The Circular Item

Of all the neighborhoods in Newark, Delaware, this suburban sprawl featured a pool, clubhouse, miniature golf course, tennis and basketball courts and a gym.

A man and his son lived there. Fifty-year-old Bill Jukes and seventeen-year-old Donley enjoyed their home. The former was acerage height and had a bald head. The latter was slightly smaller had an extremely short Afro.

Donley’s mother had divorced Bill years ago, a few years after infancy. He woke up this Saturday morning energized and ready to tackle a school project due on Monday.

“Good morning, Dad,” he said.

Jukes looked up from his phone and smiled. “Good morning, Donley.”

They then heard a whirring sound increase. Then a squishing sound as if something was laid upon the mat outside.

Donley went to the door and once he opened it, he found a small box addressed to his father. The young man looked over the box.

“It’s for you, Dad.”

Bill’s brow furrowed. “Go get my glasses, boy.”

The box was rather small, about the size of a little bit larger letter envelope. Jukes shook it. The satisfying sounds of something both clanking and whooshing back and forth. A small grin appeared on his face. He tore through the box just as Donley approached with his spectacles. He slid open the tabs and exposed the contents.

“What is it?”

“It’s either a Blu-Ray or DVD.”

“What?”

“Before the days of streaming, we used these things to watch movies and TV shows.”

“I’m starting to remember. I think I had some when I was much younger.”

“Yes, when you were knee high,” Jukes chuckled.

“You’ve got to open it.”

Jukes cut theough the case and indeed, it was a disc. But it didn’t appear to be just a compact disc despite it showing the shiny circular item.

“We don’t have anywhere to play it, though,” Donley pointed out.

“Get dressed. We’re going into town.”

Once they arrived at the local audio/video shop, a brutally cold wind in May swept through and made them brace themselves. The door chimed. They saw a pleasant looking woman with brown hair and blue eyes.

“Bill! Donley! Always a pleasure seeing you. How may I help you gentlemen?”

“Hi, Bonnie. We just came to have this DVD transferred to a flash drive.”

“I can help you with that.” Bonnie took hold of the case and removed the disc. She put it through a machine that expedited the process. In about five minutes, the job was done.

“That’ll be $2,” Bonnie said proudly.

Jukes handed over the bills. Donley rolled his eyes trying to remember the last time he used cash. They left.

When they returned to their home, they both experienced a sense of apprehension mixed with a dash of excitement.

Donley gave the flash drive to his father.

After inserting the tiny piece of hardware into the entertainment console, the screen was black for forty seconds.

Jukes jabbed at the remote like he was stabbing a piece of steak. Then, the screen went white. Another forty seconds passed.

They became inpatient.

“You know, Dad, I don’t think there was anything on this thing in the first place. We can’t return to sender, but we can change—”

Just then, a grainy picture appeared. It was the scene of a picnic with little kids giggling and running around. The father and son noticed that it was them twenty years into the future clinking beers and smiling in beach chairs.

Donley looked at his father. “What’s happening here?”

“I think that’s us, son.”

Right after that, a scene of a funeral showed up on the screen. It then transitioned to a gravemarker in blurry detail. Jukes put on his glasses again and noticed what the grave placard read.

“It’s mine.” Jukes' voice almost cracked. He stepped back slowly.

“It’s alright, Dad, someone's playing a sick joke. They spent too much time picking out gravestones to put out false information ....”

“Well, they’ve got my birthday correct. It appears I’ll die at the age of eighty-six.”

“Don’t say that, Dad! You’ll be well into your hundreds before you check ....”

The screen then rendered an accurate date of birth and expiration of Donley.

“No,” Donley managed to state.

The final image was both the father and son’s gravemarkers together in death, just as they were in life.