Remembering

“Maybe somewhere green… somewhere we can run a small shop with all our kids…” - Caleb G

Abe remembered pizza.

Returning home on a hot day, the coolness of the store hitting him. Seeing a perpetually warm smile on his dad’s face. Rough, dark hands covered in white flour as they rolled pieces of dough. A few slices of pizza were always available at the end of the day, leftovers, his dad always said. Though it was strange, there was always pepperoni pizza. His favorite for a while, before eating pizza every day got old.

He wasn’t old enough to have been drafted at the time. When Europe burned, only other Commonwealth nations would have sent aid. Colonialism left a sore mark on many people, and the last nation that could’ve feasibly helped was too busy slapping itself in the face to be of any use to anyone.

When the store started struggling, his dad and uncle joined the army. Abe remembered getting diagnosed with anxiety at the time, every day wondering if he’ll ever see his dad again.

There were sparse emails, calls and texts when his dad managed to get out of the EMP affected areas, but he never talked about fighting. It was always something inane, reassuring teary family members he was ok, asking about how the store was doing with mum taking care of it, complaining about how army food was shit. Even if dad never talked about anything of import, Abe always looked forward to them. Fidgeting for weeks on end when there was no contact.

Then the war abruptly ended.

Abe remembered the day America decided to finally do something. He remembered seeing in the news. Anthrax spores were spread throughout the nation from low Earth orbit, destroying North America’s ecosystem and crippling the nation’s ability to produce livestock in the span of a few short months.

If the biological attack was indeed perpetrated by Russia as a last resort to keep America out of the war, they could not have done a more foolish thing.

America was a nation that almost entirely subsisted on fast food, meat and diabetes. The moment someone took away the meat in a cheeseburger as well as the cheese and forced them to eat their vegetables, they became a unified and rampant mob.

Abe remembered his aunt laughing as the news came. How the move had done more to unite America than anything the nation itself had done. Bipartisan unity, armed skinheads teaching minorities how to shoot a gun, the US Military, known only for its absurd budget, suddenly seemed woefully inadequate to deal with the number of people signing up to go to war.

A nation once cracked in half squabbling like children came together to beat up the bully who took away their lollies.

Of course, they conquered South America first and burned down the Amazon to get that unspoiled farmland, but they eventually got around to Europe.

For a long time, the war was in a stalemate, but finally did the scales start to tip when hordes of angry Americans began flooding the war.

Where once battlefields were empty save for Russia’s mechanized infantry and drones, was once again filled with the roar of gunfire. The communists were finally getting pushed back by their ideological enemy.

The Star-Spangled Tide, the White and Blue but Mostly Red Flood, the Horde, the Gun-Toting Vegans, eventually, they were simply called the Greens, after a comedian jokingly said gunfire and artillery bombardment was what happened when you forced an American to eat their greens.

The war was finally being won.

Abe’s dad no longer had to pretend that things were going well and Abe didn’t have to fake a smile in response and though the war was ended… abruptly. No one truly faulted the U.S for its response. Even if words were said, a few sanctions were made, no hard actions were done. Matching biological warfare with biological warfare, it was simply an eye for an eye.

And when the alternative was vengeance ridden madman dancing with a button that can set off worldwide nuclear devastation, they really did get the better end of the deal.

Plus the Soviets were all dead, so no one was left to complain.

His dad came home, though alone.

So long ago did it happen, that the memory no longer brought tears to his eyes. The black clothes, the day forever darkened by smog. Was it freezing cold or stifling hot that day? Abe no longer remembered.

His dad remained stoic, helping everyone through their grief. Yet as Abe grew older he couldn’t help but wonder a simple question.

Who helped dad through his grief?

The store opened again, the world must go on, Abe grew up, studied at university and got one of the few jobs not yet automated. Human work slowly becoming a rarity as the nation advocated and worked toward a world where no one felt hungry, needed to work, freeing up their time to pursue greater things. Unfortunately, they seemed to be the only ones who thought about it that way.

As he neared his thirties, he realized something, something that didn’t register because he’s honestly spent so little time with him.

His parents weren’t perfect, they had flaws, they were stubborn. His dad Caleb held onto that small pizza store for years, and every time he visited, he still annoyingly made pepperoni pizza, even if Abe told him that he hasn’t liked it for years.

It was one cool autumn day, where he visited the store once again. Dad already had pizzas out for him and his sister's family. They ate together while dad kept rolling more in the kitchen yet… as they ate, Abe noticed that the crust had become uneven, lumpy in some places and thin to the point of ripping in others. His nephews got really annoyed at this, since visiting grandpa Caleb was their highlight of the week. His niece Momo asked why the pizza was bad, too young and innocent to really understand anything.

