The old lady bustled around the kitchen, scrambling eggs, frying up onions and
potatoes, and brewing up a steaming pot of coffee while Roger waited patiently at the
breakfast table.
"I'm making everything just the way you like it," she said. "Just the way I
did when you were a little boy."
Roger didn't mind his grandmother's attentions. She was lonely, and serving him made her
feel better. Besides, he was hungry and those eggs and home-fries were starting to smell
quite nice.
In just a few minutes, Gran placed a heaping mound of food on Roger's plate and encouraged
him to 'eat up'. He grabbed his knife and fork, and began to consume the tasty,
high-cholesterol feast. Then, he took a sip of the well-creamed, well-sugared coffee which
she had poured into his mug. The hot liquid helped ease the heavy food into his stomach
and jump-started his digestive processes. He was reminded of breakfast's gone by, in a
kitchen filled with brothers, sisters, aunts, and cousins.
After Roger cleaned his plate, Gran began her familiar litany. "Do you want more
eggs, Roger?" she asked. "Or more potatoes?"
"No thanks, Gran," he replied. "I'm stuffed."
"How about more coffee? Do you want another cup of coffee?"
"No thanks, Gran."
"Would you like a sweet bun? It'll just take a second for me to heat up a sweet bun
for you."
"Gran, please. I don't want any more food. I can't eat another bite."
"How about a couple cookies?" she asked. "They won't take up much
room."
"No thanks, Gran."
"But you're a growing boy. You need your strength!"
"Gran, I'm hardly a 'growing boy'. I'm a forty-five year old man. And, believe me,
I've had plenty to eat!"
The old woman peered closely at Roger, to see if he was being truthful. "OK,"
she said, reluctantly as she took Roger's plate and mug and rinsed them off in the sink.
"If you're hungry later, I can always fix you a tuna fish sandwich or
something."
"I know I can depend on you, Gran. I know you won't let me starve," Roger
replied.
"Well, you're still going to stay and visit with me for a while, aren't you?"
she asked, hopefully. "You will stay and look through my Valentines with me?"
"Of course, Gran. I said I would," Roger replied as he pushed himself from the
kitchen table, wandered into the living room, and settled onto a large, overstuffed couch.
"Oh good," the woman said. She clapped her wrinkled hands together and
disappeared into the bedroom. An instant later, she reappeared with an old shoe-box full
of 'Valentines'.
These keepsakes were more than mere greeting cards. Valentines were a true product of 22nd
century technology. They were exact digital recordings of various relatives at specific
time periods in their lives. All Gran had to do was push a button on the face of the card,
and a living, breathing facsimile of a lost loved one would appear in the room, ready to
join in a conversation or start an argument, give Gran a kiss or join them at dinner.
When the technology was first developed, scientists intended to use it to preserve the
great minds of the day. Imaginative individuals has visions of physicists working out
problems with colleagues of later time periods. Writers from one generation commenting on
the peculiarities of the next. Political scientists analyzing current events from
long-dead perspectives. But after a decade or so, these high-tech micro-processor packages
became popular simply for their ability to reproduce the images of old friends, lovers and
so forth. The devices were marketed as personal mementoes and sold in card stores and
novelty shops. Gran treasured them as much as her grandmother had treasured 'Polaroid'
snapshots and candid video footage.
Gran sorted through her Valentines and pulled her number-one choice out of the box.
"First, let's visit with your cousin Ida," the old woman said. "She was
always your favorite."
"Gran, Ida and I never got along. Your memory must be failing." They went
through this routine every time they got together. Gran would insist on starting with a
particularly obnoxious relative and Roger would find himself with no say in the matter.
"Please, Roger. Let's visit with Ida," she begged, giving her grandson a
mournful look.
"Fine. We'll start with Ida," he said, resigning himself to the prospect of
visiting with this long dead relative.
Gran pushed the button on Ida's Valentine and his cousin popped into the room. This was
Ida at age twenty-seven, before illness and ill fortune had mellowed her into a more
agreeable companion.
"Hello Roger. Hello Gran," the Ida-image said. "From the smell in this
apartment, I can tell that Gran's been cooking and you've been eating again, right Roger?
You're going to have to watch your calories. With all the food Gran stuffs into you, it's
a wonder you don't already weigh three-hundred pounds."
"It's good to see you too, Ida," Roger said. Ida flashed Roger a toothy, sugary
smile and sat down on the couch, next to Gran.
"How're you feeling Gran?" she asked. "Arthritis bothering you or
anything?"
