Presents
By Jim Getz
Kate McGrath had finished stuffing her electronic passport to the bottom of her purse. That was after checking her credit cards, cash and other virtual money. And her pill bottles. She now sat erect, her piercing blue eyes tiredly surveying the lawn outside her window for the 410th time.
At least that fat kid is mowing it today, she grudged internally. Is this what it’s come to? I am not going to watch a fat kid mow the grass while I wait to die.
“Grandma! Grandma! Happy birthday!”
She turned, just her head, mind you, to see the grands bounding in, carrying the usual Mylar balloons, followed by their parents. Her daughter and son-in-law. When did they get so old? And so afraid-looking?
“Hi, Mom.” A kiss from Janice, a hug from Ronald. The hospital bed sagged a bit as their oldest, Valerie, sat next to her grandma, placed her hand in Kate’s.
“We brought you some presents,” her daughter said, tentatively, pulling out some small discs from her own purse.
“Literally,” Ronald added, as he set the vase of multicolored tulips, the Mylar balloon wafting above them, on the window sill.
They had been present for one minute and 11 seconds and it already felt interminable to Kate. What was it her mother had said? When you turn 80, you can say and do whatever you want. Wear purple and a red hat and all that. Well, at least her hospital socks were purple. Or was it more pinkish? My God, she thought, stop thinking about the damn socks!
“These,” Janice said, putting the quarter-sized disc into what might have been a Walkman and exalting with forced excitement, “are the latest in adventure! You can experience adventures as others are having them!”
This really was too much. “Isn’t that what TV is for?” Kate asked.
“No, Mom, listen,” Ronald joined in as the other two grands, already bored and distracted, were jumping up and down to music their heard only in their own heads. “People are uploading their consciousnesses, in the present moment, and allowing other minds to experience what they are experiencing in the present. These aren’t memories. They’re happening as you are immersed in them. They are presents from all over the world.”
“We figured …”Janice began.
“You figured that because I’m in hospice and can’t have my own experiences, I might as well live vicariously through others.”
Ron: “Well, that’s a bit … harsh … but, yeah. Everyone is doing it these days. This stuff has exploded in the past few months. Just thought you might be interested.”
Janice: “Our hearts are breaking, and we just want you to have some enjoyment …”
‘” … in the time I have left.”
“Yes. Is that so bad?”
Valerie put her arm around Kate and kissed her on the cheek.
Another 33 minutes of intolerable loving, and Kate and Ron announced it was time to go.
“Can I talk to Grandma alone for just a few minutes?” Valerie asked. It was impossible for Ron to resist those eyes, as blue as Kate’s. He nodded. “See you at the car,” he said as they filed out.
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Kate waited, folding her hands nervously in her lap. “All set for tonight?” she asked her granddaughter.
“Yeah,” Val replied, her voice hushed conspiratorially. “They think I have a date.”
+++
Val’s eyes brimmed with tears as they stood by the airport curb, Kate’s flowery suitcase next to them. No hospital socks or old lady jammies. Slacks, low heels, silky blouse — adventure clothes.
‘Thank you so much for driving me, honey.”
“No problem. It’s my birthday gift. You look fantastic.”
“Well, 80 is the new 60, even if there’s not an 81.”
Val grabbed her grandmother and held her tight, then broke free and ran to the driver’s side door of the car. “Any last advice?” she called out.
“Just stay in the here and now, honey, and you’ll do great.” She blew her a kiss, then pivoted on one heel and strode forward. She heard Val’s car pull away with two beeps of the horn.
The big glass doors parted for her and she headed for the counter of the first international carrier she saw. The airport seemed unusually empty — at least from what she remembered. Only a few people rolling by or in the coffee shop.
A freckle-faced young man who looked no more than 12 greeted her at the counter. “Hello ma’am — how may I help you?”
“Where is your next flight going? Money is no object. First class, all the way.”
“Well, ma’am, let me see what’s available.” A hidden keyboard clacked as he began his search.
“Where is everybody?” Kate asked. “Aren’t airports usually full of people?”
“So many people are addicted to that Presents experience that fewer of them are actually traveling right now. Why get all sweaty in Bangalore when you can experience it in the present from your bed?
So,” he shifted gears abruptly, “we have four flights leaving in the next two and half hours with first class availability: Lima, Nairobi, Mumbai and Jakarta. Do you like any of those?”
“Nairobi,” Kate declared, without hesitation. “I’ve never been to Africa.”
“Nairobi it is,” the freckle-boy confirmed. “Passport, ID and form of payment, please. Oh, and vaccination card.”
Kate turned them over. Except for the clacking, they passed the next few minutes in silence, until the agent scanned the boarding pass into her phone.
“You know,” Kate said, leaning in, “I’ve never given myself a present before. It’s my birthday, and I thought, what the hell.”
“Well,” said the agent-boy, “happy birthday! And many more, I’m sure.”
— APRIL 2023
