I Believe in Yesterday

I BELIEVE IN YESTERDAY

By

Bob Pritchard

CHAPTER 1

“Turn that up querida,” Carmen says. “You know I love American music.”

As usual, you roll out of bed and turn up the volume of the stereo. Paul McCartney’s voice fills the room with his famous simple tune. Then you crawl back into bed and spoon behind her, your face buried in her long reddish-brown hair.

“Yo quiero, Miguel,” she purrs. “I feel so safe when you hold me.”

“I love the way you call me Miguel,” you say.

She turns suddenly, facing you, her lips brush against yours. “Beso me.”

You kiss her, long and tenderly, a familiar kiss, with love and adoration.

“I love you too, Carmen” you say. “Never leave me.”

“Just be good boy,” she whispers, “and love me always.”

“Siempre and siempre,” you say.

Your stomach growls. “Oh, you are hungry. Lets’ go out to eat. I love the Crack and Barry.”

“Cracker Barrell, dear, but no, they are still closed.”

“Oh yes, I forget. Okay, I will make you the breakfast,” she says rolling off her side of the bed. “How about pancakes?”

“Muy bien,” you say, and sit up in bed. “Your special pancakes?”

“Of course.” Her back is to you. Your eyes linger on the dark patch on her spine. You watch as she slips on a pair of tight blue running shorts.

“Will you ever tell me what makes them taste so good? I’ve been eating pancakes since I was a kid, but yours are…different. Amazing.”

“A-MAZ-zing,” she repeats, and her laugh fills the room. That laugh, that wild Caribbean laugh.

She slips on your white dress shirt without buttoning it and leaves the bedroom. Her lavender scent remains on the pillow, and you inhale her memory. Tears suddenly fill your eyes.

“Is everything okay Mr. Price?”

“Quiet, damn it. She’ll hear you. Use the fucking internals.”

“Sorry sir,” the voice hums in his head. “This is my first assignment.”

“Mi querida? Is everything alright?” Carmen’s voice calls from the kitchen.

“Oh shit. Now its ruined.”

“I am sorry…”

“Shut up. Just start it again, please.”

CHAPTER 1.2

“Turn that up querida,” Carmen says. “You know I love American music.”

As usual, you roll out of bed and turn up the volume of the stereo. Paul McCartney’s voice fills the room with his famous simple tune. Then you crawl back into bed and spoon behind her, your face buried in her long reddish-brown hair.

“Yo quiero, Miguel,” she purrs. “I feel so safe when you hold me.”

“I love the way you call me Miguel,” you say.

She turns suddenly, facing you, her lips brush against yours. “Beso me.”

You kiss her, long and tenderly, a familiar kiss, with love and adoration.

“I love you too, Carmen” you say. “Never leave me.”

“Just be good boy,” she whispers, “and love me always.”

“Siempre and siempre,” you say.

Your stomach growls. “Oh, you are hungry. Lets’ go out to eat. I love the Crack and Barry.”

“Cracker Barrell, dear, but no, they are still closed.”

“Oh yes, I forget. Okay, I will make you the breakfast,” she says rolling off her side of the bed. “How about pancakes?”

“Muy bien,” you say, and sit up in bed. “Your special pancakes?”

“Of course.” Her back is to you. Your eyes linger on the dark patch on her spine. You watch as she slips on a pair of tight blue running shorts.

“Will you ever tell me what makes them taste so good? I’ve been eating pancakes since I was a kid, but yours are…different. Amazing.”

“A-MAZ-zing,” she repeats, and her laugh fills the room. That laugh, that wild Caribbean laugh.

She slips on your white dress shirt without buttoning it and leaves the bedroom. Her lavender scent remains on the pillow, and you inhale her memory. Tears suddenly fill your eyes.

You leave the bed and dress in sweatpants and a grey T-shirt. You retrieve the small box from the bottom drawer of the dresser. You open it and examine the small heart shaped locket. Etched onto the back the date 2/14. You smile and place it in your pants pocket. Then suddenly you hear a man’s voice coming from the living room. You turn off the stereo and rush out of the bedroom. “No. No. It’s too soon.”

But it is too late. It is always too late. CNN is showing live pictures of Bethesda Hospital. Green body bags fill the parking lot. Legs protrude out of dumpsters. Masked orderlies carry stretchers into waiting tractor trailers.

You grab the remote from her hand and switch it off, but she has seen, and she knows, and she cries. You hold her. You kiss her cheeks and gently touch the dark mark on her neck. “Does it hurt?” you say.

“Little. When I swallow.”

“You’ll be alright. I know it,” you console her, wiping away her tears.

“I am scared,” she says holding you tighter.

“I am here, querida. Always and forever.”

She looks up into your eyes. “Truly?”

You pull the box from your pocket and place it in her hands. She smiles and slowly opens it.

“Oh Miguel. Mi amor. I love it,” she says holding up the locket. “Put it on me.”

She turns and you clasp the chain around her neck. Your fingers grazing the dark mark.

“How it look?”

“Beautiful,” you say. “Happy Valentine’s Day my darling wife.”

“And many more, to come.”

You nod and force a smile. Your stomach growls again.

