LAST LEGS

LAST LEGS

By Cliff Avery

           Lamar looked younger than his daughter when he arrived at her birthday party, but that was her own fault. She could have chosen a 25-year-old body, too; she was the one that decided a hot-shot CEO had to look hot, but a little MILFy.

           “Daddy, you look great,” Rana said as Lamar approached. After almost 200 years of conversations with her, he translated it as “I love you, but get away from me as soon as you can, old man.” She was surrounded by a half-dozen executives from companies that she did business with and by one waiter who was juggling flutes on a tiny silver tray. The glasses were empty, designed only to be hand totems for those who had been uploaded.

           “Happy Birthday, Fuzzybottom!” Lamar’s voice filled the Grand Hall of EverLive’s corporate headquarters. The waiter watched with dismay as one of the flutes, jarred by Lamar’s volume, committed suicide and plunged over the side of the tray.

           Rana steered her entourage away from the broken glass on the floor. She glared at her father, “Of all the nicknames you’ve given me, that is my least favorite.”

Halloween, 162 years ago. Rana comes down the stairs with cotton balls taped to her butt. “Can I be a rabbit this year?”

           “But you were so damned cute, Honeymuffin.” Lamar laughed, grabbing one of the surviving glasses from the waiter. He shifted it to his left hand and plunged his right generally toward the crowd around his daughter. “I’m Lamar Renfrow. I’m Rana’s daddy. Who you?”

           The crowd offered their hands and their names, and Lamar immediately forgot them.

           One decided to brave a little chit-chat. “You have one of the newer models, don’t you, Mr. Renfrow.”

           “Yep. This is my third. I was one of the first uploads in 2045. I was 94 then, and my little girl persuaded the company to save me….”

Lamar’s bedroom, 103 years ago. Lamar, with large brown blotches on his milky skin, struggles to breathe. Rana hisses into his face: “I couldn’t save Mama, but I’m not going to let you go yet, Daddy. My company has a way.”

           Lamar continued, “…Wore that one out, then another one. I think that one was a lemon. Made on a Friday, probably.”

           Rana threw her shoulders back, a sure sign she was pissed. “Daddy, we don’t make ‘lemons’ at EverLive. You breached the warranty when you drank that bottle of Jack Daniel’s.”

           Lamar sighed and stared into his empty glass. “It was just a pint. Seems to me that’s a design flaw. If a man can’t put a little sippin’ whiskey in the pit without burning circuitry, what the hell good is it?”

           One of the executives, with thick black glasses, turned a laugh into a cough to keep from offending his hostess. Another, less socially sensitive, chose to pursue the topic, “But surely you understood that, with all we can do to upload – and thereby perpetuate – our consciousness in our new ‘bodies,’ we still can’t duplicate the processing of ingested organic material?”

           “That’s not an R&D priority for us right now,” Rana used her best exec-speak as if addressing Wall Street analysts, “We can map a human brain and put it in a vessel that can outlast flesh and blood and look and act remarkably like an adult human. In the early years, the Government paid for this research to find a way to send human consciousness on hundred-year-long journeys to habitable planets. Eating enchiladas and knocking back a quote-enquote ‘little sipping whiskey’ in that context is not only nonproductive, it adds unnecessary burdens that might threaten the success of a mission.”

           Lamar nodded. “Maybe so, sweetheart, but, until I started wearing one of these man-suits, I was never threatened by an enchilada.”

            Lamar decided he’d poked the she-bear long enough. He excused himself and moved toward the food. “Just because you’re on a diet don’t mean you can’t look at the menu,” he tossed out as he departed the crowd.

           There were small portions of lobster and steak and flutes with golden champagne for those who hadn’t been uploaded. For those who had, there were the taste-strips that stimulated flavor receptors in the central processing unit, but were not eaten. They were arranged with elegance to please, if not satisfy, the Uploads.

           He considered a lobster taste-strip but rejected it when he realized how thoroughly unhappy the whole concept made him. Instead, he considered a young woman who poured sauce on the steak on her plate.

Broken Bow, Oklahoma, 173 years ago. Lamar scrambles eggs in his apartment and decides to add a touch of A-1 sauce. A beautiful woman emerges from his bedroom wearing one of his T-shirts and a smile. Her legs are long, and she is bare-footed. She looks at the eggs and scolds, “You better cook those eggs longer. They’re too snotty to eat.” Lamar decides he loves this woman.

           “Eat a couple of bites for me, won’t you?” Lamar said to the woman as she turned away from the real-food buffet.

           The woman, maybe in her late twenties, turned toward him, and her green eyes blinked with surprise. “You’re an Upload?”

           “I am.”

           “Wow, they’re really making you lifelike now, aren’t they?”

           “Kinda depends on how you’re defining ‘life,‘ but I guess we’re passable.”

           “I’ve seen pictures of some of the first ones. You could tell they were artificial. They looked plastic.”

           Lamar tried to act insulted. “Hey, I was one of those. This is my third.”

           “Your third!? Wow, you must have a lot of money.”

           “I have some, but it helps that my daughter runs the place.”