“Dad?” Abe called out as he moved to the back of the store, towards the kitchen. He called out once, twice, thrice, yet still, there was no answer. Worrying, he hurried, until he entered the store kitchen and saw his father, his back stooped and crooked over the benchtop, sleeves rolled back.

His father’s hands shook as they tried to push the rolling pin over the dough, trying to flatten it, yet his strength failed to do so, leaving an uneven and broken piece of flat dough.

For the first time in his life, Abe saw his father and thought how old he was.

It hurt him to roll that dough flat, yet still, he continued, doing his best despite old age, all for a family who said they didn’t like pepperoni.

Abe didn’t remember when tears first fell from his face.

The last thing he remembered of that day was simply hugging the frail and old form of the man who birthed him.

He quit his old job.

Now he spent his days in the pizzeria, trying desperately to master the art of pizza making to the amused and smiling face of his dad.

“I’m telling you, Vek’Na is mathematically impossible to beat,” a chubby young Asian said to another whose body was half prosthetic.

“There’s gotta be a way, a fucking trick to it,” the worryingly unwhole child replied as Abe delivered their two Meat Lovers pizza. “Can’t we get better stats?”

The chubby child shook his head, “When I said mathematically impossible to beat, I mean I used the top raiding builds and then some! The DPS check was still impossible. There is simply not a comp that can both survive to his last phase and kill him during…”

Despite the fact both of them pounced on their meal like ravenous wolves, they still talked with fervor about their subject. It was mostly gibberish to Abe, even more so now that their mouths were completely full, yet he liked listening to his two most frequent customers. They always ordered two large pizzas, one and a half of it always went to the chubby child and they always seemed to talk about games.

They came about once every other week, sometimes in triumph and celebration, sometimes in deep discussion. It was the part of the week he most looked forward to, every day he only got one or two customers physically in the store if he was lucky. Most of the time he spent at the back, baking pizzas for drones to deliver.

The fact he got returning customers at all when everyone just delivered everything, probably meant he had gotten really good at pizza making, though Abe admitted that if an actual Italian ever saw his pizzas they would probably call it a hate crime. Screw them though, his dad and customers said they tasted great and that’s all he ever needed.

He smiled and waved back as the two kids left for the evening, Abe continued till late at night, where he eventually closed up. Calling his car on his AAD, he let it drive him back home. The house wasn’t much, it didn’t need to be, since it was just him, mum and dad. His sister had her own family to take care of, something she kept ribbing him about. Abe was not a virgin at forty years no matter her insistence!

He found his dad by the balcony, dutifully watering a pot of flowers, natural flowers, ones not genetically engineered to survive harsh climates, but one that was completely natural. Those things cost more than cars nowadays, but Abe made sure to save for one and throw away the receipt when he saw his dad look longingly at the few nature reserves and parks that survived.

“Had a good day today,” Abe greeted him, “those kids came again, man I swear they come so often they’re probably keeping the store afloat on their own!”

And so they chatted throughout the night, mum usually joining after the sound of their talking drowned out her TV dramas. Despite the fact Abe had repeatedly informed her that they had a pair of noise-canceling headphones.

Like this, days and weeks passed by uneventfully, yet he remembered them all fondly, for they were perhaps Abe’s happiest years.

Yet somehow, they always came back to this topic.

“You should get an AAD,” Abe said, his tone frank. “You're getting old, who knows what’s gonna happen in a few years or so? With a Somatic Implant everyone can keep track of your health.”

His mother shook her head as she looked at the two of them, eyes tired but wanted to see through this argument out of a sense of familial duty.

The reply his father gave was always the same. He didn’t want one. He lived perfectly fine now. He wouldn’t allow someone he didn’t know or trust to monitor his every move.

Abe heard these responses, yet they rang hollow against him. For they were relics of an older time when people valued personal freedom above everything else, even their own health and safety.

They knew better now.

And his father’s response was just the response of an old conservative man, despite that, Abe usually withdrew, not wanting to damage what they had.

But no matter how good the times were, time always moved on.

In the years that passed, Abe slowly came to notice his father often staring into space, slow in his responses to others, sitting quietly when once he had spoken aloud with bright smiles.

Until one day, when Abe came to meet his father on the balcony, he wasn’t recognised. Abe remembered the wrenching feeling in his chest when his dad called him Edison. His dead uncle who was lost in the war.

He didn’t remember what happened later. For the memory came back in flashes. Snippets of what his father really spoke about.

