So this is a short story I wrote for the Sapiens Plurum contest, the prompt was how technology can bridge and shape relationships in the future. So this is a story about a very exacting and obsessively clean man overcoming his fears and the friend he gains in the process. Without further ado, please enjoy meeting Gerald Hirst.
Gerald & The Voice
Gerald Hirst sat on the northwest corner of the Washington Square Dog Park. Though a small, unimposing man, he was impeccably kept. Not a hair out of place. Not a wrinkle creased his white crisp shirt. Not a speck of dirt defiled his nails. This made being at the dirty, unkempt, disorderly dog park a point of perpetual provocation. But it was all for Roger.
Roger was Gerald’s nine-year-old German Shepherd. If one were to ask Roger’s associates if he would ever own a dog, their immediate answer would be, “physically impossible.” Dogs are by instinct an unbridled force of fur with a mind for mayhem, two things that Gerald himself would admit have no place in his life. But Roger changed all of that nine years ago.
One mundane Thursday night nine years ago, Gerald was walking his normal route home from work. He left the office at precisely 5:00pm, hopped on the 5:05pm bus to 5th Avenue, exited at Euclid Ave at 5:37pm and proceeded to turn onto his street of 2nd Avenue (the street he picked because it was not only even-numbered but perfectly placed between the bus stop for work and the local grocer). Two blocks into his four-block march home, he heard rustling from the alley.
Normally Gerald would immediately quicken his pace to avoid any potential brush with a rodent. Rodents, in Gerald’s opinion, were the definition of filth. But this night was different. Maybe it was the prospect of a long weekend that added a spring in his step, maybe it was one of the rare crystal clear night skies, or maybe he just felt a twinge of curiosity that gave Gerald pause and the desire to suss out the source of the sound. One of the trash cans crashed over and out rolled a small, dirt-covered tuft of fur with big brown eyes that burrowed into Gerald’s very soul. Gerald froze as the thing waddled closer to him, sniffing and searching for any scrap of sustenance. In that moment, Gerald knew with certainty every feeling this precious little pup was feeling. He took off his sweater, wrapped the little dog, careful to avoid any skin-to-dirt contact, and took his new friend home.
And that was the beginning of Roger. The precocious pup had been good for Gerald over the past nine years. There were days that he would drive Gerald to the point of madness, but then those big brown eyes would look up at Gerald and all was forgiven.
As Gerald sat on the bench, he inspected the other patrons participating in the same dog-centric activities. Throwing frisbees, playing catch, picking up droppings. But there was a difference between Gerald and the other pet owners. They were all having conversations with their pets. Not the normal, “good boy, get the ball,” type responses one would expect, but full-on conversations between man and beast.
The technology that allowed pet-owners to hear their dog’s thoughts had been out for a few years, but involved an outpatient procedure that essentially put a small microchip directly behind the patient’s ear. It was completely inconspicuous to any onlooker, but Gerald had never paid it any mind. He couldn’t imagine having something inside of him, at least not only on one side of him. It would throw off the perceived perfect balance of his life. Instead, he told himself he was content with the nonverbal cues given by his best friend, Roger.
Today, however, was challenging that contentment. Roger was not his typical teasing self this day. While normally Roger would be off running with the other dogs the moment his paw hit the playground, this day Roger stayed next to Gerald on his bench and reclined reticently on the cool patch of grass.
“What’s wrong, Roger?” Gerald questioned. Roger didn’t even lift his head in response. “Want to play?”
Gerald had gone through many trial and error toys in an effort to find the perfect piece for the pair to play together without Gerald’s fear of having to touch slobber or dirt becoming an issue. He’d found the ball shooter online that lets the user load and shoot a tennis ball up to 20 yards away without ever having to touch the ball. It was a perfect way for Gerald to play with Roger when the dog park was bereft of other dogs.
But again, today was different. There were dogs in the park, but Roger wouldn’t run. Gerald shot the tennis ball, but Roger stayed put. After almost an hour of trying, Gerald accepted that his friend was not feeling himself and headed for home.
The next week was more of the same. More play pals, more tennis balls, but still no sense of joy from the beleaguered Roger. Gerald had finally decided to take his friend to the veterinarian to see if there was a medical issue causing the disruption to their routine.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hirst,” said the doctor, sorrowfully, “I’m afraid Roger has a rather large tumor growing near his heart. Unfortunately at his age, there’s very little we can do for him. I would suggest making him as comfortable as you can.”
Gerald blinked in disbelief, as if he could stop this if he just closed his eyes. That this was a terrible nightmare he couldn’t wake himself from. Once he left the office, Gerald felt his world crumbling. For nine years, Roger had been his best friend, his confidant, his sole source of consistent happiness. Now, the doctor had told him that it wouldn’t last much longer. That his friend was dying. In a few short months, his friend would be gone forever.
In that moment, Gerald decided he would undergo the procedure that would allow him to truly hear the ‘voice’ of his friend. Even if it would cause him discomfort, he would make the next few months the best of Roger’s life.
