,” Bri asks. I see her there, standing in the doorway as she looks out into the world, framed by golden knotted wood with a backdrop of dark green peaks, the smell of never-ending pines wafting into the cabin around her. It’s supposed to be a moment. It’s supposed to fill me with want, or joy, or contentment. To cement a memory. Maybe it did, the first time. But this time I feel something else. The scene is beautiful and warm. But my skin feels like it’s being pelted with ice. I want this, I crave it, and it makes me sick, which makes no sense.

“I mean, we’re just walking around the lake,” she says.

“Bugs wont bite me,” Mikey says, puffing out his chest, “my natural manliness intimidates them.” Most of us chuckle at this.

Bri throws Mikey a crooked smile, “ok. I mean for the rest of us mortal folk then. It only takes us like twenty minutes. And I don’t like the smell of that stuff, it makes me gag. But should we?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jake says quietly, looking at nothing. “If we get bit, we get bit. At least someone gets a meal.”

I can feel the mood drop; everyone is looking at anything but Jake. What the hell, Jake? You know what, it doesn’t matter. Last time I had agreed that we didn’t need it and we all came back from the walk looking like we had chicken pox. It was miserable. And obvious.

“Better safe than sorry,” I say. “At least for those of us who aren’t protected by godlike testosterone.” Mikey brays at this, and Bri shoots me a sweet smile before she goes hunting for the bug spray. But Jake, what the hell are you doing Jake? He looks even more sullen now than he did before. What’s that about? Buggy programming? After we had all soaked in a mist of chemicals we headed out for our walk. The night is alive with the buzz of mosquitoes. The consensus is that I have saved all our lives. God I’m good at this. So what if Jake is stuck in some kind of negative loop. I am the hero, now. Go me! Now, on to the last one.

It’s the day before the sun sets on this vacation. The night is cool, and a breeze carries little gusts of pillowy warmth. The stars glitter in the moonless sky in a way I didn’t know they could. They cut the dark not as suggestions but as stunning facts. An owl hoots in the distance, Mikey hoots back and we laugh. We’re sitting in the lawn chairs outside the cabin, enjoying the night, talking about nothing and everything with the ease that only comes at the end of a thing. The lake beckons a little way off, framing the little dock with starlit waters. I know it’s coming now, the first one always makes us jump.

“BRRRAAAAAWWWWW,” explodes into the silence.

“Jesus, every time with that thing,” Mikey says, readjusting after he’d nearly leapt out of his seat. Bri is laughing. More frogs call across the lake.

“I just can’t get over how loud they are,” I say.

“What? Never heard frogs before?” The sarcasm drips from Mikey's lips in metaphorical globs. I shrug. I haven’t though. Before this episode I had never heard a frog, live or recorded. Why would I? Who wastes their precious free time listening to a chorus of the dead?

“Well, in fairness, most frogs aren’t this big,” Bri says and winks at me.

“Oh, and you’re the frog expert, are you? Got a degree in frogology,” Mikey elbows her as he says it.

“The title you were looking for is herpetologist,” she smiles and elbows him back. “And no, I come by my credentials honestly. I am the queen of frogs. It’s in my blood. Really though, when we were kids, me and my brothers used to have a competition at this time of year. Who can catch the biggest frog,” her smile softens for a moment as she looks towards the lake. Whatever she sees out there should be good, should inspire the next phase. She looks the same this time as last time. It’s the same look. It is. So why does it feel like a chunk of my heart just broke off and fell into darkness.

“Herpetologist”, Mikey barely keeps it together, “sounds contagious.” he giggles at his own joke.

“Well,” I say, “what happened?”

She’s smiling again, looking at me, and it’s warm, as it should be. “I always won,” she said, challenge wafting on the air.

“Must have had terrible brothers,” Mikey said.

“Oh, they were a disgrace to the familial archetype.”

“Sorry, didn’t realize I was going to need a dictionary tonight. Those are some big words for someone who whose never faced a real frog catcher,” Mikey tries to look serious.

“Oh, is that what you call it,” she looks dead at him and raises her eyebrow. He disintegrates into giggles.

“He’s right though.” I try to look as serious as she had, but I can’t do it if I look at her, so I look seriously at nothing in the forest. Throughout all of this, Jake sits at the edge of the light, far enough away to be forgotten, sipping his beer and brooding over the shadows between tree trunks. He hasn’t said a word all day. It’s annoying. Maybe I’ll actually make a complaint about this, be ‘that’ guy. It’s ridiculous. I just ignore him. A moment later we are all splashing along the lake edge.

Water sloshes and toes sink in mud. I’m sneaking up on a big one, easily the size of my shoe. It’s so big that I’m a little nervous about grabbing it. I take another careful step towards it as someone falls with a splash around the corner, Mikey starts laughing again.

Got to do it by hand. That’s the thing. I tried to catch it last time with a big stick, swiped it down and pined it in place. Seemed smart. I didn’t realize I’d killed it till I had gotten it in my hands. I can still feel it, slick and cool, like a limp water balloon in my palm. Why would you even make that an option, that’s what I want to know. Someone should seriously lose their job. I take another step towards the frog, and freeze.

