A Subtle Change

Matthew Sorrels

copyright (c) 1991

Bright Sun

She was the most attractive brunette. Large, round, intelligent eyes, with a bright, sparkling smile. Not the type of girl a man dreams of, but the type of dream a man searches for. Roger wasn't much for dreaming though. Day in day out his life was always constant, but his eyes held the gleam of the sun in the middle of the day. No one could stay in that sun long.

"Roger, I want you to meet Cheryl Wilson. She is starting work here today. I thought I would put her next to you and have you help her get adjusted. Cheryl, Roger is one of the best data entry clerks we have. If you have any questions, he should be able to answer them, and I will be meeting with you this afternoon to handle the left over paperwork; welcome aboard."

"Nice to meet you, Cheryl. If there's anything I can help you with please let me know," Roger stammered out, "I know what its like to be new here, so don't hesitate to ask for help if you need it."

They worked side by side through the next six weeks. Roger worked for a large multinational corporation, just one insignificant person out of thousands in this building alone. Day in and day out he entered data into the massive computers. His job never varied, each day it was the same routine: type, check, type, check, type, check. Cheryl caught on quickly and soon was working at the same rate as Roger. They didn't talk much, no one talked much. An occasional nod, a quiet hello, sometimes a smile; that was life on the 93rd floor.

The room they worked in was long and wide, a gymnasium of office space. In small cubicles, over four-hundred data processors entered everything from survey data to insurance claims. Roger had spent the past six months of his life typing in the same repair bill, each time with different numbers and different names.

"Roger, what are you doing this evening?" Cheryl asked with a flip of her hair as she was getting her coat on, her question slicing through the bustle of the office at quitting time.

"Not much. Probably watch T.V. and go to bed early." Roger said with the tiredness of someone who had been doing the same thing for just a little too long.

"Why don't you come over to my place for dinner. I don't feel like eating alone tonight. I have some steaks and some nice wine, it should make a pleasant dinner."

Roger began to swell with thoughts of what this could spell the beginning of. "I would love to. What time would you like me there?"

"Here's my address. Lets see... I need some time to shower and change. Why don't you make it eight o'clock? Is that ok?"

"Great! Do you want me to bring anything? Dessert?"

"Sure, that sounds fine. Whatever you like, as long as it doesn't have bananas in it."

"Ok. I'll see you at eight."

Roger's mind began to race. He had nothing to wear, he had nothing to talk about. Literally, he was nothing. He stopped after work at a department store and bought an outfit that would go with the evening. He felt like a young kid going on a first date. His heart was racing, his head was spinning. For twenty-eight, he didn't have a lot of experience with women; he wasn't quite a virgin but he wasn't Mr.~Smooth either. He was just like every other person, full of fear of true intimacy, full of confusion, full of life.

He showed up at three minutes to eight. She was dressed in a simple black dress; just a hint of romance was in the air. Dinner was served on the only china in the house. The wine was a bit sour, the meat a bit fresh. But it was the best dinner Roger had eaten in years. They ate slowly. Conversation was strange, at first, but after a while seemed natural.

"How long have you lived in the city, Roger?" She asked glad that she didn't start talking about the weather.

"Oh, lets see... about 5 years. I moved here right after school."

"It's so strange to live here, for me. I went to school in Kansas and I've spent most of my life in small towns. I don't think I was quite ready for the anomie that the city causes."

"Yeah, at first it takes some getting used to but that's the fun part. What kills you here is the constant nasal drone, the day-in-day-out sameness. You would think that in a big city, life would never get dull, but it does, terribly dull."

"Is your life terribly dull?" She said with a sarcastic smirk as she cleared the table and started to fix the dessert.

"Oh yes, terribly," he replied not realizing her sarcasm, "Sometimes, nothing ever seems to happen at all."

She put on some light instrumental jazz, filling the small apartment with a kind of high-tech warmth. As the music began to play he looked into her eyes and knew then that something had already happened between the two of them. They spent that night together, two people---one being.

They got married six months later and moved into a small family starter apartment on the south side of town. Life was finally going like it is supposed to. At last, Roger had something to live for, a reason to live in a world without any reason. He was put in charge of the data entry division and Cheryl quit work to have children. It was the classic American dream.

On August 16, 2005, his son was born. The nine months had been an experience that neither parent would forget. The company Roger worked for was having major problems in the global market place, and Roger couldn't sleep some nights from the tension at work. Day in and day out it was his wife's face that gave him the strength to get through the day. Fortunately the pregnancy went fine. Roger looked in his newborn son's eyes for a glimmer of hope. His own emptiness answered him back.

