Here I Am by Jonathan Safran Foer(65)
“So what do you suggest I do?”
“You could reacquire psychic upholstery on your son’s behalf.”
“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 f*ck 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 * 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 f*cking 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 f*cked 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…”
A COMPLETE REBIRTH
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 *?”