In the end I had left the dead frog in the lake. I told them I hadn’t caught anything. Mikey, holding a frog half the size of the one I had found, declared himself the winner, and Bri dropped her smaller frog down the back of his soaking shirt. I should have won. I’m going to win it now. I curl my toes into the mud, slowly, in case there are sticks. I tense my legs, dip down, and pause as the frog turns a little. Is it looking at me? Look at something else! Another splash around the bend and the frog turns away again.

 I launch. I am a wave of intent. The water shocks my skin as I fall, and nothing matters but that my hands grab hold of it. My hands grab. I’m under water, soaked through and chilled and thrilled. My heart races. For a moment I don’t even think of breaking the surface, instead I linger there, drifting in the muddy dark beneath the stars and listening to my friends laugh in the distance. The thing in my hand wriggles, but I am careful, and it doesn’t slip away.

I make a show of looking disappointed, as I come dripping around the corner of the lake. I held the thing behind my back, trying to look like I’d pulled something. They laugh when they see me. Bri was soaked to the waist and holding her little frog like a teddy bear. Mikey was soaked to the neck; he was holding his frog like he was presenting Simba. Jake was dry. Completely and utterly dry. He stood behind them all, he barely managed to smile when Mikey turned to him and presented the king. Absolute buzz kill. Not going to ruin my moment though.

“Awe, no luck,” Bri pouts as she says it. Her frog tries to kick free, and she scolds it. She looks so happy right then that it hurts. It’s a frog. It’s not even the winning frog. It’s just a frog. No one should be that happy over a frog.

“Then take a knee, peasant,” Mikey says, his frog looking plump and pompous in his hands. “Bow before his majesty.”

“I mean, I would,” I say, “but…” I pull my grumpy football into view. They all start shouting. Mikey is yelling ‘no!’ Bri is asking if I’m one hundred percent sure that it is a frog. Jake glanced, and I swear it was like he was sneering. Fuck you Jake, this is my moment. “Bow before the one true king,” I shout, and on cue the frog bellows its rawring croak. It’s too much. Everyone but Jake is laughing. I’m already working on my rage post in my head. But right now, I’m here, and I fixed it.

I did fix it. I did. I’m sitting on the dock, watching the sun hover against the horizon in defiance of a planet’s spin. I did it right this time. I won, no question about it. Jake was a glitch. I can’t do anything about that. It was good. So why am I sitting here just looking at the idle screen? Maybe I could do better.

The red alarm sign superimposes itself over the episode screen. I’m out of time. I dismiss it, and sigh into the perpetual sunset. Maybe later then. I exit the episode and select Wakeup. It pings and a blue spinning circle floats before each eye, it’s disorienting.

The world swallows me like quicksand, bit by grainy bit, and I’m trying to focus on the ceiling. The sound kicks in first, a staccato of gritty rattling machinery and the incoherent rush of the overcrowded sidewalks below. The analogue alarm starts screeching through it all, I swat it into silence and reach back behind my ear as I sit up. The braided cable resists at first, it pops free with a tug. My ear hides the port back there, but I still feel naked after I pull out. It never fails. I never really understand what is exposed, exactly, but the feeling is persistent.

I get out of bed and tap on the small wall screen, looking at the schedule for today. I had a little time before today’s shift starts. Sixteen hours of monotony, here I come. I try to nudge a smashed fly off the screen but just turn it into a greasy smear. Whatever. Not going to waste time on cleaning it, it’ll be dirty again before I even get back from work. Which is impressive, I think as I look around the tiny room, since I’m the only one who lives here. Jake keeps popping into my head, he’s staring into the dark in my mind. Nothing I could have done. Still…

I take a step across the room and flick on the recessed faucet. I do a quick rubdown with a wet towel and brush my teeth. Nothing like the feeling of off brand spearmint in the morning. I lean down below the recess and spit into the drain. A glob of white spinning in the dark. A bloated belly, white and glowing, floating in the lake. The hell? This is supposed to be good for us. I grab my uniform; the grease of the factory is a balm against my fingers as I pull the pants on. I tap a galaxy of new smudges onto the wall screen as I devour my protein bar. Not it, swipe, not it, swipe, that’s the one.

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The next alarm buzzes. Time to go. Maybe tonight I’ll try summer again. Maybe. The door at the foot of my bed slides open with a crunchy hiss. The hall outside is a steady flow of bodies, either going to work or coming home from it. I swear I see Jake, standing at the end of the hallway, pale and staring at nothing as the people walk through him. I really should complain about him. But who has the time for that? I turn away from the ghost, from the memory, and head to my designated stairs. I’d have to hurry, as usual, to get there in time.

I hit the stairs and join the descending flow of human resources, I decide I’m done with Summer. It hurts me somehow, and that’s works’ job. Tonight, I’m moving on to Fall, whatever that is. Sounds exotic. Should be fun. I let myself flow along with the stream of bodies. The stream becomes a river when I meet the sidewalks, broad and rushing and murmuring with the sound of feet. The heat is already picking up, sweat drips down my back under the brown sky of morning. Each block is a conveyor belt of thousands. No one talks, no one says a word, no one has the time.