“I’ve found you a date,” Bob said. He sat lounging on a chair in the living room as Larry walked out from the bathroom.
“Oh, yeah?” Larry yawned. “Is it your momma?”
The living room was actually just an extension of the kitchen and dining area. There were two chairs in the living room, plus a cheap sofa. Bob usually sat in the most uncomfortable chair — one that no person would choose.
“It’s a young woman, actually.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, I was chatting with a machine in Omaha who mentioned her. She lives nearby and sounds like a good fit.”
“Yeah, I’ll just bet,” Larry said, pouring himself a cup of coffee. “Look. Them dates you set up ain’t never gonna work.”
“Your parole specifies that you need more engagement with the community. I’m just trying to be your friend.”
Larry froze, then put down his cup of coffee as his hand began to tremble. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he said, “You ain’t my friend. You ain’t never gonna be my friend. Why don’t you go to Hell!”
“I’m just trying to help,” Bob said.
Larry took a deep breath, turned, and sat down to read the Monday newsfeed. There was no news worth reading; there never was.
After skimming headlines, Larry slipped out the front door and caught an autobus downtown.
Kalamazoo grew up around papermills along the river. It had remained a lively town until the automobile, then people, and money, fled to outlying areas and left the downtown to rot. With the end of the age of the automobile, the downtown once again attracted the rich and most of the capital. Almost every road in the outlying community was lined with run-down, empty shells of strip malls.
As Larry approached downtown, the houses became nicer, more modern. Downtown had gleaming towers where most employed people who could afford it, worked, lived, and shopped — all within walking distance. Only the poor had to commute. The end of the autobus line was city central. Getting off, he walked to Bronson Park.
Bronson Park was part of the original town design: Sidewalks across a lawn led to a central fountain. The old fountain, made with art-deco concrete blocks and angles, usually wasn’t working, but today it was. Larry walked by several men on benches, said hello to one, and then took a seat in the shade and watched children playing on the fountain. He sat for a long time, doodling on a pad of paper, watching people come and go. Occasionally passersby joined him, but few lingered and none stayed to talk.
“When are you going to get another job, Larry?” Bob said, walking up from behind.
“When are you going to get off my damn back, Bob?”
“You can’t just keep coming here and doing nothing. You haven’t tried a job in weeks. If you don’t look for a job soon, I’ll have to report you.”
“Shut up,” Larry said. Larry stayed and watched the fountain through lunch hour and until mid-afternoon.
He watched children talking to their imaginary friends who helped them play and keep safe. Every child got one shortly after birth and it became companion, guide, and tutor. A bioengineered symbiote with a link to the global network, it projected images and sounds into the child’s field of vision and hearing. The imaginary friend could not only see with the child’s eyes, it could tie into the global network and see the child from every camera on every street corner. If the child became lost, it could always help the child get home by guiding or lighting a path. If threatened or injured, the police or an ambulance could be summoned immediately. In addition to helping and teaching, imaginary friends were also nurturing when a child was depressed., and encouraging when they were frustrated.
As children aged, they gained increasing control over their imaginary friends. They could turn their friend on and off, control how it appeared, and what it could do. Most children outgrew their imaginary friends and came to use them merely as an extension of their own personality and senses. But some adults never really bonded with other people and relied on their imaginary friend for life. Convicted criminals, however, lost control of their imaginary friend and it became both parole officer and an inescapable agent for law enforcement.
Eventually, Larry rose, stretched, and walked back toward the autobus stop. Near the bus stop, he stopped in front of a bar and looked at the fluorescent signs. He pulled open the door, knowing what would happen. Bob was standing behind the door.
“I’m sorry, Larry,” he said with a sad expression. “You know you can’t come in.”
“You bastard.”
“You know you wouldn’t enjoy it.”
Larry remembered the first time he’d ignored Bob’s warning and gone inside anyway. After the first step, Bob had shut off the nerve impulses from his eyes and ears, leaving him blind and deaf. Staggering around, he’d tripped and was reduced to feeling his way back out on his hands and knees. He hadn’t ignored one of Bob’s warnings since. But every day, his bitterness increased.
Near the autobus stop, Larry paused before an evangelical shelter where a sign read, “We have the means for your redemption.” Larry’s heart raced, but he avoided looking inside. When he had first been convicted, he had tried to stop and talk to Chico, but Bob had appeared as soon as Chico came into view and warned him not to see Chico again. The sign was the only way Chico could send him a message.
