Wake-Up Call. Joaquin De Torres
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the Matrix is over $3,000,” said Stedman cautiously. Henderson reached into his jacket pocket with his right hand and pulled out a wad of bills. He handed it to Stedman.
“Go on,” he urged. “Count it.” He looked at the young man who had ridiculed him earlier. “And no, I didn’t steal it nor sold drugs to get it.” The associate kept his mouth shut, shaking his head, balking at even saying a word. Stedman took the money and counted it.
“Mr. Henderson, there’s over $4,000 here.” The associates raised their eyebrows in surprise.
“It’s the last of my life savings.” Stedman shook his head slowly.
“No, I’m not going to take your life savings.” He looked at Wilson. “Tim, ring up Mr. Henderson on register six. Use the 20-percent-off discount; code 9, and give him the additional 20-percent-off Veteran’s Discount, code 42.”
“But wasn’t the Veteran’s Discount only good for last month during the Veteran’s Day long weekend?” asked Fran, causing Wilson to wince again at her naiveté.
“It’s good today,” Stedman said flatly, smiling at Henderson. “Tim?” Wilson nodded and carefully pulled one of the new Sony Matrix laptop boxes out from the locked bin. He waited for any additional orders from his boss. Stedman put the money into Mr. Henderson’s hand gently.
“I think a 40-percent-off discount should put a few dollars back into your savings, Mr. Henderson. I, we. . .appreciate your service in Iraq.” Stedman offered his hand and Henderson took it gratefully. “There’s a two-year warranty on that laptop, but if anything happens to it, even beyond those two years, you come right back here and ask for us, Brian Stedman or Tim Wilson. We’ll replace it for you, no questions asked, sir.” Stedman offered a respectful smile. Henderson nodded clumsily. His eyes drifted from Stedman and Wilson to the humbled young man again. Henderson straightened his posture and raised his chin with dignity, and put his hand on Stedman’s shoulder.
“This is called customer service, young man. This is called respect. People like me, we fight so you don’t have to.” The boy looked down in shame while Henderson looked back at Stedman. “Thank you for your kindness and respect.”
“It was my pleasure, sir.” Henderson turned to follow Wilson up to the front of the store. Stedman turned to the young man sharply.
“Joaquin, wait for me in my office. We’re gonna have a little talk.” When the boy left, he turned to Fran. “Is there anything wrong with the display model? I thought I saw some electric sparking.” Fran lifted the display unit and inspected it, shaking her head.
“Nothing. Like it’s fresh out of the box. But look at the screen, Brian.” Stedman didn’t realize it, but everyone within sight of a laptop, PC or TV was gazing silently at their screens throughout the store. Upon them was a frozen image of the night sky filled with stars so clear and close that one would think he was looking through a planetarium telescope. It wasn’t a scene from the space shuttle, or from a satellite. There were silhouettes of trees cropping the view. It was shot from a forest as if the photographer was lying on his back in the woods and looking up at the universe. Devoid of any reflections, glare or city lights, the image was breathtaking.
“It’s beautiful,” whispered Stedman.
Wilson shook Henderson’s hand after the purchase and walked him to the front automatic doors.
“Thank you, Mr. Henderson. Take care of yourself.”
“You, too, son.” When Henderson walked out of Best Buy and Wilson turned back around to survey the store, all the screens instantly resumed their original broadcasts.
Chapter 7
Breaking the Ice
“Oh, my God!” I breathed as my heart resumed beating. “Look at that!” I couldn’t help but feel both amazed and horrified by the sight of Patricia Miren, frozen in time with Encephalitis Lethargica and Catatonia. . .moving! But it wasn’t a “breakthrough” movement where her hand shifted, or her head turned a few degrees in one direction; no, it was a normal movement; an extension of her body like any healthy person would perform. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing here!”
The Night Cam captured Patricia, who was curled in her normal fetal position on her left side, extend her legs down, pivot and roll onto her right side. Next to the bed, Ivana had left the drawing pad and box of pencils on a feeding table. Patricia reached over to the table and rolled towards her so that it was positioned directly over the bed. With the materials now in front of her, she sat upright, opened to the first white page and began scribbling on it with a pencil in her right hand.
I watched silently in awe as the video moved into some 20 minutes of footage. She had filled the blank page with images, large and small, using pencil after pencil, until their tips could produce no more marks. The camera couldn’t capture any of the images clearly; all we could see were dark marks on the paper. When all the pencils were finally rendered useless, she put them back into the box, placed the pad back to its original position and pushed the table away to its place. She then assumed her original frozen position until morning when Ivana and an attendee came in to change the IV and change the sheets.
Ivana stopped the video.
“That was just three days ago,” she said.
“My God, that was amazing,” I breathed. “May I see the drawings?” She took a larger folder from within her desk and retrieved the sheet of drawing paper, placing it in front of me. I didn’t know what I was looking at, but it looked very normal and familiar. A page full of stick figures that looked like people; a multitude of stick trees; so many, in fact, that it looked like Patricia was trying to draw a forest. The stick people looked like their arms were in the air. Above the people and trees were obviously stars, the point-to-point stars that children first learn how to draw, but multitudes of them. Then in several spots, clearly separated from the main drawing were other markings.
“This looks like,” I hesitated and swallowed, “math!” Ivana nodded in agreement.
“That’s why I called Zelda.” Zelda moved closer in next to me.
“Believe it or not, they are basic formulas and equations for Quantum Mechanics,” she commented.
“Are we talking Einstein stuff?” I asked.
“Exactly.” She took the drawing and pointed to each of the equations. “Look at this.” My eyes gazed upon the labyrinth of numbers, letters and lines that were so expansive that some of it was written right off the page. “Do you know what all this is?”
I shook my head. “This is part of an equation developed by Werner Karl Heisenberg, known by many of us as the Father of Quantum Physics.” She quickly pointed to another portion of the page, her hands shaking. “And this! It’s barely readable but these are basic Quantum Mechanics equations dealing with momentum, energy, space vectors, and wave functions.”
I didn’t know what the hell Zelda was talking about concerning the math. What I was struggling with was how could a person frozen in a comatose existence for years, suddenly wake up momentarily and write all this down.
“And Javier, look at this.” Zelda’s voice continued to strain with mounting excitement and nervousness. “Do you know what this is?” I could see that an incredulous, almost wild-like expression glazed off her eyes, making them bigger than before. I looked at the equation string which was cleaner and less jumbled, yet no more understandable than the previous two.
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“These are some of the essential components of Higgs particles!” My face and silence only registered my abject ignorance of what she was saying. She looked at me as if my lack of knowledge was somehow life-threatening. “Particle Physics? The God Particle? The symmetry and composition of mass in the universe?