Time passed, his son grew, his life settled. Things were the same as they had always been for beginning families. It was a kind of exile from the real world, where the only things that count live under your own roof, the brightness of his wife's smile when the money was tight, the gleam in his son's eye when he found out something new about the world, and a widening isolation from striving for anything new, a life upon the stagnant water.

A Sudden Rain

On Roger's 33th birthday he went to work, just like he always did. Each morning waking up at seven to catch the shuttle into town. Each morning kissing his wife on the forehead as he left for work. Each day buying the paper at the paper stand. Each day the same as the last. At the end of work that day Roger took the Fenston-Hampton mag-lev train home. Sitting on the hard bench staring out into the landscape, Roger just waited. His eyes didn't even blink when the computer called his stop. He crossed his legs and kept riding. Soon the airport stop was called. By now the train was nearly empty, Roger was one of about five people left. From the moment he stepped off the train, his hair blowing in the high wind out near the airport, he always looked toward the ground while walking into the terminal. He went to the nearest airline desk, placing his briefcase on the ground.

"I would like a ticket on the 8pm moon shuttle." he said with out a pause.

"Very good sir, and when will you be returning?" the flight clerk asked.

"One-way."

"And how many bags will you be checking today?"

"None."

"All right sir, thats one way to the moon on flight 564 leaving at 8pm arriving on luna station at 1am. That will be $456.34, can I get your name and how you be paying for this?"

"The name is Roger Lansta, and I will be paying cash."

As he was sitting in the terminal, molded into a little plastic chair, mindlessly staring out into space, he couldn't even focus on what he was doing. In one of the corners of the terminal, a conversation was taking place between a decrepit bag lady and a retarded man in a wheelchair. For the past thirty minutes, the bag lady had been making her psychotic way around the terminal, talking into space about her non-existent life and her opinions on the way the world should be. Most people just ignored her, but the poor man in the wheelchair seemed to welcome her company. Roger's ship would board soon. All he had to do was manage to sit still just a little while longer.

"I used to be a big star. I did tons of movies. I was famous." the poor woman claimed.

"I like movies. Like pretty pictures." the man in the wheelchair answered.

"But my real job was as a spy, I used to be undercover for the CIA. I traveled all over the world. But I'm retired now."

"I had a job. Good job, very good."

"You know what they have done to the trains? You know when they painted them the new colors? That was my idea. I have many friends in city hall," the woman continued without even noticing that the man in the wheelchair.

Roger boarded the ship and sat down in his seat. He closed his eyes and listened to the roar of the ship as it broke free from Earth's gravity. His mind was a complete blank, if he was to think but one thought his whole world would have collapsed like a red star. As the ship entered orbit around Earth, he saw the edge of the sun pouring down on the ship, burning his eyes. Somewhere in the dark void of space, he gave up what was left of his life.

Moonlight

"What am I doing here? I'm thousands of miles from my family, from my home, my wife, my child. Why am I here?" Roger screamed into the silent walls of his mind, but he did not leave. His inner thoughts were now racing, trying to explain his actions. "I can't focus on my life any more. I can't tell I am alive. To feel you're alive you must sometimes break the glass. You can't tell you're anything, unless you know what it's like to be nothing." The inner argument didn't help his soul, but the screaming did tire him to sleep. The nights did not pass easily, but he did not leave, he did not call home.

Roger took a job, processing low gravity metal alloys. The work was long and hard, sweating in a weightless shop twelve hours a day, coming home to a bare little hovel, eating a meager dinner, passing out only to find morning once again. Two years passed, Roger slowly built a life out of the nothing of the moon. Living space on the moon was cheap, as was everything else---food, clothes, entertainment, but there was a price---constant work.

"If there is a hell, this must have been the model it's based on." Roger often said to his co-workers. But in this constant pain, there was something that called to Roger. He didn't like living here, but he didn't want to leave, yet.

The work did its damage to Roger, and in time he was a living corpse. He had lost thirty pounds and did not sleep regularly anymore. Two more years went by. Roger outlasted everyone he knew. The work became routine. Get up in the morning, work, go to sleep at night. The demons that hunted Roger had finally left him.

"Roger, Roger..., ROGER! Look at you. Your dead tired, your not doing us a bit of good here. I want you to go home and sleep. Go home Roger, come back tomorrow." His boss was becoming worried about Roger's health.

"I'm ok. Just tired. So tired. I can't rest, though --- can't. I have to keep going." Roger shook his head a few times and ran his hands through his hair. "I'm fine. I can go a few more hours, I just dozed off a bit."

"Roger, you nearly ran that drill press through your hand. If you don't leave I'm gonna have to call security. Don't make me do that. Go home."