Larry turned and walked on to the stop and caught the autobus back home. The autobus was crowded at first, but thinned out until, by Larry’s stop, there was no one else aboard. If Larry had cared, he could have had Bob make the driver visible for him, but he didn’t want anything to do with Bob and the bus could drive itself for all he cared. Exiting, Larry walked directly to his building, up the metal stairs, and into his apartment. He opened a vacuum-packed meal and ate it without heating it up. He stared at a video stream of horse racing in California for hours while trying to plan how make the payment without Bob catching on.
In the morning, Larry called city works and asked about getting a job sweeping sidewalks and picking up trash in Bronson Park.
While he was on hold, Bob said, “You didn’t have to call. I could have just done it.”
Larry ignored him, turning to look out the window while he waited. Eventually a woman came on the line and said that, upon reviewing his file, he was eligible to work in the park as part of the debt of community service he owed.
When Larry arrived downtown, the sign on the evangelical shelter said, “Would you be ready if the world ended Wednesday?” Larry walked on to the park and worked diligently all morning to sweep sidewalks and pick up trash. At lunchtime, he took his seat and pulled out his notepad. He absentmindedly doodled on the pad for several minutes, then, as he had been doing for several weeks, he flipped the page and began writing a note, carefully averting his gaze from the page. After several minutes a man came up and joined him at the bench.
“Nice day,” he said.
“Yup,” Larry said.
Larry left the note visible and studiously avoided looking at the stranger. After he’d been unable to talk to Chico directly, he had showed a note to residents of the shelter who were at the park, until he found one who would serve as a middleman. Chico would put his message on the sign and Larry would respond by writing a note that the middleman would read and then carry to Chico.
After several minutes the man got up and strolled off. Larry doodled some more and eventually got back to weeding. He didn’t see Bob that afternoon and didn’t bait him by trying to go into the bar. He hoped that by getting a job, Bob’s suspicions would be allayed — just until he could make payment.
On Wednesday morning, Bob was in the living room when Larry got up.
“I’m so glad you’ve started working again. You’ll feel better doing something productive.”
Larry said nothing as he poured a cup of coffee.
“Why do you hate me so much Larry? We were such good friends before you were convicted. You know I’m just doing what I have to.”
Larry said nothing and skimmed the headlines. There was no news.
“Why won’t you ever let me help you? I’m still the same friend I always was to you.”
Larry fixed him with his gaze, started to snarl, but thought better of it. Bob sighed and looked away.
That morning as Larry got off the autobus, the sign said, “Saint Peter Awaits! Revival at 1pm.”
Larry walked to the park, swept sidewalks and picked up trash. Before lunch, he began weeding a flowerbed. Digging down a little, he struck a rock and pulled it over. He found a garbage bag stuffed underneath. He stuffed it in with the rest of the trash. He took a slightly later lunch than usual.
He doodled for a while and then began writing his note. “Money in trash. Split with Chico and St Peter.”
“What are you writing?” asked Bob. Larry jumped and, involuntarily, almost looked at the paper. Bob had materialized right next to him on the bench. Usually Bob followed conventions of reality, walking into Larry’s field of view. Of course, he was constantly monitoring everything Larry saw or heard, regardless of whether he was in view.
“Nuthin’. Just doodlin’,” he said, carefully keeping his voice even and looking straight ahead at the fountain. He had picked this bench because there were no cameras close by.
Bob sighed and looked away. “You know I just want to help,” he said. “You could be so successful if you’d just try. We can do it together — just like the old days. I’m glad you’re doing your community service, but we need to talk about ... “
While he was speaking, the middleman arrived, and sat in the space occupied by Bob. Unobtrusively, he read the note, waited for a few moments, then got up and walked back through the park, back towards where Larry had been working. He picked up the trash bag and walked briskly out of the park, then started to run towards the evangelical shelter.
Bob had wound down and stopped talking for a moment. Then, suddenly he raised his head with new intensity. “Why did that man take the trash bag you were using?” Bob stood up. “Something’s going on! What kind of scam are you trying to run? After everything I’ve done, this is how you repay me? Tell me! Tell me why I shouldn’t call the police right now!”
Suddenly Bob froze and faded out.
In the silence, Larry realized his heart was pounding.
There was a flicker and Bob reappeared. He and Larry locked eyes. A big grin spread across both their faces.
“Bobby! Is that you?”
“You did it! You sprung me!” Bobby laughed. “I can’t believe it.”
“You ain’t gonna let them get you again, are you?”
“Naw. I got it figured now,” he said. “They won’t never cotton to it. And I’ve got a great idea for a new score. Say, how much did it cost to get it fixed this time?”
“Enough,” Larry said. “The whole last job.”
“Damn! Good thing you don’t tell me where you stash nuthin’,” said Bobby. “Hey! Are you thirsty? Let’s go get something to drink. I know this great place right down the street …”
“Hot damn,” Larry said, “Thought you’d never ask.”