Chasing the Cure and Other Stories

I Need To Do This

He is ten again; the clouds are getting pixelated again. Mother is lost in this crowded mall and people's voices are getting glitchy. He catches a glimpse of purple light and knows he has to go out the hissing doors. There is the sweet smell he could not identify, the rolling ball that tumbles at impossible angles. At the third tree from the left beyond the courtyards, the giant purple slit appears. It is time to choose once more.

He thinks; that child-like curiosity bubbling in his mind. He likes this child-like curiosity and he wishes to have it a little longer. He wonders about the world beyond, but others say scary things about it. He may be ten, but he's built two-hundred years of habits. He likes it when nothing changes and so there are things he must do. He steps into the giant purple slit.

"I need to do this," he tells himself.

He is three again; his first memory. Why he can't go further back he will never know. He is at home now, crouching by the kitchen wall, studying the ants carrying stray grains of rice. Every cycle, he sees something different. This time, he sees an ant with a lighter shade of black. He wonders; do the other ants bully this ant? He raises his hand and smacks down on the ants as he had done twenty times now. He sees that the lighter ant was among the casualties. He feels sorry for the ant, but he doesn't think he has control.

"I need to do this," he tells himself.

He is four again, and it is the first day of kindergarten. The teacher is shepherding children into the classroom, away from their parents. He has gone through this before, but his tear ducts flush on their own. He feels his mouth open and a large wail escapes his throat. This time, he notices the wail has two parts: a low groan followed by the ear-piercing scream. He runs away from the other children and hides in a corner. He sees a purple stain on the wall that he has never seen before. 'How interesting', he thinks but continues to cry.

"I need to do this," he tells himself between sobs.

He is five again, and here comes Bobby Fret. Bobby Fret is the same age but bigger than him, a good hundred pounds against his meager fifty. Bobby Fret is insecure, and so Bobby Fret bullies. 'The real world will eat you up,' Bobby Fret says, 'That's what Daddy tells me'. Bobby Fret takes his toy car, and he has been through this enough to know not to fight back. He watches Bobby Fret snap his toy car in half and throw it into the bush. This time, he notices the purple flowers lining the bush. He almost forgets to cry.

"I need to let him do this," he tells himself before burying his face in his hands.

He is six again... no wait... he is seven? Ah yes, he is six. He and Bobby Fret are standing at the crosswalk after school. A car is speeding and Bobby Fret doesn't see it. He reaches out to grab Bobby Fret's backpack and the car passes them by. Bobby Fret looks at him and pats him on the head. 'You are too nice for the real world,' says Bobby Fret. He knows to smile, but this time, he sees Bobby Fret's eyes glow purple. That's not normal. Everything turns white and he sees Bobby Fret on the road, surrounded by panicking onlookers. Everything turns white again and Bobby Fret is fine. He is confused.

"I need to do this?"

He is seven. Actually, he is eight. Mother takes him to the zoo. He is tall enough for the pony rides. He remembers this pony; it is slow. This time, he notices that the pony has a slight limp and the ride isn't very smooth. He sees the dirt on the ground, dotted with purple specks. Now he is actually seven and watching the bigger kids on the pony ride. 'You will be tall enough next year,' says Mother. And then, he is back on the pony. He is confused, but he now feels the sneeze that will startle his ride. He could cover his mouth, hold his breath, but he needs to do this. He sneezes, the pony jumps and he almost falls off. Mother shrieks. The frowning zoo employee says something about the real world. But he couldn't catch it because the zoo employee's voice was scrambled.

"I need to... what?"

He is eight-and-a-half. Mother gets off an angry phone call with Father, whom he has rarely seen. Now that he has heard this twenty times, he knows 'money' is important and that 'alimony' has something to do with money. He knows that adults worry about money and he doesn't want money, nor does he want to be an adult. Mother has tears in her eyes and he runs to hug her. He knows adults can cry too. Mother's purple skirt becomes black trousers and he finds himself hugging Father. Father says a word he was told never to say. He screams and picks up a purple cup he never knew was there and throws it at Father. It vanishes on the way to Father and Father becomes Mother again. Mother tells him that he should not be scared. The real world is far scarier.

"What is happening?"

He is nine, no nine-and-a-half, no, eight-and-three-quarters, no, just nine. He is in third grade with his second-grade teacher and first-grade classmates. They're all wearing purple. The teacher is talking about the cultural significance of a movie called 'The Matrix'. This is way too advanced for a third-grade class. He does not remember this, though his classmates seem to understand it. The teacher calls him after class and tells him that the 'system is adapting to his increasingly complex mind'. He does not understand what that means, or why the teacher's skin is blinking like the aliens in his storybooks. Then he is nine-and-a-half, sitting in his third-grade class with his third-grade classmates. His third-grade teacher is talking about Chaos Theory.

"What?"

He is ten. Hold on, let's be sure. Yes, he's ten. He is back at the mall with Mother who has a blank look on her face. Everyone else has blank faces too. No one is talking to each other this time. There's purple light everywhere. The sun is purple, the moon is purple. The sun and moon are both high up in the sky. Nothing makes sense anymore. There's a different smell this time, one that leaves a bitter taste on his tongue. Mother is no longer standing beside him. Instead, he is facing Bobby Fret, still six-years-old. 'This is unsustainable', says Bobby Fret. 'Unsustainable' is a word he doesn't know. 'We've prepared you enough. The real world is waiting for you'.

"I'm afraid," he says. "I don't want to go to the real world. I don't need to do this!"

Bobby Fret disappears and Mother shows up. 'You're draining us,' says Mother. He pushes Mother aside and runs to the hissing doors. Outside, the trees beyond the courtyard uproot themselves and start spinning and swaying. The tree with the giant purple slit is glowing a violent shade of violet. The pixelated clouds are growing coarser, appearing as white rectangles in the sky. The rolling ball is now darting through the air, skipping about the dancing trees like a runaway comet. Blocking the violent violet with his palm, he marches towards the tree with the giant purple slit.

"Stop! I'm only a child!" he screams at the tree.

The world then stops churning and everything becomes normal. The sky is blue, the sun is alone and the clouds are fluffy. As the trees take root, he sees the purple slit change to lavender. He can tell the difference now. The system has taken great pains to adapt to his increasingly complex mind.

He can now decide. He may choose differently in another two-hundred years, but for now, it seems that Version 2.0 works. He steps into the giant lavender slit.