The Hourly WHY __Episode 02

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The Hourly WHY __Episode 02

A Pair of Chances

Portions originally penned as "Gift Pair 26"

By Jeff Worman

“Suing the officer for financial gain isn’t going to bring your child back.”

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* * *

I don’t know.

You used to able to board a plane without a strip search. A cavity search. An MRI, a DNA sample, matched against a list of every list, a lawyer - and a note from your mom.

The stewardess handed me a toga.

“Did the rules change again?”

“No,” she replied, “All passengers still must fly naked, however for your convenience a toga is provided just in case.”

“Just in case what?”

“Just in case we are instructed from Homebound Security that it’s safe to wear clothing once again.”

So, I thought, “What if I were to wad this paper piece of shit into a ball and bean it at the back of somebody’s head?”

Suddenly, a systems analyst from Syracuse put me in a headlock. While a frequent flyer from Row 7 grabbed my dingdong, a little old android from Pasadena began beating me with her cane.

“How did you get that in here?” the stewardess asked. Snatching away her walking stick, the ancient droid crumbled to the tarmac in a heap of stained wires, paper mache and protoplasm.

A siren screamed and every plane in North America was grounded.

* * *

The double helix, shows up, in not just the genetic blueprint of life, our DNA, but in everything; from the way bubbles form, in a glass of sparkling water, to the manner in which the random pattern, of say, some forty-five helium balloon rise, released in unison, against a balmy January sky.

Well, almost in unison.

"Let go, Jason. Let go."

At last.

Finally.

When the baby, held in his father's arms, did let go, seemingly, at first, reluctantly, and then with a keen sense of irony that would only show up some decades later; it too soared in a random precision. At first, seemingly apart. Against the pale blue sky, the balloon joined the rest to spiral upward.

To the heavens. Seemingly.

So it is said, in a figurative sense, so as to imply there may be more than one. Just in case.

So.

"You get to the other side and find you don't recognize anyone."

They sat in a café looking across from one another. The younger of the two spoke first.

"I always thought the C on my ID stood for Child."

"No, my child, you're a clone," the older woman apologized.

"Yours?"

"Not entirely."

A cart rolled past refreshing their coffee.

"Thank you," the woman said to the machine as it bowed, gracefully.

"So, where did I come from?"

"I had decided to go into medicine quite young, moved by events to cure genetic anomalies, dedicating my efforts to correcting the effects of missing pairs, altered genes and other inconsistencies."

The younger of the two women sipped her drink thoughtfully, before speaking.

"So?"

"So, you had a problem."

"My donor had a problem,"

"Well, we don't call them donors."

"Go on."

"Well, there was a locket of hair. A locket of a little girl that was born with a misplaced protein. I repaired the anomaly by spicing a healthy lipase protein of my own."

"In essence, I'm what that little girl could have been."

Silence.

"Who is she?"

Jason's cousin said to their aunt, "She's here," pointing to her own heart, "and here," pointing to hers.

As the family members walked to their cars, the balloons continued to rise. The stray, now insignificantly astray, joining the others to form a grander creation.

In the car, Jason's aunt turned to her husband, "Can you still see them?

"Not with my eyes."

The funeral director had thanked everyone from coming and drove the tiny casket to its final resting place. Seemingly.

Pictures, poems and sighs of both sorrow and relief. Next to the cheese fondue, coffee and pecan kringle. Two hours, she had lived. Her brain unable to tell her lungs to do more than take one breath and hope. "In remembrance," the card read in gold type. Inside, a small lock of hair. And inside there…

Your attention please...

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