How I Became Famous

How I Became Famous

Morton steered his car around the winding road that leads him home. The 25-year-old car was held together with hope, a prayer, and a great deal of duct tape. Knowing that his turning signal only worked when it was so inclined, he flicked the lever in the upright position but the windshield wipers were engaged instead. The driver speeding on his bumper behind him grew impatient as Morton’s brake lights came on as he maneuvered his jalopy in between the narrow opening of two trees flanking the driveway. As expected he received the customary blare of an angry horn. The invasive rude noise already fading as the pickup truck went around him with exaggerated acceleration. Motivated by thoughts of eating his leftover dinner from the night before, Morton drove through the canopy of trees and parked his car in the space at the edge of the driveway located just pass Mrs. Johnson’s brick carport. The house attached to the carport was a throwback to old houses typical of the deep south with its large white round columns spanning two floors, supporting both lower and upper verandas. There was a quiet creaking noise as an overgrown tree branch pushed against one of the porch swings that faced each other on either side of the long, wide upper deck. The hushed whir of the ceiling fans received his distracted attention. Absently Morton registered that his landlady must have been sitting on the upper porch at some point and either was going to return shortly or had forgotten to turn them off as were her usual habit.  The fully functioning dark green shutters, flanking each of the eight windows, broke up the white clapboard siding. The trees and gardens surrounding the property never failed in their job at providing a sense of serenity belonging to an era gone by. 

The sun high in the sky indicated that it was near noon, the hundreds of birds inhabiting the many trees on the property seem to call out in greeting as he opened his reluctant car door. Its creak sounding out of place among the nature sounds of a gentle breeze blowing through leaves and tiny creature sounds of cicadas swelling the air around him. Reaching over to grab his backpack from the passenger seat, he hoisted himself out of the low to the ground two-door. Closing the car door behind him while mentally stealing against the inevitable creak that would be followed by a clank.

Morton loved this time of the year when the temperature outside was just about 20 degrees cooler than his body. Today was no exception, the slight breeze on his bare arms told him that his car gauge that registered at 77 degrees was still working despite the cars dilapidating state. As he walked down the narrow sloping walkway to his apartment, he heard a sound carried by the wind. It was so slight he wondered if it was imagined. Stopping in his tracks forcing his ears to tune in, he waited a moment...nothing. As he resumed his walking he realized that joining the sound of his footfalls hitting the pavement was indeed a soft mewling that was getting slightly louder as he approached the door to his apartment. Something caught his eye to the right where another porch swing was positioned to enjoy the back garden. In front of the swing, at the edge where the sidewalk met grass was an old-fashioned wooden milk crate. At some point, it had been painted red but years etched the color off, revealing mostly weathered brown wood, the source of the sound was coming from this crate. Morton could not trust his eyes. “What are you doing out here in a box?” Morton said with curiosity lacing his voice. 

At a louder mewling, he reached down and picked up the tiny creature that was just two eyes and dark gray fur. It purred softly, and Morton marveled at the tiny kitten that was only slightly larger than his hand. He looked up and around suddenly for an explanation of the kitten’s appearance. Morton thought to look into the crate and found a creamy white envelope unaddressed. He placed the warm incredibly soft kitten back into the crate, swapping it for the envelope. He identified the quality feel of the envelope and thought it to be made of vellum. Turning it over with curious fingers, he lifted the flap and pulled out the matching paper. Opening the half-folded sheet, he read the words quickly, more of a scan. Needing more clarification, he reread the note slower this time. 

To the finder,

Please find the laptop at the bottom of this crate. It is locked and requires a coding program to unlock it. If you are successful at unlocking this computer, the media will be alerted that you have won the contest. The substantial prize will be revealed and issued to you by the College of Information and Technology at the University of

There was an ink smudge the distorted the next word, rendering it unintelligible. Morton rubbed his thumb across it in an effort to wipe the stain away. He turned over his thumb, and it was clean and the smudge on the note was still present. He immediately turned the note over hoping that the print may be seen from the other side to no avail. Giving up on the effort, Morton continued to read.

You have until 9am tomorrow to write the program codes.

Along with your assignment, this kitten must be looked after. His name is Houdini and must be bottle-fed every 4 hours and kept warm. If the kitten becomes ill or expires in your care, the prize will automatically be retracted even if you succeed in your programming mission. The kitten must be kept and cared for by you exclusively, any assistance given to you by anyone will render the mission null and void.

Good luck with completing your task.

Morton, feeling uneasy with the endeavors ahead of him thought heavily through his options. He could easily take this crate filled with difficulties and drive it to the firehouse located a few miles away. He would be done with it, returning to his life of struggling through school to get his IT certifications at his tech school by morning and working at the Pizza Palace by night. What could the prize be anyway? Fifty dollars? The note did say substantial, perhaps five hundred dollars.  Could he really afford to let an opportunity from an, although unknown university slip by? The credos alone would be worth something in achieving his goal. With thoughts vying for dominance in Morton’s brain, he sprang into action. Thinking that he should atleast try to see how far he could get, he plunged right in. Last night’s leftovers forgotten, he picked up the box containing a now sleeping kitten, carrying it inside after unlocking his door. Cool dark dankness of his basement apartment swelled around him. After a moment his eyes adjusted from the sharp contrast of the overly bright fall sun. 

