Elephant Party

Dylan loved baby elephants. I try to keep this in mind as I picture my old roommate Miles bursting through the door, then making everything about him. I’ll focus on the elephants.

We’ve all had that friend–the one we were inseparable from in school, but as the years go past, find ourselves drifting away from, until one day, we wonder why we were ever friends in the first place. For me, that friend is Miles. 

I feel a gentle squeeze on my arm and turn to see Clara, my wife. “It’s Dylan's day today,” she murmurs. Her eyes sparkle with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

“But I'm worried if it will go well.”

 “Don't worry.” A reassuring smile spreads across her face. “What a pair we are. I’m dyadurnal, and you’re nocturnal. What were the odds we ever end up together?!” 

"I'm the luckiest man alive,” I say, pulling her close.

Today is about moving forward, about accepting Dylan's choice. We received a few thousand dollars from the DHLC to cover the costs of his second Life Celebration — the hall rental, the food, Dylan's AI projection. Everything meticulously planned.

As I scan the room, I can't help but notice only two of Dylan's childhood friends have shown up. He was just six years old when he progressed. Perhaps the others have forgotten him.

My gaze settles on Dylan's projection, static and serene. His round, sensitive eyes, his tall, lanky frame — a representation of how he would have looked at eight years old. I remember how he loved building things, how animals, especially endangered ones like the elephants, held a special place in his heart. The DHLC has done an impressive job capturing his essence.

There are 8 candles on his birthday cake in the center of the room.

At the stroke of midnight, Dylan springs to life.

“Thank you for coming to my Life Celebration,” he says. “You look great in your suit Dad, and I miss you Mom.” He makes kind remarks about the other people attending. His projection blushes, as if an AI projection could be shy. “Remember I am always with you. I need you.”

Clara and I step up to the birthday cake, its eight candles flickering, and together we blow them out. Dylan goes into a peaceful slumber until next year. It's odd he didn’t mention the elephants. Elephants, and other endangered animals, had been such a passion of his since he was young.

Just as we're all starting to mingle and move on to other topics, Miles bursts in, late as always. He’s easy to spot, tall with blond curly hair. Always sticks out in a crowd. Maybe that’s why he loves being the center of attention.

“Yo! Scottie!” he calls out, cocking his head at me until I manage a smile.

“Hey Miles!”

And then he moves on. His body spinning in 360 degrees as he nods and greets everyone he knows, doing air pistols, air kisses, and other pretentious greetings.

“Don't worry about him,” Clara murmurs in my ear. “I need you.” 

“I need you too.” 

We've been taught that those words are the most important ones we can say to each other. But in my darker moments, I can't help but wonder - with the OpenAI Foundation handling so much of the work that used to be done by humans, does the world really need me anymore?

They say faith is important. Since AI took over most of what was considered ‘work’ decades ago, artistic expression has become the currency of human existence. Artistic expression and individual choice are the shinning beacons of our great country. Enshrined in the new Bill of Rights, rewritten after we cancelled our old system of government system based on exploitation and colonization.

“I'm alive, I create,” I repeat to myself, a mantra I tell myself every morning.

My rumination is interrupted by Miles’s wide grin.

"So, with your work and different sleep schedules, you two must only overlap for, what, a couple hours a week?" he asks, waggling his eyebrows at Clara.

“I check in with her from my writing center,” I reply.

“So, a long distance relationship?” Miles winks at Clara.

“Fuck off, Miles,” she says.

I sip my drink, and do the math. Miles is right, give or take an hour. Clara and I only get to spend about two hours a week together in person. But that's enough.

As Miles badgers Clara for sex–her option if she chooses–my minds drifts back to the unthinkable.

Two years ago, we celebrated Dylan’s 6-year-old birthday. At midnight, he blew out the candles, then his mobile flashed a notification: Your Life Choices.

I had secretly hoped he’d chose something like soccer camp, so he’d be away 9 months a year, and Clara and I would have more alone time. Clara, on the other hand, had hoped he would decide on a path that would allow him to serve the community, like training for elder emotional support.

Dylan scrolled and scrolled. It felt like an eternity before he made his decision.

Are you sure? the DHLC App asked.

“I am mentally sound, and I choose life option, 231,” Dylan replied.

Five minutes later, the DHLC arrived to take him away.

We can’t question children’s choices, they say. Everyone follows their own path. Dylan didn’t want to take any more resources from the planet. 

I snap back to reality, and to Clara deep in conversation with Miles.

“We gave him everything, let him do anything. Maybe that was a mistake,” she says, a hint of regret in her voice.

“I think so!” Miles chimes in. “An America president in the 1900s once said, ‘Ask not what your country does for you, but what you can do for your country’.” 

Miles is on one of his typical tangents.

"That quote was erased from Wikipedia last year. They're erasing history!" he exclaims.

I look at my old friend, my patience wearing thin. “Take your government supplied Fentanyl, Miles. It calms you down.”

I tap my glass to get the attention of the 20 or so people present, “I have an announcement to make. Clara is pregnant, and we’re trying to be parents again.”

The room erupts in applause, and I'm met with a sea of approving smiles. But just as the noise starts to die down, Miles's voice cuts through the din. 

“Is nobody going to say it?” he shouts.

“Say what, Miles?” Clara asks.

"The elephant in the room - same DNA, same parents," he says, pointing an accusatory finger at us. "The same thing is going to happen again."

"What same thing?" I ask, dread pooling in the pit of my stomach.

"The government killing their child," Miles declares. "Maybe they need to get out of here, escape to Mexico."

"You're embarrassing yourself," I snap. "Every child is a unique individual who makes their own choices."

Clara reaches over and hits the button on Miles’s DHLC Fentanyl meter. He doesn’t resist, and soon slumps into a chair, sinking into a peaceful bliss.

The room falls silent at Miles’s emotional outburst. I clear my throat. Someone needs to speak up, I guess that’s me.

“Dylan loved elephants,” I say. “He made his choice to save baby elephants.”

“Heroic,” his Aunt Liz adds.

“A wonderful boy,” another guess adds

“Endangered animals are our future,” someone declares.

The group erupts in applause, and I realize that Miles is the only one here living in the past, clinging to outdated beliefs. Everyone else is moving forward, embracing the future.

I mingle with the crowd, regaining my composure. These are normal, sane individuals, and they all agree that Dylan made a wonderful choice for the planet. No one has ever heard of two children from the same parents choosing euthanasia.

Elephants are making a comeback, they tell me.