D-Day

“Don’t be sad, Jenny,” her mother urged, stroking the little girl’s long dark hair.  “Try to understand, honey.  Departure Day isn’t a bad thing at all.  It’s a good thing.  A rite of passage sort of—like a graduation.  There isn’t any pain involved, no suffering…”  She glanced at her husband, who gave her a furtive nod of encouragement.  They had both worked hard to prepare their daughter for this first Departure, but you could never tell how you’d done until the day arrived.

            Jenny blinked back a tear.  “Can we go see Grandpa now?”

            “You bet we can,” said her mother.  Jenny picked up her hug-worn Teddy bear, and they left the kitchen together for the rear bedroom. 

Grandpa was sitting in his comfortable chair by the window, watching the birds on the feeder outside.  Jenny crossed the carpet to look over his shoulder.  None of the pretty birds were there now, no cardinals or purple finches, just a couple of those sparrows with the brown-and-white spots.  The sparrows all looked the same to her, but Grandpa said there were lots of different types, and he’d tried to teach her the names one day.  She’d gotten them all mixed up, but he hadn’t been the least bit mad at her.  Grandpa never got mad at anyone.  He was the nicest man in the whole wide world.

            “Can I see your Gold Watch, Grandpa?”

            His crinkly Santa Claus face spread into a smile.  “Of course you can, bumpkin.”  He placed his wrist on the arm of the chair.

Jenny had seen lots of Gold Watches, but she liked this one best.  The metaloid gleamed with a flawless finish, and every movement drew sparkles from a ring of lunar diamonds.  In the center, the display was set in a pretty pink cloud that roiled and shifted like a sea of cotton candy.

For seventy-nine years, one hundred and sixty-four days, that display had consisted of the date, time, GPS coordinates and barometric pressure, the values alternating sequentially every other second.  But then, almost twenty-four hours ago, there had been a dramatic change.  The numbers had gone from their usual, cheery yellow to a no-nonsense flat black.  And now only the time was shown in military format, marching inexorably backward toward the end of the final day.  There were currently, Jenny saw, just six minutes and forty-three seconds of that day remaining—

            ...42, 41, 40, 39...

            “Are you afraid, Grandpa?” Jenny asked him.

            He looked into her clear, blue, eight-year-old eyes and smiled again.  “Oh, no, bumpkin.  Grandpa isn’t afraid.  I’ve been ready now for a long, long time.”

            “Isn’t D-Day supposed to be when you’re a hundred, Grandpa?”

            A firmer voice answered from the doorway.  “Not always, Jen,” said her father.  “It’s often around there, but it can be different for everyone.  You see, when you turn twelve, you’ll give some hair to the doctor—”

            “Not my hair!” 

            The grownups shared a chuckle.  “Only a strand or two,” her father clarified.  “You won’t even know it’s missing.  So, the doctor takes the sample, like he did from Grandpa, here, when he was twelve, and from Mommy and me, and he’ll send it down south—”

            “To Big Alice?” Jenny suggested.  She had learned about Big Alice in school, like all of the other children.

            “That’s right.  To Big Alice, the DNA mainframe in Virginia.  The computer will calculate your genetic prognosis—and there’s everything in there about you, every exact detail about the way that your body will grow and respond to stimulus over the years—and then it selects a Departure Date, to avoid the, uh…”

            Mommy came to the rescue.  “Some of the yucky stuff that would happen to people when they got very sick, or older—”

            “But not as old as I am now,” added Grandpa.  “People used to have a lot of physical and mental ailments when they were as young as, oh, seventy or eighty.  I’m ninety-one and I still feel fine.”

            “Then why does your Gold Watch say you have to go, Grandpa?”  She looked at it as she waited for a response.  Four minutes and thirty-six seconds, it read.

            ...35, 34, 33, 32...

            “Well, bumpkin, you see—we decided a long time ago that when folks get to be around my age, they...well, they’ve generally had all the living they need.  I mean, you’ve raised a family, you’ve had your career and your National Service, and it’s just kinda right that you should step aside and make some room for all the young whipper-snappers.”  He reached down to tweak Jenny’s nose, and she giggled.

            “Oh, boy,” said Grandpa, checking the time.  “We’re getting close now.  Come and sit on Grandpa’s lap and we’ll follow these rascals down together.”  Jenny tried to climb up, but she couldn’t make it past the old man’s knees.  Her father was starting forward when Grandpa motioned him back.  Finally, on the third attempt, she and Teddy managed to wriggle into place.  Grandpa wrapped her in his arms and adjusted the watch so they both could see it.  Across the room, her parents took hold of each other’s hands.  Two minutes, fifty-five seconds, the watch read.

