“Everything that was”
Renesmée laid herself bare, the model that suited her best, as soon as they entered the apartment. He paused briefly to admire her body, and then they were in each other’s arms. Before he knew it, it was as if they were one.
“How wonderful to feel you shoved in me…”
When he met her, he never imagined a woman like that would flirt with him. He’ had beautiful girlfriends, but she was so beautiful she should be forbidden. Renesmée moaned softly and moved in perfect rhythm. To him, it only remained to admire her beautiful face, overcame with ecstasy, and then that sculpted ass, 37 inches that left him speechless, and feel a pleasure he never imagined possible, almost unbearable.
“Grandpa… Grandpa… ah oh ah, ah oh ah, ah oh ah, ah oh ah ah, blululululu, ah oh ah!”
He was abruptly brought back to the present by a voice followed by a strange whistle. He looked at the young man he’d never seen before. He was wearing a truly extravagant outfit; he looked like some kind of Brazilian samba school superhero.
“Grandpa, it’s Mathieu. I just wanted to remind you that today I’m performing on ReddeX Talents. My Vitas cover is going to be a horror show!”
He remained clueless, as betrayed by his face.
“Okay, I talked to Dad, you guys watch the show together. Bless y’all!”
Even though he was occasionally brought back to reality against his will, he believed
those trips to the past would last the rest of his life and even outlive his death.
“Today is enough to make up for yesterday”
He was a widower; he had had a happy marriage, but he couldn’t accept the loss of Renesmée, even more than half a century later. He still had her vivid in his memory after a so much time; however, her image was becoming increasingly faint, until he showed the first signs of Alzheimer’s at age 81 – a feat, as the disease had started to affect young people. That was when Renesmée became more present again, a side effect he considered welcame. However, at 85, a chip was implanted in his brain that completely eliminated the disorder. And from then on, the memories of his time with her became increasingly fleeting. He cursed cybermedicine: what was the point in remembering today if he was interested in yesterday? He wanted to be swallowed up by it for eternity. So he made a drastic decision.
A friend recommended a certain Dr. Duplessis, whose diploma had been revoked for inappropriate conduct. The cyberdoctor worked in a clandestine, traveling office that operated out of empty subway cars in the wee hours of the morning. Consultations should be appointed by leaving a note in a red, opaque disinfectant bottle in a trash can at a given station. At another stop, the first instructions would come. Since Dr. Duplessis was a fugitive from the Leĝo, it sometimes took weeks and exploring every line that crossed the city to get a meeting. The first one took place at Châtelet, line 11, second car, at 3:00 a.m. Besides them, there was only an old punk with a mullet sleeping on the floor of the train, with a bottle of arak in his hand. Duplessis got straight to the point; he thought his requirement weird and took the opportunity to sugarcoat his role, like a door-to-door encyclopedia salesman from the middle of the previous century.
“Your request is quite unusual. I usually extract locator chips from fugitives. It’s a relatively straightforward procedure, despite the need to drill into the patient’s heel. However, after a few days of limping, which might catch Leĝo’s attention, he’s fully recovered and untraceable. In your case, however, it’s not just surgery, as your family will definitely want to have it re-implanted. It’s not a mandatory chip, but no one wants to care for a sick and stubborn old man. I need some time to find the best solution.”
He realized that Dr. Duplessis was trying to value his work, but he didn’t care: he wanted to get into his own time machine and never return; to say goodbye forever to his immediate memory, which only reminded him of his decrepitude and the opportunity he’d lost.
Two weeks later, he found a green vial at Porte de Montreuil, arranging a new meeting for the following morning, at 3:00 a.m., at Pernety, carriage 6. Duplessis explained the procedure to him in detail and mechanically, like a true professional (sic), assuring him that it would not cause any adverse reactions.
“The anti-Alzheimer’s chip is made primarily of C60 fullerene. This carbon compound is soluble in cyclodextrin, a carbohydrate, and is therefore harmless to health. I created a cyclodextrin nanobot that will dissolve the fullerene, making it appear as if it were a natural rejection by your body. It’s rare, but it does happen. Because it’s made of organic molecules, the nanobot will be eliminated naturally, leaving no trace in your body. If necessary, I know a trustworthy doctor that you can bribe to sell you a false diagnosis.”
He didn’t understand a thing, but nodded. Duplessis gave him a pill.
“I recommend that you only take it when you reach a safe place, as the medication begins to take effect in half an hour.”
He handed the former cyberdoctor a small fortune and headed home. On the way, he considered palliatives for his conscience: he would remember not only Renesmée, but also his late wife, a good and beautiful woman, the childhood of his devoted son, Jean, and the birth of his grandson Mathieu, a very talented artist. He also bravely fought the temptation to swallow that pill.
∞
Renesmée had left him when he told her he was going to be a father. He didn’t regret the life he’d lived; he just wanted a second chance with her. He moved to Paris in the vain hope of finding her. He never saw her again – at least not in person.
He arrived home, swallowed the nanobot, and fell asleep. He woke disoriented, unsure of where he was, until Renesmée walked through the bedroom door, just as she had came into the world, smiling. “I want to feel you shoved in me.”
Only then he did remember: he was where he’d always wanted to be, forever.