Schrodinger's Message

Sarah drinks her coffee without tasting it, last week's food burns her throat. The wall monitor next to the moving kitchen table flashes time with white letters, 05:06, too soon for him to wake up. His factory shift will not start until eight, but he has not slept well in the house since Teddy left. Nothing too empty. It's too quiet. A sense of suspicion that something is happening too far away when the time in his collapsing house has stopped.

At the bottom of the clock, the line flashes red in an emergency. "One new message." Below that, is the subject of a message from the office of Adjutant General, entitled "Re. Theodore J. Calhoun."

Scratching the paint on the table where it blows is simply a bare metal and trying to remember Teddy's face when he rode a ride four years ago. But he can only recall his childhood memories — eating breakfast at the table, painting on the tablecloth since he was handed over to the military. He remembers his cruel smile as he played Zero-G's football at the club, and how he stood humbly at his father's grave as dirt jumped into an empty box.

He had grown up almost unconscious. Like his father, he had enlisted for the first time, determined to follow his hero, a man he no longer remembered, to a distant planet to fight an enemy that few on Earth had never seen before.

You should have prepared yourself, but you forgot the joys of youth. The war had worn him out, and it was worn out by everyone left behind. Two generations of waiting and loss, husbands and wives, sons and daughters return as the only name in electronic communication, their bodies dumped in a world so far away.

Emergency messages come to the house as one of the two reasons, he knew. Recommending a particular act of heroism, stories of promotion perhaps, a reason for pride and a peaceful, unrestrained celebration. Or, like the message she received two decades ago, a short paragraph filled with such words as “great tribulation” and “loss,” along with vague details that did nothing to help the man understand why his husband would never return home.

He raises his finger on the screen and pauses over the button to open the message, but then wraps his finger around the palm of a trembling hand. As long as the message is not read, her son is alive. He removes his hand and drinks his cool coffee, incorporating a message into his mind.

Mrs. Dear Calhoun,

It is now (deep regret) (great honor) that I inform you (of the death) (promotion) of your son, Theodore J. Calhoun, 48417EIX, Infantry, during the recent acts in Denebis IV.

Your son acted valiantly during a crucial battle with the enemy forces, and he was personally responsible for saving the lives of his troops through his heroic deeds. He (after his death) (himself) was awarded the Medal of Honor (dedication) (his courage) during this conflict.

I see (the burden of grief) (the rising of pride) that you must feel, and I am deeply saddened (proudly) to convey this news to you. (Son's body) (son) will return on the next return trip with the Terran-Denebis wormhole.

Please accept my best (sympathy) (congratulations) at this time (sorrow) (happiness).

Sincerely,

Eduardo G. Hernandez

Major General

Her coffee is cold now. The time reads 07:12. He has to prepare for his shift. Ten hours guarding an assembly line full of wreaths and a slight hike in the cold of winter in this house he lived alone four years ago. Will his heart be touched when he sees a loved one passing by on the threshold? Or will he continue to deteriorate along with the house next to him until he dies with no one to remember his life and his family?

Teddy has lived in his memory for the past four years. Her husband has been patient with her since she was young and optimistic and is eager to explore new possibilities. There is lonely satisfaction in living with memories and opportunities. A pale image of what he once dreamed of his life would be, but a rock on which he should still cling.

He closes the monitor and gets up to prepare for his shift. At least today, her son will live.