“Oh, the pancakes,” she says and turns quickly back to the stove. “Aiyaa. I burn it.”

You laugh. “It’s okay. Make another. I will turn the music back on.” You reenter the bedroom but behind you, you hear her crying. You stand in front of the stereo, your head bowed. Paul McCartney sings, “Now I long for Yesterday.”

CHAPTER 2

“Think of it as a very tiny camera,” Dr. Cleese said, chuckling.

“That’s glued inside my eyes,” Michael Price said, not laughing.

“Glue. That’s a good one, Mr. Price. No, it is more like an implant ten times smaller than a grain of sand. We place it behind your iris, right next to the optic nerve and it acts as a receiver. Records everything you see. We then place another hundred or so, throughout your house, with audio of course. Shouldn’t take more than three hours to have you up and running,”

He continued. “Your personal procedure will only take an hour, tops. In and out. Quick and clean. You won’t remember a thing.”

“Are you sure? I won’t even remember coming in today?” Price asked.

“Don’t worry. I have done hundreds of these. Mostly for the government,” he whispered, conspiratorially. Then chuckled again. “But this is much more satisfying. Helping people.”

Dr. Cleese looked at his calendar. “Let’s schedule it for next Thursday. 8 AM. Bring your wife. Tell your wife it’s a routine follow up physical, then take her to lunch. You will be all set up by noon. All systems go!”

“And I won’t remember any of this?”

“Of course. That’s the whole point, right? The memories you replay later must be pure,” Dr. Cleese said, and smiled broadly.

Michael Price nodded, then said, “And there really is no cure?”

“The latest numbers say only one in ten will survive. It’s deadly but surprisingly not painful. People get the skin lesions first. Then the headaches and vomiting, fever spikes to 110, they go into a coma and never wake up. Quite merciful really.”

“Except for the people left behind,” Price said.

Dr. Cleese pulled a thick folder with CARMEN and MICHAEL PRICE typed in large letters on the front. “Once we are notified that she has passed, we will contact you. An email or a letter. Something like, ‘We need to see you. Your test results came back, and we need to consult with you about your options.’ Something like that. Once you are back here, we will reawaken your memory and off we go.”

Price looked at him. “Into the tube you mean.”

“We don’t like that term, ‘tube’. Yes, the sensory capsule does resemble a tube of sorts, but it is much, much more,” Dr. Cleese said, his smile more forced.

“And I will be able to relive any day I want, from the time you, what did you call it – all systems are a go?”

“Yes. You pick any day and time, after we install the implant of course, then we place you in the sensory capsule, press a few buttons and abracadabra, you are there…again. The conscious you, watches as the recorded you….and your wife…ah, Carmen, relive whatever moments you want.”

“And I will be able to feel her? Her skin? Her hair?” Price asked.

“It will appear to you, on every level, physical, emotional, etc. to be real. Guaranteed or your money back. And speaking of money. You pay nothing now, of course. We don’t want you wondering weeks from now why you wrote a check to RELIVE, LLC.”

“Weeks? Is she that far gone?”

“I’m sorry. I misspoke. It could be months, Mr. Price. But the normal time frame is two to six weeks after the first lesions appear,” Dr. Cleese said, seriously.

“Once you return, we restore your memory, and you will remember this conversation we are having now, and that you signed these contracts obligating you to the first payment.” He pulled out a single sheet of paper and placed it on his desk. “After that, there is a nominal fee or every time you use the tube. Just sign here.”

Michael Price signed quickly, without any hesitation.

Dr. Cleese placed the papers back into the folder and said, “Okay then. See you next Thursday. I will need your house key and any entry codes please. Congratulations, Mr. Price. And welcome to RELIVE.”

CHAPTER 3

There was no funeral. He placed her urn into the mausoleum they purchased shortly after they were married. Father McIntyre said a brief prayer and he left.

That night, he could not sleep. He wandered the house, but everything reminded him of her. So, he spent the night in a hotel and impulsively decided to take a trip. The roads were not safe, and the airlines had shut down, but the trains were still running.

He bought a ticket to Seattle, Washington and crossed the country. First class. Then he headed south to Mexico, over to Florida, then back North. Forty days and Forty nights.

He arrived home to a pile of mail and a wilted bouquet of flowers from a Dr. Cleese at RELIVE, LLC, and a sympathy note. He tossed the mail onto the coffee table and the flowers in the trash. He cleaned the house, then he boxed up her clothes, her jewelry, her shoes, and books and placed them all in the guest bedroom. The future baby room, Carmen used to call it.

It was nearly midnight when he stumbled into bed and for the first time in many days, he did not dream. He woke to her smell on the pillow, and he cried. A hard cry, a painful chest hurting cry.

The next morning, he looked through the mail. He opened the letter from RELIVE, LLC.

Dear Mr. Price,

We need to see you as soon as possible.

Your test results came back, and we need to consult with you about your options.

You are probably in terrible pain right now, but we can help.

We can make you LIVE again. RE-LIVE.

Call me.

Sincerely,

Dr. J. Cleese, MD

PS - We can bring yesterday back to you.

“What tests? Who is RELIVE, LLC?” Michael Price said out loud to no one. Then he reached for his phone.

THE END