The Dream of Genes

Chapter 3: Vincent

"This is off limits," I told Eugene as I turned around to see him again. He was frowning like he was disappointed that I had saved him from his suicide. He did not look at me and instead stared at the ground at his side. That was when I noticed that he was wearing his silver medal. I don't think I have ever seen him wear it before.

I stared at him, and he stared at the ground, not wanting to make eye contact with me. Was he ashamed of his actions, or mine? I didn't know how to feel at that moment considering what almost transpired a few minutes ago. I remembered that one day Eugene and I went drinking. I had to pull him onto his bed, and I wasn't genuinely listening to him because he was drunk—or at least I thought he was then. He told me about walking in front of a car, then mumbled some other things that I didn't quite comprehend. I didn't believe him, but maybe it was true.

I didn't know what to say or do. I more or less just prevented the suicide of my friend. Yet, I have never dealt with suicide before, not until today. I'd known about mental diseases that could lead to suicide, my parents told me that I had a forty-two percent probability of developing manic depression. The only thing I could do now was stay here and make sure he didn't attempt to kill himself again, I guessed.

My soft words echoed off the bare concrete walls as I asked him questions, straining to make this less awkward, "Why did you try to kill yourself?"

Eugene looked up from the floor. He thought for a bit, keeping his eyes anywhere but on mine. His green gaze slowly examined everything around us, as if he had never seen his own house before in his life.

"Why did you—"

"I have a question for you," Eugene interjected. "Why do you care? You don't have to worry about me. You still have time to run back to Gattaca. I bet they are wondering where you are. It's not too late to go back."

"But you might kill yourself."

"Oh, really. Now that you have locked the incinerator, do you really think someone of a 137 cm stature can unlock it now?" Eugene scoffed. "Only you can, stupid." He wheeled himself to the laboratory's fridge.

"What are you doing now?" I asked, tailing him. "Drinking yourself to death?" I don't know why, but Eugene was making me angry. I guess I was feeding off his anger.

Eugene pulled out a glass bottle full of vodka. "Getting something to drink, but now that you suggested it—hey!" I yanked the alcohol out of his hands, holding it high above his head. "It. Was. A. Joke," Eugene said, accenting each word in a low tone. "Just leave me alone and go back to the rocket, you'll get—" Eugene paused mid-sentence, and I thought it was a good time to argue back.

"Because you might kill yourself."

"Why do you care!" he exploded.

I did not have an answer to that as I placed the bottle on top of the fridge. I could not think of what to say, so I asked him a new question.

"How can I help?" My voice was calm if not a little friendly as I sounded like a salesperson who was greeting you at the entrance of a store, but I didn't know what else to ask.

"You can help me by going back and flying away to Titan on that rocket. It's your dream, is it not, to go and explore that moon?" Eugene shooed me away with a wave of his hand before he wheeled himself away towards the spiral staircase and the black, lounge chair. "Then go."

"Fine, I'll go."

Eugene stopped, his hands on the wheels making his forward momentum stop hard like a car slamming on its brakes. He spun around in a circle to face me with a raised eyebrow.

"I'll go if you answer my question," I said.

Eugene's interest flat-lined as he frowned with annoyance. "Why are we playing this childish game? I no longer understand you." Eugene shook his head with disappointment. I knew he wouldn't listen to me unless there was something for him. He was that kind of guy, always seeing what he could get out of the situation.

"Why did you try to kill yourself just now?" I asked for what felt like the umpteenth time, but was probably less than the number of fingers on my hand.

Eugene had a toothy smile on his face and looked like he was about to laugh out loud. Yet, only a burst of air exited his nostrils before he realized that I was serious on this one. I didn't know if I was doing this correctly or if Eugene was just being complicated, but he finally started to talk.

"You want the truth—fine—I'll tell you the truth." Eugene wheeled himself to the chair and patted it a bit. I walked over and sat it in, feeling that the chair was far too comfortable to be sitting in while listening to someone's confession for suicide. "The reason why I tried to kill myself is that..."

Eugene stopped talking, his voice hanging on like a thread on a piece of clothing but was snipped off with an "S." Eugene scoffed as he looked up, his head looking straight up at the spiral staircase. "Isn't this funny? My life doesn't matter, and yet, I'm too..." His voice died again. "That is why I won't say it." A few scoffs that transformed into laughs escaped the valid's lips. "Isn't that dumb?" Eugene asked me as he turned his head in a downward curve.

I felt stuck in that seat: like I couldn't get up. I couldn't understand why, but it was as if the material was covered with honey and my clothes were unable to detach from it; as if something or someone were holding me down.

"We both..." He started, and my ear pricked up, but he shook his head. He turned his wheelchair to face the window to my right and looked out at it. "Well, I guess you aren't going to that rocket anytime soon—which is foolish—but, it is your choice. What do you want to do now?" Eugene lifted an eyebrow as he turned his head to me, trying to look interested, but deep within his green eyes I could see annoyance or sadness.

I looked back at him and we both waited for someone to think up an idea.

"I have an idea," Eugene said with a smirk. The lounge chair didn't feel as sticky as I sat up in the chair. "What if we play a drinking game?"