Just as he left it, his unmade bed interrupted the sparse span of the wall on one side of his apartment. His long narrow L shaped desk on the opposite wall was littered with Coke bottles and sticky notes lining the tops of 3 computer monitors, their dark screens reflecting like a tri-fold make-up mirror. He sat the crate down on the counter to his left in the tiny kitchen nook. Tossing his backpack on to the bed, he stepped out of his flip-flops kicking them from each foot to opposite sides of the space. Picking up the kitten and holding it at eye level, he spoke to it softly. “Hello there Houdini”, it squirmed in his hands and yawned widely, showing its tiny fangs. This kitten was incredibly cute and cuddly but he was losing time. Gently setting the kitten on the counter beside the box, he reached in and pulled out a warm tan blanket. At the bottom of the box was a laptop wrapped in plastic. Beside it was a glass jar with a powder substance that looked like instant milk. The label on the jar read,

Mix one scoop with water filled to the line on the bottle. Feed kitten every 4 hours beginning immediately. 

Finding the tiny bottle with a nipple top that was the same size as a squeeze dropper, he followed the instructions. After many unsuccessful tries and watching several how-to videos on his computer, he finally got the kitten fed and settled back inside the box on top of the blanket. Satisfied that the kitten was content and sleeping he looked at his computer monitor. Great! An hour gone, Morton despaired. He used his hands to vigorously scrub his face then his head in an effort to revive himself. Morton cleared a spot on his desk and unwrapped and opened the laptop. 

Pressing the on button, it sprang to life. “You gotta be kiddin me, this is a joke right?” Morton admonished when the battery shaped indicator at the top right of the screen glowed red, blinking its signal of imminent loss of power. He scooted his swivel chair back using the desk as a push off and took long quick strides over to where the kitten slept. He looked down into the box, rubbing his head again. His search around the kitten confirmed what he already knew, the laptop did not come with a charger. Scrubbing his face again using quick up and down motions with his hands, he concentrated, “Think!” he quietly commanded himself. Finally an idea, he ran into the storage room that he had access to and rummaged through the many boxes filled with black, white, yellow cables tangled with all manner of chargers belonging to forgotten and abandoned gadgets from remote cars to smartphones. The universe was smiling down on him because he finally found a charger that fit the laptop. Morton was sure that the uncharged laptop missing a charger was a part of the challenge. When the laptop was connected to power and back on he tried to keep his mind sharp and not discouraged that the clock showing that he had lost 70 minutes in his search through his landlady’s storage.

Time sped by as he sat at his desk, running many lines of code only to get blocked at every turn. The laptop crashed over and over, but determined to crack the code he rebooted again and again. Many cans of consumed cola and 4 feedings to the kitten later he lost his battle with fatigue and sleep overcame him. His head lulled back against the leather office chair that his landlady let him use, the kitten curled up in a ball on the sub shop paper that once held his leftover sandwich. Morton was jerked awake by a series of loud raps on his apartment door. 

He sat upright in his chair while the cobwebs cleared his brain. There was more knocking, louder this time. It all came back to him like a smack to his face. He had not been able to write the proper code to unlock the laptop. “What a waste of time and money”, he muttered, thinking of the night’s pay that would be missing from his check on Friday for calling out, and for what? No results, epic fail. He tapped the laptop to wake it up and confirmed what he already suspected, above the error code message displayed on the screen, the clock read 9:02am.

He pushed back his chair resigned to accept his failure and shuffled with drooping shoulders to the window next to his entrance door and looked out in confusion at a man standing in the grass holding a huge camera on his shoulder that was aimed at his door. At his door was a woman in a purple dress meant for business attire holding a microphone. He stepped back quickly and out of sight before he was discovered. Did he want his botched attempt at writing the code that could unlike that laptop earning him a mystery prize publicized in the media? Running his hands through his hair and scrubbing his face vigorously he decided that he might as well get it over with, it did not appear that they were going anywhere. He opened the door with a yank and the news reporter said “Morton Ross, how did you come up with the right code?” immediately thrusting the microphone into his face.

Epilogue

It has been twenty-two years since that fateful afternoon occurred. With each passing year and decade, I worry less and less about being exposed for the fraud that I am. I now have made enough residual income to keep my grandchildren’s grandchildren financially wealthy. I no longer try and find the answer to how the code was written and by whom. At first, I tried to admit to the reporter that I did not know how the code made it onto my whiteboard and laptop. She assumed that I was just being evasive, dismissive of my own genius. From that point on it became out of control. I was in so deep by the time the shock and fog cleared my head I had no graceful way out of my immediate and newly acquired fame.  It turns out that one hundred IT students from around the world from all economic classes in different tech schools, colleges, and universities were randomly selected by a computer. We were all given the same challenges. Except, I was the only one given a kitten to care for. The government agency that conducted this recruitment search, claimed to know nothing of and denied the caretaking of a kitten as part of the program. The code that I was supposed to have written, now named the MortonR code is used by militaries worldwide to scramble code on any incoming missile, rendering it ineffective upon impact. Forbes magazine has just named me the wealthiest person alive. Do I still feel the guilt in the pit of my stomach? The quick answer is, not as intense, now it has dulled to a wisp of a feeling, like a distant ghost of a bad smell. I used to wonder if I had lost my mind, or lost time, I thought that perhaps I had indeed written that code. There were only two beings in that apartment, my kitten, and myself. Houdini is now a senior cat, he lounges around sleeping as much as he did when he was a kitten. 

People are astounded at how old he is. The cat has been my constant companion through 2 ex-wives and 3 children. Houdini and I rattle around in a twenty-five thousand square foot estate most months. We divide the rest of our time between here and 5 other equally impressive homesteads spread out all over the world. We travel at whim on one of my private jets. Each estate has atleast 2 cars at my disposal. Here in my favorite home, I have a collection of 15 different vehicles, ranging from Porsches to Hummers. I suppose that I still have not had my fill from my humble beginnings, all of this wealth because of my coding, but not my coding.

The End