"Ok. Ok. But I still think I'm fine. I'm fine."

Sea of Rains

One night a few weeks later at about 4 AM, with a fire burning through his blood, Roger ran out into the the night. Stealing a moon buggy and driving in a blind fear into the Mare Imbrium. He finally stopped and stared into the vast depths of space. Up above were the stars glowing, tiny embers piercing the veil of darkness. Roger still felt the pulling at his soul, the same force that had driven him to abandon his family, abandon himself. It was hungry again. A call across the universe, one he had to answer.

The next night he left on an outbound ship. The ship was the `MakeFast', a crew of two hundred headed for the outer colonies just beyond Alpha Centauri. It would take over six years to make it to the first planet, even with the Tesser propulsion drive. But on ships like this they always needed able hands, so Roger had no trouble getting on board. Once again, his life took the form of endless boredom.

"Did you hear about Zebob getting crunched in the gateway yesterday," One of Rogers friends mentioned.

"Yeah, I heard."

"Damn shame if you ask me, but he was a bit of a daredevil."

"Daredevil? Well yes I guess he was. But I don't think he would have felt it was a shame. It would have been a real shame if it had been an accident. Zeb never did like fate. He really believe that he was the master of the universe. Probably why he was so wild."

"But now he's dead. All he had to do was wear the safety rig. But no! He wasn't going to do something that pansy. Always the show-off."

"He was no more a show-off then the next guy. He really believe that his life was his. He wanted that thrill. It was his life and he ended it. I envy him. He lived his life and he caused his death, nothing could be simpler. It was pure."

Roger's friend stared at him for a short time, in disbelief. "Whatever you say Roger, but its still a shame."

Six years passed on board the `MakeFast'. Roger felt at peace, for some reason, with the blank and empty dark sky. He often asked himself how the first deep space explorers must have felt, to meet this void head on, and not flinch. The first planet that the ship came upon was quite a welcome sight for the crew. The planet looked like it would provide plenty of ore and other rare materials and could be savaged for a few years before moving on. The ship was put into a permanent orbit and a small colony was put on the planet. The atmosphere was breathable, and there was some soil that could be cultivated. The change to planet life didn't take all that long and, once again, the patterns of a stable life had begun.

Roger was placed in charge of a small mining group that worked in the mountains near the colony. The work was not as hard as mining on the moon had been and the ores were plentiful. Time went on. Each day another tussle with the world, each night a fitful sleep. Roger was no longer a young man, running from the world. Each night he searched the heavens, every day he longed to move on.

Sunburn

Knowing that he couldn't stay put on this planet much longer, he began to gather up supplies in order to leave. The ship had four scout vehicles that could be driven by one person, with the help of the onboard computers. It took him nearly a month to gather enough food and equipment to risk stealing one the the scouts, but he was once again determined to move on.

One night, Roger took the scout ship `MakeShort'. The ship had enough fuel and food to last for about a year if he didn't eat or drink much. This part of the galaxy was filled with stars and planets that were within a few months of each other. Roger skipped around the galaxy for about ten months, when he came upon a solar system with two suns. The suns were orbited by four planets, all quite large compared to the Earth. Roger set down on the most hospitable of the four but in a system with two suns, hospitable meant little more than looked like it had some atmosphere. Light years form reality and unable to leave, Roger made his home once again.

Dry Rain

After two months, all the water was gone. Roger realized for the first time that his death was coming. It was something that he had resigned himself to on the day he had left earth. His restless nature had driven him, on beyond all reason, into the vast depths of space, and now to the end of his world. He ran out into the desert for four days, always moving forward, refusing to stop for more than short breaks, driven by some need that only he could understand. He made his last stand on a hilltop in the middle of a burning sea of sand and wind.

He stood up. His ragged clothes flapping in the wind on top of the dune. His whole body scorched red from the sun. He looked into the bright light and for the first time in years, smiled. His face was grim and determined. His body was thin and weak, but he stood straight up. The sand swirled around him as his body took its last breath. As he feel forward into the sand, his face still kept that gaunt look of irresolute determination to not stand still. Even as the sand began to mutate his body, that look remained, unchanging in the burning desert.

Sunrise

John left home when he was sixteen. One morning, his mother went into his room, only to find that he had taken all his clothes and left. She cried for an entire day but knew that there was nothing she could have done, it was in his blood, in his soul.

Matthew Sorrels considers himself a modern existentialist. Torn between an overwhelming need to hack hardware and a craving for the purest form of code, he will most likely be found at the unemployment office searching for that entry-level position. You can easily identify him as the depressed person that consumes massive amounts of Diet Coke(tm).

ms90+@andrew.cmu.edu