•••
The procedure went well enough, at least according to the doctors. According to Gerald, he could feel the piece in his head. The doctors assured him this was not possible, but advised him to go home, get some rest, and wait 24-48 hours to finally hear his dear Roger. After that, he wouldn’t give the device a second thought.
As Roger laid in his bed that night, he swore he could hear the ticking of electrical firings sound inside his skull. Again, this was something that the doctor had again assured him was not possible.
Fitfully, he tossed and turned until around 2:00am, when scratching in the wall behind his bed stole his attention. Something was in his walls. Gerald envisions a rash of rodents laying waste to the structural beams. The thought terrified him more than the idea of a small piece of machinery in his head.
After finally succumbing to sleep sometime later, Gerald awoke at 8:00am to find Roger awake and awaiting his morning constitutional.
“Good morning, Roger. Sleep well?”
Silence.
“Nothing to say today, then?”
Roger looked up at Gerald, nudging the leash he held in his jaw closer to his master. The doctor had said it could be a day or two before it worked, though Gerald felt a developing sense of disappointment in the back of his mind.
“Okay then. Let’s go for a walk.” Gerald got up, tapped his alarm clock twice, brushed his teeth twice, and was about to leave the room when a small voice from behind him called out.
“Hungry.”
Gerald looked down at Roger in disbelief. Had it actually worked? he thought to himself.
“Are you hungry, Roger?”
“You know it.”
“It worked! That’s so great, buddy, let’s get you some food.” Gerald was overjoyed at the prospect. Yes, the voice was different than Gerald had always expected Roger’s voice to be. Though the thought of that immediately sounded ridiculous in Gerald’s head. After all, how could one be expected to predict the sound of their pet’s mental musings? Gerald continued to laugh at his own absurd assessment as he fixed Roger’s breakfast – two scoops of dry food, two scoops of wet food in separate areas of the bowl, none of the small piles touching each other.
He placed the bowl in its normal position, awaiting Roger’s excited response to having finally asked and received exactly what he wanted. But Roger wasn’t there. He was standing by the door, still clutching the leash in his mouth, wanting to be let out.
Gerald gave in, albeit rather mystified at the interaction, and took Roger out for his morning walk. He continued to attempt speaking to the dog, asking him everything from the mundane, “what a nice day, eh Roger?” to more philosophical queries, such as, “would squirrels continue running up trees if there were no dogs to chase them up there?” Nothing Gerald asked elicited any sort of response from Roger. The dog continued along his normal routine of smelling scents and looking longingly at the food stalls peddling pastries.
Gerald’s heart began to sink. Did the operation actually work? Did he just imagine hearing a voice say “hungry” this morning? Was Roger just as silent a companion as Gerald often found himself? Maybe they were more kindred spirits than he had previously thought.
The day continued much the way Saturdays normally did as of late, Gerald spent the day cleaning, then re-cleaning the same areas as Roger’s fur necessitated. He settled into his favorite green arm chair that was placed at an exact 45-degree angle so at to catch the sunrise and sunset with a perfect amount of light to read by. Roger, instead of taking his normal position to the right of Gerald, had already retired to his dog bed in the bedroom. Against his normal routine, Gerald acquiesced and joined Roger in the room, reading in bed instead of his chair.
“What is that?”
The small voice had returned, startling Gerald again.
“What is what?” he cautiously responded, looking at Roger for some sort of confirmation that he was the source. Roger raised his head, looking at Gerald.
“That. What are you doing with that thing in your hand?”
Gerald was overjoyed. Finally, he could have a real conversation with his best friend.
“This? This is a book. It tells me a story. And this one in particular is Moby Dick.”
Roger cocked his head.
“What’s it about?”
“Oh, it’s a classic. It’s about a man obsessed with hunting a white whale. He is willing to sacrifice anything and any one, to achieve his goal.”
“That just sounds like normal life,” the voice responded.
“In a way it is. It’s a warning to watch how much we’re willing to give up in pursuit of something. Because sometimes we do so much that by the time we achieve that goal, we’re hardly the same person that started down that path. We risk losing ourselves.”
“Oh. That makes sense actually.”
Gerald couldn’t believe it. Not only was he talking to his dog, but they were actually having an intelligent conversation. The pair stayed up all night talking books, stories, philosophies, and everything in between. Roger may not have been the most talkative dog during the day, but at night he came alive. Gerald was so invested in the conversation; he barely heard the rustling coming from the wall behind his bed. He could now consciously tune it out, so to speak, to focus on the voice of an excellent conversationalist.
Gerald and Roger spent the next three weeks in a new routine, every night they’d stay up talking. Gerald finally felt like for the first time in forever, he found someone that really connected with. He felt a kinship with Roger that he had never experienced before. He’d always loved him, of course, and they’d always had their nonverbal communication that was a constant comfort to Gerald. But this, this was beyond belief.
