A Survivor's Guide to Eternity (16 page)
“All right, mate. Come in. He’s in the kitchen,” said Frank as he let in the young track-suited hoodie.
Soon all three were tea in hand and Carter was at the computer clicking and scrolling.
“No problems here, mate. It’s running fine. Good to see you’ve put an anti virus on here last night. That will have solved a lot of it,” exclaimed the youngster.
“Antivirus? I didn’t put anything on there. I wouldn’t know how,” replied Ali, slightly confused.
“According to the history log on the computer you installed the software last evening at around 21.19, then you updated the virus definitions and deleted or quarantined 1246 viruses. Quite a handy bit of work. It was exactly what I was about to do. Why are you wasting my time getting me here to do it, for Chrissake?”
Carter was more than a bit pissed off as he spun round in the second-hand office chair.
“I didn’t. We were at the football then last night, weren’t we, Dad?” exclaimed Ali looking round at his dad.
“Yeah, we were, Carter. We went to the match. Maybe that damn machine is broken more than we first thought, bloody thing,” grunted Frank before getting back into his committed tea swigging.
“Well that’s what it says here and it does not lie. The system clock and date are correct. It definitely happened last night.”
“Maybe the anti virus is itself a virus. We left the computer on last night like you asked.”
“Antivirus? More like bloody antichrist if you ask me,” blurted his father.
“Whatever, dad! It’s important to me and I do lots on it so it needs to be right,” exclaimed Ali, getting only a grunt from his father in response.
“Well unless the cat suddenly started becoming computer literate then there’s no other explanation,” uttered Carter as he closed the application and went back to the desktop screen.
“Oh look, speaking of which, here’s a note from your cat.”
Carter had seen the word document Ed had typed the night before and saved to the desktop. He clicked on it and started reading it out as best he could with the typos, much to Ali’s amazement.
‘I amm aCat. My nsme is Ed, not friking Smunky. Whst is a Smmnky anyway? I am niot daftt or stuupid sndwould like to sit omn th sofa 3very now aand theen. I like th foopd you give me but I wa,mt more pleawse. Abnother thimg, you hsve comput3r problems b3cause you don’’tt hsve a proper anti virus instslled. If I hav3 time tomight, I will do thst for you. Llove. Ed’
Carter got more and more annoyed. “Right, this is a piss take. I can see that this document was created last night. I guess you’ve filmed making a fool of me for Facebook. Wanker! I’m off, and don’t ask for help again.”
Carter jumped up, leaving the cheap swivel chair spinning, and departed with haste through the room, down the corridor and out the front door, slamming it behind him. Ali was stunned and sat speechless whilst his dad looked on nonplussed.
“I don’t know what’s got into him, Dad. Why would he freak out like that? We told him we weren’t here last night. Did you muck about on the computer and mess anything up?”
“What do you think? I don’t even know how to use it. How would I start doing things on it all of a sudden? More to the point; why? I think it’s up the Swanee and you need to get a new one. Let’s see how work is over the next few months and see if I have any extra money. I’m not promising anything mind,” said Frank, trying to comfort Ali amidst the strange goings on.
“But if you didn’t do it and I didn’t do it, how could the document have the cat’s name in it? I’m very confused.”
“I didn’t touch the bloody thing, Ali, button it for Christ’s sake,” replied Frank assertively raising his voice.
Ali shut down the word document and computer, closing its upper surface into alignment with the lower and pulling out the plug at the wall.
“Whatever. I’ve had enough of that for one day anyway. Bloody thing,” exclaimed Ali disgruntled, before turning tail, leaving the room and heading upstairs, leaving his father ensconced in the sofa, remote in hand and ready for some light TV entertainment. The last thing Ed wanted was to listen to some hideous soap or comedy show and so he zipped into the kitchen and his secondary basket.
He slumped into recline and began reflecting disappointedly regarding the events of the evening and how his interference had turned out. It was not how he imagined it would be. He just wanted it to be a bit of fun. He also started to feel a little guilty about having to disappear from the duo’s life and give them another loss to deal with. It was a new twist of emotions that he had not foreseen.
I need to move on soon. I’m no clearer as to why I’m embroiled in this cycle
of events and I really need to dig deeper
, thought Ed, slightly regretful to move on but mindful he couldn’t get caught up in any relationship commitments at this point. He settled down in his basket, still tired even after a sleepy day. He decided to devise a plan in the morning and move on towards the next transience. Maybe he could be 'paused' again, and this time try and visit the mythical Viking warrior?
The morning came round in a flash and the kitchen rustlings of the duo woke Ed from his slumber, coming round just as Frank topped up his bowl of food and saucer of milk. He jumped up from his basket and went through to the living room to find Ali on the sofa staring without interest at the twenty-four hour news channel, volume muted. In the bottom right hand corner of the screen a small superimposed man danced and juggled sign language with his hands and arms, turning round to stare back up at the broadcaster whenever there was a pause, as if they were actually behind them.
Ed jumped up onto the sofa and onto Ali’s lap and sat bolt upright facing him.