            ...54, 53, 52, 51...

            “Grandpa?” Jenny asked.  “What will the Gold Watch do to you?  Will it hurt?”

            Her grandfather held her close.  “Oh, no, bumpkin.  Nothing like that.  It’s kind of neat what it does, really.  At Departure Time, I’ll get a tiny dose of medicine right through the skin—we’re talking a few molecules here, not even so much as an itty-bitty drop—and it’ll shut down all of the electrical signals inside of me, just like you turned off a light.”

            Jenny pondered this a while before her attention drifted back to the numbers.  Then her face grew very serious, and she sat up straight.  “Mommy, Daddy, come over here and watch the last minute.”  Exchanging a look, her parents advanced to stand beside the chair.

            “You count ‘em down for me, bumpkin,” said Grandpa, and Jenny recited out loud.

            “Thirty-two, thirty-one, thirty, twenty-nine, twenty-eight...”

            “Goodbye, Ed,” Jenny’s father said to Grandpa, reaching down to pat his shoulder.

            “Goodbye, Dad,” said Jenny’s mother, and there was a catch in her voice as she planted a kiss on his forehead.

            “Now, now, little girl, none of that,” Grandpa admonished.  He gave her a wink before turning back to mind the digits with his Jenny.

            “Eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one—”

            And the watch-bearing arm descended softly as the other hand slipped from her waist.

Jenny twisted around to see that Grandpa’s eyes were shut and his head cocked a little to one side, as if he’d fallen asleep.

            “Bye-bye, Grandpa,” she said with a sniffle.

The ensuing silence was broken by her mother.  “Do you know what let’s do, Jenny?” she said, lifting the girl from her grandfather’s lap.  “Let’s make us some D-Day cookies.  In honor of Grandpa.  I think he would have liked that.  What do you say?  Does that sound like a good idea?”

            “Mocha chocolate chip?  Those were his favorite.”

            “Mine too,” said her father.  “When do I get some?”

            “Now Carl, they’ll be ready when they’re ready.  You’d better go and see about those forms.  The Air Van will be here soon.”

            “Right,” he said, “I’d forgotten all about that,” and hurried off down the hall.

            “Then mocha chocolate chip it is.  And I think the occasion calls for a double batch.  What do you think?”  Jenny was nodding, but her gaze was still on Grandpa, lifeless now as the bear beneath his arm.

            “Do you want me to get Teddy for you?”

            Jenny thought for a moment, then shook her head.  “No,” she said.   “Teddy needs to be with Grandpa a little while longer.”  She pried her eyes away then, and allowed herself to be led from the room.

*  *  *

The buzzing came while Jenny was licking cookie dough from a big wooden spoon.  Looking to the window, she saw the Air Van blot out the world as it descended to a hover-landing a foot above the lawn.  Shaped like a football, it was higher in the middle than the top of their tallest apple tree.  And it was green—not a deep green, like the grass, but more bluish-green, like the swimming pool at the park.  Jenny had seen the Vans lots of times in the sky, but never up close like this before.

            “Can I go outside and look at it?” she asked her mother.

            “I don’t see why not.  Just don’t get in the men’s way.”

            “Oh, I won’t,” Jenny promised, and she was out of the door in a flash.

The ship’s hatch opened with a sound like a gust of wind, and four men stepped down, all of them wearing shiny silver Authority Suits, like policemen.  The tallest one noticed her standing there, beside the azalea bush.

            “Is this your home, Little Miss?” 

            Jenny nodded shyly.

            “What lovely plastiform it’s made of.  Did you pick out that pattern?”

            Jenny knew when she was being kidded.  “No,” she said with a grin.  “My mommy and daddy picked it.”

            “Well, it’s very attractive,” said the man, and then he followed the others over to the house, where her father was waiting to greet them.  They disappeared into the kitchen, and Jenny found herself alone.

            It was then that she noticed the noises coming from the ship’s interior.  The more she listened to them, the more they sounded like some funny little bird: Wink-dink, wink-dink, doodle-oodle.  Wink-dink, wink-dink, doodle-oodle...  Pussyfooting closer, she peeked in through the open hatchway.  It was dark in there, and hard to see anything until her eyes adapted.  Once they had, she found the gently floating image was making her a little dizzy.  She leaned against the doorframe and let her body get into the rhythm; then she felt alright again.  