"No, I can't complain," the old woman said. "When you get to be my age, you
get used to a few minor aches and pains. My feet swell up at night, sometimes, and when it
gets too hot, I can't sleep, but otherwise, I'm fine."
Ida began to tell Gran all the details about her father's last gall bladder operation, to
Roger's dismay and the old woman's delight. In reality, this operation had occurred some
35 years previously, but to the twenty-seven year old Ida-image, it was the latest in
family gossip. Roger found himself dozing off on the couch.
"Roger! Roger, stop snoring," Ida demanded, waking him from his impromptu nap.
"Oh leave me alone, Ida. You always were such a fuss-budget."
"Now Roger, be nice to your cousin," Gran said as she watched her two
grandchildren glare at each other across the couch.
"Gran, we've had enough of Ida, haven't we?" Roger asked. "Let's go on to
the next person, OK?"
"I'm sorry if I bore you, Roger. I guess I'm not as exciting as some of your other
friends," Ida said, just before Roger pushed the button on her Valentine, sending her
back to oblivion.
"OK Roger," Gran said. "It's your turn to choose. Who shall we visit with
next?" Roger reached into the shoe-box and pulled out a handful of cards. He passed
by Uncle Herb and Aunt Edna, Johnny Crawford, and cousin Sue. Finally, he found a
well-worn Valentine with the name 'Bev Stafford' imprinted on its cover.
"Let's visit with Bev, Gran. You always enjoy seeing Bev."
"No Roger, _You_ always enjoy seeing Bev," the old woman replied. "But she
is a sweet girl so, go ahead, push the button."
Roger tapped the face of the card and . . . nothing happened.
"We've been visiting with Bev a little too often, I think," Gran said.
"Looks like we broke her Valentine."
"Nonsense," Roger replied, a small prick of panic growing in his chest.
"Let me try again." This time, he was successful. An attractive,
nineteen-year-old blonde girl popped into the room.
"Roger! And Gran! It's so good to see you both."
"You're looking nice today, Bev," Roger said. "Don't you think so,
Gran?"
"Bev always looks nice," his grandmother replied. "Just a little skinny.
You could use a little more meat on your bones, Bevy."
"Oh Gran, Roger likes me just the way I am," the girl said.
"And if you're twice as plump, he'll like you twice as much," Gran said in her
most refined grandmotherly tone.
"Is that true Roger?" Bev asked in coquettish fashion.
"Of course, it's true," he lied, enjoying the interaction, immensely.
For long moments, Roger continued to chit-chat with his girlfriend of years gone by. They
discussed old friends, old movies, politics of the past . . . a wide range of topics. Bev
kissed him, tentatively, and Roger held her hand with affection. Meanwhile, Gran hurried
into the kitchen and came back with a plate of cookies. Roger helped himself to a
chocolate chip treat while Bev chose the oatmeal raisin.
"I've got some cold lemonade in the kitchen, if either of you want any," Gran
announced.
"No thanks Gran," Roger said.
"I'm fine here," Bev said. But the old lady either didn't hear or didn't want to
hear, because seconds later, both Roger and Bev had ice-filled glasses of lemonade in
their hands.
"It's freshly made, so drink up," Gran said. Roger swallowed a gulp of the
sweet-tart liquid and was reminded again of his childhood and family.
Gran moved to her stereo and turned on some old, popular dance music and soon, Bev and
Roger were dancing romantically around the living room. Unfortunately, somewhere in the
middle of their two-step, Bev disappeared.
"Her Valentine is breaking down, Roger," Gran said. "We're going to have to
get it repaired."
"You're right, Gran," he replied. Dave, the Valentine repair man, was going to
have another profitable job on his hands in a day or two. Bev's Valentine was an off-brand
model and it often broke down during operation. That was disturbing, but Dave's repair
jobs were usually top notch. Roger was sure that Bev would be around for his next visit
with Gran.
For now, though, it was time to move on. So Roger grabbed a handful of the 'magic' cards,
and looked through them, one by one, trying to decide which friend or relative to visit
with next.
"Hey Gran, do you want to see Gramps?" he asked. The old woman's face lit up
with joy.
"Oh yes, Roger. Let's see my Stanley," she said, anticipation clearly evident in
her voice and manner.
Roger began rifling through the cards again. He picked up three cards and showed them to
his grandmother. "Do you want to see him at thirty, at fifty-five or at
seventy?" he asked.