           The woman considered him and his position in the cosmos of the Great Hall. She tilted her head to the gaggle around Rana. “Wow, I came with my dad. He’s over there. His company makes the solar transpacitors that gives them­—you —energy. He said I might meet someone interesting. Sometimes even he can be right.”

           “Broken clocks,” Lamar said.

           “What?”

           “You know. The old expression: ‘Even broken clocks are right twice a day.’”

           “What does that mean? How can broken clocks be right ever?

           Lamar started to explain then realized that this young women with the auburn hair and the green eyes and the GIF tattoo of a humpback whale breaching – over and over –embedded in her shoulder would never understand the analog reference.

           “Don’t worry about it,” he said, “Do you mind if I watch you eat?”

           She looked into his eyes and smiled. “Why don’t we take it to-go? My place is close.”

           “What’s your name?” Lamar returned the smile.

           “Leah.”

           “I’m Lamar. Let’s go celebrate my daughter’s birthday.”

           “Mind if I blow out your candle?”

           The next morning, Lamar sat at the kitchen table in Leah’s apartment, waiting for her to wake up. He was naked, but he really didn’t think of himself that way. The body was as much an ensemble as the suit that had been on the body the night before.

He sighed. Even after all these years, he wished for a cup of coffee, longed to feel his fingers curled around the warm mug between healthy gulps. He’d sit and drink the coffee and paw through a newspaper. A real one. Ink on paper. And after you got through reading it, you’d find some of the ink had come off on the kitchen table. The last time he saw a printed newspaper was before the second upload.  

When the refrigerator compressor began running, it startled him out of his memory. There was no refrigerator in his apartment. No need for one.

           “Good morning, you stallion.” Leah glided into the kitchen wearing a robe that barely made it to the top of her thighs. She leaned over and kissed him generously, allowing her tongue to dance briefly with his.

She saw he was naked and looked to his penis. There was no coy sidelong glance, but a joyous ogling that Lamar found refreshingly honest.

“Good God!” she said, “You’re ready to go again? Don’t you want a breather?”

“Sorry. I’ll wind it down,” Lamar said.

Leah continued to stare.

“It’s one of the good things about being uploaded,” Lamar said. “They fixed the design flaw that was in what the EverLive marketers call ‘the original organic version’ — basically the body you’re born with. Now, with this new-and-improved body, I can move it just like I’m pointing my finger.”

Leah nodded. “That explains why I’m walking bow-legged this morning. But don’t put it away just yet.” She wrapped her fingers lightly around his penis and pulled him toward the bedroom.

One hour and twenty-four minutes later, they were lying on their stomachs across Leah’s bed. The sheets were moist with her sweat. Both were breathing hard.

“Wow.” After all these years, Lamar found it difficult to be impressed by lovemaking. Usually it was nice; sometimes better than that. But Leah was…well, the only word that came to him was “spectacular.”

“Wow indeed,” she said. She turned on her side and looked at him, her head propped up by her left arm. “But you didn’t come.”

Lamar grinned, head and arms still hanging over the edge of the bed. That was usually the issue that got raised at this point. “I didn’t ejaculate, if that’s what you mean. They don’t give me bodily fluids, remember? But you blew my mind, sweetheart. And everything else. I didn’t even have to adjust the settings on the control app.”

He pulled his body fully onto the bed and looked at her, hoping his face reflected the seriousness in his heart. “You’re amazing,” he said, almost in a whisper.

She allowed herself a satisfied grin.

           She thought for a minute, still trying to bring her breath under control. Then she asked, “So how do you spend all this extra time they gave you?

           “I look after my investments. A feller’s gotta keep a roof over his head, you know,” he said.

           “Any tips?”

           “Buy as much AppleSoft as you can when it’s an IPO and then live another hundred years. That’s the easy part. I’m also a history professor. That’s hard”

           “No kidding? I would have guessed it was easy for you since you lived all that history. All you have to do is remember.”

           He snorted. “Right. The problem is that most of my students are Uploads, too. Most not as old as me. I was an ‘early adapter.’ But they still only want to talk about their favorite sit-coms from the ‘70s and ‘80s.

“Like Thunderpants and The Lunar Hotel?”

“The NINETEEN ‘70s and ‘80s,” Lamar said. “Cheers or Friends. I had one guy who wanted to do his thesis on A.L.F. Do you know it…?”

           “Alf? Like Alfalfa?” Leah’s face was twisted in confusion.

           “Alien Life Force. It was a surly puppet from outer space.”

           “Oh, yeah. Wasn’t there a reboot?”

           “Set on the Mars colony. The Earther was the A.L.F. Anyway, that’s how I spend my classtime. Deflecting shit like that. What do you do?”

           “I’m a farmer.” Leah nodded to confirm the fact.

           “What?”

           “I have a master’s in Agricultural Engineering. I’m raising sweet potatoes on three floors of a building in Manhattan.”

           “Bless your heart! You’re a Reoccupier!”

