Jonathan Foer - Here I Am

“But I don’t know how to play.”

“It’s not play.”

“I don’t know how to do it.”

“Simply graze for low-hanging resilience fruit.”

“Graze what ?”

“Apothecary vineyards.”

“I wouldn’t know how.”

“It’s extremely time-consuming, but not difficult.”

“How time-consuming are we talking about?”

“Assuming you became proficient fairly quickly, I would estimate six months.”

“Only six months? Well, that’s fantastic news, because I was sitting here worrying you were talking about something really time-consuming. But this is great, because I don’t have time to get the manifest-destined mole on my breast looked at, but I can certainly spend a thousand hours clamping shut my carpal tunnels while committing brain cell genocide as I scour apothecary vineyards for low-hanging resilience fruit, whatever the fuck that means.”

“Or you could purchase a complete rebirth.”

“A what?”

“It is possible to revert your avatar’s profile to a designated moment in time. In your case, to immediately before sniffing the Bouquet of Fatality.”

“Why the hell didn’t you lead with that?”

“Some people find the option offensive.”

“Offensive?”

“Some believe that it undermines the spirit of Other Life.”

“Well, I doubt that many fathers in my position would feel that way. This is something we can do right now? Over the phone?”

“Yes, I can process your payment and remotely initiate the complete rebirth.”

“Well, this is just the best news I’ve heard … maybe ever. Thank you. Thank you. And really, I’m sorry about being such an asshole earlier. A lot is on the line here.”

“Yes, I understand, Mr. Bloch.”

“Call me Jacob.”

“Thank you, Jacob. I will have to obtain some information about the avatar, and the reversion date and time. But to confirm, you are purchasing the twelve-hundred-dollar complete rebirth.”

“Sorry, did you say twelve hundred dollars?”

“Yes.”

“As in: a one, followed by a two, followed by consecutive zeroes, with no decimal?”

“Plus tax. Yes.”

“How much did the game cost?”

“It is not a game.”

“Cut the shit, Williams.”

“Other Life is free.”

“Is this some kind of joke? Twelve hundred dollars?”

“It is not a joke, Jacob.”

“You realize we live in a world with starving children and cleft palates, right?”

“I do realize that.”

“And you still think it’s ethical to charge twelve hundred dollars to correct an accident in a video game?”

“It is not a game, sir.”

“Giving twelve hundred to you requires me making twenty-four hundred. You know this, right?”

“I do not set the prices, sir.”

“Is anyone not the messenger?”

“Would you like to process a complete rebirth, or has the price made this option unappealing?”

“Unappealing? Leukemia is unappealing. This is fucking criminal . And you should be ashamed.”

“I take it that you no longer want to purchase a complete rebirth.”

“Take it as a class-action suit I’m going to bring against your depraved company. I know people that your people should be very afraid of. I know serious lawyers who would do this for me as a favor. And I’m going to write about this for The Washington Post —Style section, or maybe Outlook — and they’ll publish it, you’ll see, and then you’ll be sorry. You have fucked with the wrong guy!”

Jacob smelled Argus shit, but then he often smelled Argus shit when raging.

“Before ending this call, Jacob, would you say that I have responded to your needs in a satisfactory manner?”

Mr. Bloch hung up the phone, then growled, “Fuck my needs.”

He took a breath that he hated, picked the phone back up, but didn’t dial any number.

“Help…,” he said to no one. “Help…”

Julia was sitting on the edge of her bed. The TV was set to an advertisement for the hotel in which she was already captive. The lithograph on the wall was in an edition of five thousand — five thousand perfectly identical, perfectly unique, utterly corny snowflakes. She started to dial Jacob. She considered looking for Sam. There were always too many things to do when she had no time. But in need of a way to fill minutes, she never knew how.

The wilderness was interrupted by a knock.

“Thank you for opening the door,” Mark said when it was only cracked.

“The peephole was smudgy,” Julia said, opening it farther.

“I was out of line.”

“You were off the map.”

“I’m trying to apologize here.”

“You found your interior monologue, and it told you you were being an asshole?”

“That’s exactly what happened.”

“Well, allow my exterior monologue to echo the sentiment.”

“Duly noted.”

“Now isn’t a good time.”

“I know.”

“I just had a terrible fight with Sam.”

“I know.”

“You know everything.”

“I wasn’t lying when I told the kids I’m omniscient.”

Julia rubbed her temple and turned, creating a space for Mark to enter.

“Whenever Sam would cry as a baby, we’d say, ‘I know, I know,’ and give him his pacifier. So he started calling it his ‘I-know.’ Your omniscience just reminded me of that. I haven’t thought about it for years.” And with a disbelieving shake of the head: “Was that even this life?”

“Same life, different person.”

With a voice like a window that knows it’s about to be broken, she said, “I’m a good mother, Mark.”

“You are. I know.”

“I’m a really good mother. It’s not just that I try hard. I’m good .”

The distance between them closed by a step, and Mark said, “You’re a good wife, and good mother, and good friend.”

“I try so hard.”

When Jacob brought Argus home, Julia felt betrayed — she showed fury to Jacob, and delight to the boys. And yet it was she who actually bothered to read a book on dog training and care. Most of it was intuitively obvious, but one thing that struck her was the advice that one shouldn’t say no to a dog, as it would process the no as an existential assessment — a negation of the animal’s worth. It would hear no as its name: “You are No.” Instead, you should make a little clicking sound, or say, “Uh-uh,” or clap your hands. How anyone could know this much about a dog’s mental life, or why it would be so much better to be named “Uh-uh,” was beyond Julia, but something about it seemed plausible, even significant.

Julia needed an existential assessment of goodness. She needed to be renamed, to hear: “You are Good.”

Mark put his hand on her cheek.

She took a half step back.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry. Did that feel wrong?”

“Of course it did. You know Jacob.”

“Yes.”

“And you know my kids.”

“I do.”

“And you know that I’m going through something very difficult. And you know that Sam and I had a terrible fight.”

“Yes.”

“And your response is to try to kiss me?”

“I didn’t try to kiss you.”

Could she have misinterpreted? She couldn’t have. But neither could she prove that he was trying to kiss her. Which made her feel small enough to go hide in the closet by walking under its closed door.

“OK, so what were you trying to do?”

“I wasn’t trying to do anything. You obviously needed comforting, and reaching for you felt natural.”

“Natural to you .”