"Well, he was just a kid at thirty," Gran replied. "I don't know if I have
the energy to see him at that age. And at seventy, he was such a grouchy old bear. That
was right before he got sick, you know."
"I know." Roger tried to dismiss the vision of his dying grandfather from his
mind.
"So, let's see him at fifty-five. He was so charming at fifty-five."
"Your wish is my command, Gran," Roger said as he pushed the button on the
appropriate card. His dapper, youthful grandfather immediately popped into the room.
"Laura," he said, calling Roger's grandmother by her given name. "You look
younger every time I see you."
"Liar," she replied, giggling. "I'll bet you say that to all the
girls."
"No, just to you, Laura," he replied. "Just to my wife."
"How're you doing Gramps?" Roger asked.
"And who's this? Little Roger. My lord, you're almost as old as I am."
"Well, you know how it is, Gramps. Time passes."
The stereo was still playing the old, popular dance tunes, so Roger shortly found himself
watching his grandparents cuddle and dance across the apartment floor, just as he had done
with Bev a few short minutes before.
"You don't mind watching us old fogies have a good time, do you, Roger?" his
grandfather asked.
"Of course not. Enjoy yourselves," Roger courteously replied.
But after a short while, Roger could see his grandmother begin to tire, so he suggested
they switch to yet another relative.
"Bored with your grandad, already?"
"No. But, appearances to the contrary, Gran isn't as young as she used to be. We need
to conserve her energy. After all, we have a lot of other people to meet with this
afternoon," Roger said.
"Well then . . . Till we meet again, sweetheart," his grandfather said. The old
man bowed gallantly to his beloved wife, just before Roger pushed the button to send him
away.
The rest of the afternoon was spent with a variety of family members, including all of
Roger's siblings. It was nice seeing his sister Rose again. The poor woman had died in a
car accident at the age of thirty. But now, she sat with Roger and Gran, talking about old
times, as if nothing bad had ever or would ever happen to her.
After Rose departed, Gran spent some time with Roger's mother and father, and an uncle
who'd died before Roger had even been born. Then, tired of relatives, the old lady popped
in a few of her old bridge buddies for a chat. Roger even joined the ladies in a game or
two.
Finally, as the crowning achievement of their afternoon, Gran called up a facsimile of
Roger himself, at the age of fourteen months.
"Look at yourself, Roger," Gran said as she toddled the Roger-child on her lap.
"You were so cute at this age."
"Yeah, I was adorable, Gran," he replied. "A regular 'Ivory Soap'
baby."
The baby gurgled and spit up on his grandmother's shoulder, making Roger somewhat
uncomfortable. "He's looking kind of 'finky' Gran. You'd better pop him out before
you have to change his diaper or something." Gran shot big Roger a disapproving look
at that remark.
"Your jealous, Roger," she remarked. "You're jealous of yourself!"
"No I'm not," he stated, emphatically. "It's just embarrassing, seeing
myself this way."
Truth be told, of all the Valentine images, this doppleganger _was_ his least favorite.
Roger was relieved when Gran finally allowed him to 'pop' the child back into
non-existence.
"Maybe I should hide that card in the back of a drawer somewhere, so you can't find
it," he said.
"Don't you dare, Roger. I love that child."
"Don't worry, Gran," Roger said with a smile. "I'm just teasing you. I love
little Roger, too."
When, at last, the clock on the wall read 5:00 P.M., Roger knew his visit was drawing to a
close. He picked up all of the Valentines and placed them carefully back into the
shoe-box.
"Well, Roger, thank you for visiting me," his grandmother said.
"Any time, Gran." Roger picked up a final Valentine from the couch and handed it
to his grandmother. "But for now, you'd better push the button, before this Valentine
breaks down from overuse."
"Oh, it's got plenty of life in it yet, Roger," she protested.
"Do you want us to have another broken card on our hands, another card that has to be
repaired?" he asked.
"No, but--but I want our day to continue. I want to be with you," the old woman
said.
"Now Gran," Roger said. "You know the rules. We've discussed them before.
You have to push the button."
"In just a few minutes," the old woman said. "Let's just spend a little
more time together. Just a little more time."
"No Gran, I'm sorry. It's time to say 'goodbye' for now. So go ahead, push the
button," he said, gently but firmly.
The old woman took her most precious Valentine in her hands and moved her fingers across
its cover. Then, she gave the button a firm tap, and promptly popped out of existence.
Roger looked around his barren apartment and sighed. Then he put the final Valentine into
the shoe-box, walked into the bedroom and placed his collection in his top dresser drawer.
end