           When the water rose and corporations had to head for higher ground, the Manhattan skyscrapers, already pretty empty after workers were sent home for the scales outbreak, were abandoned. Now a hardy breed of urban pioneers were converting floorspace into farmland.

“Proud to say I am. I have the 37^th, 38^th and 39^th floors of a building once known as the Time-Life Building. Do you know it?”

“I do. I saw some shows at Radio City, across the street.”

“They’ve put up new booms. Better ones. It won’t be long until we can actually walk on Sixth Avenue. That’ll make it so much easier to get to the farm,” Leah’s words were coming fast now, spilling out of a special place. “My floors are above and to the west of what used to be Radio City, before they turned it into an outlet mall. So the external mirrors on my floors can get some good sunlight into my acreage. A good crop this year and we’ll be looking at more floors, spreading out to romaine lettuce next year. I do love Caesar salad.”

Lamar admired the way her face came alive when she talked about her dream. It was as if the sun was shining directly into her face, and she reflected it onto her crops, giving them life, watching them thrive, nurturing them to be good things the world needed. Any of her energy that had been sapped by their lovemaking had been replenished and multiplied now. Lamar considered that Leah may be the most alive person he had met in the past 103 years.

He exhaled, suppressing a sigh, as the realization creeped around him, the way the water had creeped around the Time-Life Building and the huge edifices that once dominated Manhattan. 

“I guess I better put on my clothes and let you get on with your day,” Lamar said.

“I can fix you breakfast,” Leah said.

“Thanks, but I can’t have it.”

“Oh, right.”

After a brief hug, Leah wrapped the tiny robe around herself and headed for the kitchen. Lamar put on his shirt and slacks. He slipped his feet into the loafers he’d worn. He put the socks into the coat pocket. He realized his movements were wrapped in an awkward silence. He knew what he had to say but hated the words had to come out.

She was sitting at the table. Her face was troubled. Lamar thought that they might be reading each other’s minds.

“I’d love to see you again, Leah,” Lamar said.

She nodded. “‘But’….”

Lamar shook his head. “But. But I don’t think it’ll work between us. You’re alive. You can have lobster and coffee and and grow crops and make babies with somebody. I can’t.”

“The sex is great. Isn’t it?” Leah said.

“Oh, definitely. Even better because I like you. I probably could love you if I let myself….”

“Why can’t you let yourself?”

Lamar looked to the top of the table. “Because, at the end of the day, I’m just a six-foot-two somewhat sentient vibrator.”

“You’re more than that,” Leah said. “You have a mind and thoughts and a great sense of humor. You make me laugh. There’s more to you than a dozen of the guys I know who are still on their ‘organic original version.’ And, by the way, I really despise that term.”

Lamar sighed. “I’ve done a lot. Seen a lot. Loved a lot. Read a book or two. But there’s a lot you still have to do for the first time. And you should share that with somebody else who’s doing it the first time.

A hospital operating room 167 years ago: The long-legged woman, Lamar’s wife, is on the operating table, her leg sprawled under a blue cloth. A doctor is performing a C-section. Lamar sits on a stool near the woman’s head. He holds her hand.

           “Here it comes,” the doctor says.

           Then: “It’s a girl.”

           The woman lurches a little with excitement, and Lamar tries to soothe her by patting her shoulder. Both Lamar and his wife beam with broad grins that don’t seem nearly wide enough. There are tears as they look in each other’s eyes.

“With me, it’d be like your father or grandfather or great-great grandfather watching and clucking and saying ‘how cute.” That would diminish your experience.”

“No, it wouldn’t.”

“It would and don’t you argue with me, Missy: I’m old enough to be your great-great-grandfather. I’ll put you in Time-Out ‘til you’re as old as I am.”

Leah rolled her eyes.

Lamar put his hand on her shoulder. “And, Leah, I’m tired. Don’t get me wrong: I loved being with you last night, and I hate having to say good-bye this morning…”

“Then don’t.”

Lamar pressed on. “I have to. Darlin’, people get tired when they get older. I was tired and ready to go before the first upload. Hell, my wife was dead; all my friends were dead. Well, except one; he had dementia. Although I thought he might be fakin’ it because he owed me money.

“I’ve said good-bye to so many people I’ve cared about. Not just the ones that actually died, but the ones I outgrew or that outgrew me. After a while, you don’t want to start up with anybody, because you’re know it’ll end.

“The world changes on you. Just as soon as you find a new favorite restaurant, it closes and turns into a nail salon. They pave over the park you liked to walk in. You lose places and things and people that mean something to you. When enough of those things go, you lose the moorings that kept you tethered to whatever body you’re in.

“Your mind can get uploaded into a new damn body, but the heartbreaks you’ve had come with it. I don’t want to carry you around with me that way.”

He looked into her eyes. “Let me go. Please.”

She shook her head in an expression of puzzlement, then rose to accompany him to the door.

At the door, he leaned in to kiss her, and she let him, even though she knew she probably shouldn’t have.

“I don’t have much left to do in this so-called existence,” he said, “But there’s one thing I am going to work on.”

“What?”

“Trying to find an off-switch for this thing.”