“What’s gotten into you, Smunky?” uttered the boy as Ed changed positions and settled down into a curled up ball.
“You don’t know it yet, but this is our goodbye. I’d like to stay with you and honestly feel terrible about leaving, but I have to continue on my journey. I hope you understand.”
“Meeaaooww, Meeaaooww, Meeaaooww! I wish I spoke cat language, little fella. You are a cute little thing,” replied Ali, stretching out his right hand to ruffle the cat behind the back of the head and stroke him down his body.
“I’m sorry, mate, I feel really bad,” meowed Ed before settling into a low rumbling purr, revelling in the stroking for a few minutes.
Soon the silence was broken.
“Dad, I’ve got to go. I have to pick up a spare battery for my phone from Bobby’s.”
With this Ed wrapped both hands underneath Ed and scooped him down onto the floor.
“See ya later, Smunky,” he said, as the cat ambled miserably into the kitchen towards his basket. Soon father and son had gone through their whole morning ceremony and had left the house, leaving Ed alone, lonely and tearful. It was as heartbreaking as seeing Sam disappear into the night just a few days back. The last thing he wanted was a repeating list of lonely farewells. He munched away at his breakfast and slurped up his milk before zipping through the cat flap, along the garden and off into the grey damp day.
He proceeded along the tall fence, past the pond and off through the shrubs and bushes, further than he had been before. His sense of direction felt amazing and he was continually aware of where he was relative to Frank and Ali’s house. It was though he had his own internal
He padded from street to street past the council houses, post boxes and bus stops. He noticed the myriad of strange street names as he proceeded:
Winklebury Way
,
Ludlow
Close,
Bury Road
,
Brunel Street, South
Ham Way and St Peter’s Close. No rhyme or reason, just strange and disassociated names. He pondered on the American style of naming roads on a number system, north to south and east to west. It gained points in logic but lost them in emotion. It was too machine-like. He preferred the random scatterbrain approach of the British.
He wandered up through the cemetery, stopping to look at the gravestones and their inscriptions, wondering if he would ever meet any of these people on his travels. He wondered if he had a gravestone, what it was like and where he was buried. Had a lot of people attended his funeral and was there an abundance of flowers and greetings? Most importantly, was he missed? He passed from the cemetery into a fenced allotment area, ambling over towards a small plot of land being attended by a hunch-backed elderly woman, grey straight hair, bony features and plain supermarket clothes. He watched her from a distance as she dug at the soft earth, putting in small wooden posts and arranging the greenery with delicate care amidst the grey, dreary and depressing day.
He moved on silently and hopped over the small hedgerow out from the allotment. All the excitement about the spring of his back legs had drained from him as he continued to feel guilty about leaving Ali. He jumped onto a small wall and then further up onto a ramshackle wooden shed. He sat on the top of the pointed roof with his paws and head hanging over the centre divider looking back across the allotment and the busy bee of a green fingered lady.
He felt like he was at an airport waiting for a flight to a far and distant land. Exciting and enthralling when you get off at the other end but boring and uneventful sitting in a departure lounge trying to dissolve time considering pointless duty free purchases. He gazed at the woman going about her activities with methodical determination. He looked back over towards the cemetery and the row upon row of glorified head stones telling of noble deeds and loved personalities. He began to wonder what he was, amidst all this. What was his role and purpose? Why was he being given the chance to look at the world in this unique yet disorientating way?
Slowly he could feel his human consciousness drifting away from him bit by bit, making it harder to focus his thoughts and be sure of his memories. He didn’t know exactly how long he had left, but he was determined to do the needful by the end of the day.
I must stay awake and keep focused
, he thought, as he twisted round and sat upright on the roof.
What is this consciousness anyway? Maybe understanding that, is the key? ‘I think therefore I am’. Who said that? As soon as I’m not aware of that awareness, would I stop existing? Is doubting my existence proof I exist? What if this is really a dream and all this is existence in a dream state? What if I am in a coma and dreaming, would I exist then? Would I stop existing if I ceased being aware of myself in the body of this cat; surely the cat would still exist?
Ed meandered through a matrix of unclear philosophical debate, wishing that questions carried as much influence as answers. He watched the little old lady as she wound up her gardening duties and left with her little bag of gloves and tools, only to be replaced by another OAP working a different plot with equal diligence. He mused and mused, tossing and turning between his upright seated position and the reclined regal position which gave him neck ache. Soon his thoughts turned to suicide and transition, setting him on his way down from the roof. The sun was getting low in the sky and the late afternoon was being lured into the embrace of evening. He danced off alongside the allotment, through the cemetery and back towards the small area of shops in the centre of the village. He thought long and hard about how he could kill himself this time around.
Once at the shops he wandered over to the small
provisimart
supermarket and slipped stealthily through the open door. He darted around behind the tills and into the main body of the shop. It was a quiet store and there were just a handful of customers and only one open checkout. He peered up at the packed shelves, row upon row, pile upon pile of various coloured cans delicately organised neatly along the thin walkways. He went to the corner, snuck a peek and darted round and along the aisle to the next corner, giving himself a better view of the signs hanging above the corridors.