At the front of the Van, to her right, were twin pilots’ seats set before a wide, crescent-shaped windshield that was invisible from the outside.  Below this was a maze of dials and meters with red and blue numbers on them.  Some of them shone steady, while others were changing so fast she couldn’t even read them.  To the left there were three more seats, and beyond these was a big cluster of transparent cylinders arranged in a pattern like a honeycomb.  A few of them were empty, but most contained long, white, plastic bags.  Sprouting from the bags were wires or tubes that connected them to a wall-mounted machine emitting a series of noises.  Clicks and hisses mostly, but every few seconds a familiar refrain: Wink-dink, wink-dink, doodle-oodle…

            The screen door creaked behind her, and Jenny retreated from the Air Van, not sure if she was allowed to be so close.  As she watched, two men came out of the house carrying a stretcher with a white bag on top, and she guessed that her grandpa must be in there.  They passed her by to enter the ship, while the other pair stayed with her father.  Soon they all shook hands, and the men in the silver suits came across the lawn, talking.  Jenny heard something about a return trip tomorrow, but then she forgot about that when the closer man—the one who’d addressed her before—held out her Teddy bear.   

“I think this belongs to you, Little Miss.”  He was smiling, but it was one of those smiles that grownups make when they’re only pretending.  “You’d better go inside, honey.  The energy field can be pretty strong when we lift off.”

            “O.K.,” said Jenny.  “Glad to meet you, sir.”

            “Glad to meet you too, Little Miss.”  He stepped aboard the Van, and turned back as if to say something, but then let his eyes fall.  The hatch swept closed like a curtain to block him from view.  The buzzing began again, and she was already running when her father called her name.

            *  *  *

Standing on a chair by the kitchen window, Jenny looked out at the big, blue-green football rising from the ground.  It continued straight up until it was higher than the neighbor’s chimney, and then the pine trees, and then the electrical tower, and higher and higher still until Jenny had to put her chin to the glass and tilt her head way back to keep it in view.  Then it stopped for a moment while the front of it swung around gently like a mobile hung from a string, and it began to move forward, slowly at first but then faster and faster until it shrank to a tiny dot against the clouds.

            Jenny turned around and sat down cross-legged on the chair.  Across the room, her mother was programming dinner instructions into the auto-chef, while her father sliced vegetables on the cutting board.  She spoke to the stuffed animal in the crook of her arm.  “You see, Teddy?  Grandpa’s going to be O.K.  Those nice men in the Air Van are going to take very good care of him.  Isn’t that right, Mommy?”

            Her mother was swiping a plastic recipe card.  “What’s that, dear?”

            “Aren’t those nice men going to take good care of Grandpa?  That’s what I told Teddy Bear.”

            Her mother swiped again and sighed, then began punching in the numbers manually.  “Absolutely.  He’s in the best of hands.  Carl, this reader isn’t working at all now.  You’ll have to call Sears.”

            “See, Teddy, I told you so.”  Jenny remembered something, and scrunched up her face in concentration.  Sliding from the chair, she went over to stand between her parents.

            “Can I see your Gold Watch, Daddy?”

            “Sure, sweetheart,” he said distractedly, rotating his wrist.

            “Thanks.  Mommy?  Can I see your Gold Watch?”

            “Hmmm,” said her mother, looking from card to keypad as she held out her arm.

            Jenny’s eyes lit up.  “Oh.  Con…grat…u…lations, Mommy,” she said, struggling with the big word.  “It’s you!”

            “Uh-huh.  What’s me, honey?”

            “It’s your D-Day too, Mommy!  Con…grat…u…lations.”

Her mother’s focus veered a few degrees from the auto-chef.  Then she jerked her hand up to look at the watch.  22:17:58 it read, in flat black numerals.

            ...57, 56, 55, 54...

            “Carl,” she spat.  “It’s started!  My watch!  The countdown has started!”

            “What?”  Her husband lunged to see for himself.  “It can’t be,” he said as he checked the display.  “It can’t be…”

            “But I’m not sick, Carl.  And I’m only forty-nine.  Only forty-nine...”

            They gaped at each other, dumbstruck.  It didn’t occur to either of them that there may have been some mistake.  Unicom didn’t make mistakes; everyone knew that.  

            But their little girl was speaking, and they swung their heads together to her bright and bubbly voice.  “Don’t be upset, Mommy.  I understand now, really I do.  And so does Teddy Bear.  Teddy says you’ll get to ride in the Air Van, just like Grandpa.  And tomorrow, Daddy and me can make S’mores, ‘cause those are your favorite.  Isn’t that right, Daddy?  Can we, Daddy?”

            There was a long silence before he answered.  “Why sure we can, sweetie.”  Then his gaze moved slowly to meet his wife’s.  “I think…she would have liked that.”

This story first appeared in REAL Magazine.