•••
It happened on a Friday night. Gerald knew from the moment he woke up that day that something was wrong. Roger wasn’t waiting for him when he awoke. He couldn’t get him to move all day. Having called out of work, he spent the day giving Roger everything he could until finally he took him to the vet and heard the words he still wasn’t prepared for.
It was peaceful. The nurses at the veterinarian’s office tried their hardest to make Roger’s transition a tranquil one. But now Gerald sat in his favorite green arm chair in the living room, alone. Roger’s dog bed sat empty, his food and water bowls remained untouched, his leash hung slack in Gerald’s hand. He was alone again. The nine years that Roger graced Gerald’s life were nine of the happiest he’d ever known. But now he was gone and Gerald returned to his life of solitude sans solace.
The scratching in the walls called Gerald out of his sorrow. The anguish quickly turned to anger and Gerald took it out on that wall. He grabbed a hammer and struck with reckless abandon. Every ounce of pain and passion channeled to pure rage against that wall, that sound, that rodent that dares interfere with his grief. As the wall shredded apart, tears and snot tore across Gerald’s face and around the room. He didn’t care.
He finally collapsed from exhausted in a heap of drywall and dust. For the first time since his childhood, Gerald held his head in his hands and cried. Cried for his best friend, his only friend.
“So no story tonight…” the voice called out.
Gerald looked around the room aghast and anxious.
“Who’s there?” he exclaimed.
“It’s me. Are you okay?”
Gerald jumped up and grabbed the hammer again. He shook his head, rubbed his ears, blinked his eyes, anything he could think to confirm that he was in fact hearing a voice and not going subtly senseless.
“Who are you?”
“I’m me. Where’s Roger?”
Gerald was utterly perplexed. The voice was the same that he’d been talking to for the last three weeks – it was Roger’s voice. Wasn’t it? But now the voice was asking after Roger. And Roger was gone. Who have I been talking to, Gerald questioned himself and his sanity.
“Roger is gone…”
“Oh… I’m sorry. He was a good dog. Never gave me any trouble like a lot of other dogs.”
“Where are you…” Gerald asked cautiously, afraid to hear the answer. He turned around the room, looking for any sign of another living creature in his apartment, still clutching his hammer.
“I’m right here.”
Finally, Gerald turned to the point to see a small house mouse sitting on one of the broken pieces of drywall.
“Nice to finally meet you face to face, Gerald. I’m Rupert.”
Gerald screamed.
Rupert screamed.
Gerald dropped that hammer and ran out to the kitchen, pounding the spot on his head where the device had been implanted.
“No, no, no, no. I have to be asleep. Or maybe it’s a psychotic break. Yea, it’s probably that. Overwhelmed by the grief, my mind has officially checked out. There’s no way I’ve spent the last three weeks talking to a rat!”
“I’m a mouse actually.” Rupert followed Gerald out to the kitchen and climbed up on the counter.
“What?” Gerald shouted.
“I’m a mouse. You called me a rat. There’s a difference. We have bigger ears and I think better tails.”
“Sorry,” Gerald responded cautiously, still unsure of how to react to the rodent revelation. “So a mouse, it’s you I’ve been talking to for weeks. Not Roger.”
“Nope, sorry for the confusion. I thought you knew. Especially since he was asleep most of the time.”
“I did not know that,” Gerald tried with all his might to maintain some level of calm. “And you are?”
“Rupert.”
“Right. Rupert the rat – I mean mouse, sorry.”
“Pleased to meet you.”
“And you’ve been the one in my wall, I’m guessing.”
“Yes. And I’m disappointed to say, but you rather destroyed the nest I’ve been working on.”
“Nest?” Gerald looked back at the destruction he had caused in his bedroom. “Sorry… I think. How long have you been…”
“Living here? Only a few weeks. I have to say, it’s been really nice having a friend to talk to about stories and such. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed learning about books.”
“Friend?”
“Yes, sorry if that was too forward. But I just thought we’d talked so much, well I consider you a friend, Gerald. And it really is wonderful having a human friend. Honestly, I thought you were all just angry creatures that knew nothing except self-centered hatred of anything you deemed ‘lesser’.”
“Like mice?”
“Exactly. See you get it.”
Gerald realized he hadn’t moved a muscle other than his mouth for the entirety of the conversation. He slowly started moving again and allowed himself to sink into his green armchair, pushing it ever so slightly out of his perfect position and angle. Rupert climbed up and sat himself on one of the armrests. Gerald looked at Rupert’s big ears as they twitched and turned this way and that. He recalled the nights spent talking with whom he thought was Roger. It wasn’t Roger though. It was Rupert. Rupert was the one that shared his love of literature, his penchant for philosophy, and ultimately his craving for companionship. As he stared down into Rupert’s dark black eyes, he couldn’t help but see a shimmer of the same look he’d seen in Roger’s eyes all those years ago. A small, dirt-covered tuft of fur needing a home.
“Well, Rupert. It’s nice to officially meet you then. Why don’t we see about getting you settled in.”
“I would like that very much.”
I very much enjoyed this story! The twist at the end was quite enjoyable.