That one afternoon soon became two, then three, then four, then five, then six. Always speaking of the same thing to a person he didn’t recognise. Repeating to the point where Abe knew what his dad wanted to say every time he saw him. Something about them retiring in a small shop, where they could look after all their children and their children. Somewhere by a park, where it was still green. In a world where his brother was still alive.

He knew the day would come.

Looking back, Abe didn’t remember that day from what he saw happened, but from what others told him.

His father collapsed in the middle of the day when Abe was working the shop. He remembered up till the phone call. How in a hurried haze he closed shop and canceled dozens of orders. How he got in the car without even wiping off the flour on his hands. One thing he remembered vividly, was halfway to the hospital, he received a phone call saying the ambulance carrying his father got in a traffic accident. A traffic accident! How did those even happen?

When he finally made it there, he found his father suspended in gel.

“Mr Green?” a nurse had said, “your father, Mr Caleb Green has suffered a heart attack, we have him in an induced stasis until a doctor becomes free…”

Abe didn’t hear him. All he heard was the deafening sound of his own thoughts. How this could’ve been prevented. How if he had been just a bit more stubborn, he could’ve gotten his father to accept an implant and they could’ve monitored his body just a bit better.

Abe knew his father’s body was failing, yet he did nothing.

“Please…” he rasped out, his heart was broken by possibility, yet he did not cry, “please save him.”

For if they didn’t, he would be guilty.

For eight hours he restlessly tapped his foot in front of the prone form of his father. When a surgeon finally became available, did he stand up and restlessly pace for another three hours. When his sister finally came, he spent an hour reassuring her, or perhaps the words he gave were for himself. Regardless, neither sibling believed Abe’s hollow promise of a thing completely outside their control.

Four hours did he wait.

Four hours he bit his nails.

Four hours he paced, restless and worrying.

And four hours later, the verdict came.

Abraham Green was guilty.

The store had been closed for five days.

Abe wondered if this was how his father felt all those years ago for his uncle.

Sadly reassuring everyone around him, that his father had lived a good life, staying stoic and helping everyone through their grief.

If this was how his father had felt, then a question was answered.

No one.

Back then, no one had helped his dad through his grief, no one had helped him when he cried alone at night, no one because they were going through their own grief.

He could only lock it away as they carried the casket. For if he didn’t, then who would look after everyone else?

There was nothing he could do except help others.

When he looked at the casket, all he remembered were the words never said. The last conversation they ever had, Abe was still pretending to be his long dead uncle Edison. Abe hadn’t talked to his father in several years despite the fact he met him every day.

When the procession was over, he continued looking after everyone, his sister wept, his mother had quietly accepted it.

He simply had to accept it.

Yet he could not.

It was a single moment when he was alone when everything broke. He felt the tears well up in his eyes, yet he wiped them. Even as he wept he begged the tears to stop, so that he may be fine before someone found him. So that they didn’t have to worry about him as well.

Yet someone did find him.

A small hand grabbing onto his shirt. His niece Momo, “Are you sad Uncle Abe?”

He wiped his tears and gently ruffled her hair, “Yes, I am, but don’t tell anyone I cried.”

“Mum is crying as well because grandpa died.”

“She is,” Abe replied.

“But she also pretends she’s not crying sometimes,” the child said, eyes staring into Abe’s own, “she wants to make sure everyone is fine. She can cry because you’re making sure she’s fine, but who’s making sure you are?”

Sadly, Abe smiled, “No one Momo, no one is.”

“Then I will,” the young girl said with conviction.

A notification appeared at the edge of his mind.

Abe was dragged by his niece into a wild and unfamiliar world.

Like a replica of reality, but everything had grown over, the climate was fixed and nature had reclaimed the land.

His niece was in a dress from a fairy tale, behind them, three small mushroom-like creatures followed, their caps glowing a beautiful lime.

“I’m sorry uncle, but he didn’t want everyone to know, he thought it would be too awkward after everything…” his niece rambled as she dragged him.

Abe followed her in a daze, not quite listening, not quite there, until they arrived at a store.

She brought him in and Abe found the place strangely familiar, though it was a different place, everything was put somewhere he was familiar with. He found he could navigate around the tables with ease as if it was… was…

Their own store.

Strangers sat by the counter, whom Momo greeted, her friends probably, it was not them she wanted him to meet and she dragged him behind, to the back of the store where the kitchen lay.

And he saw someone, standing over the kitchen benchtop, rolling a flat piece of dough. Someone whose body looked unfamiliar, but their movement was one of the first things Abe remembered.

“Are you-” he choked, it felt like there was a golfball in his throat, yet still he found his voice, “Do you remember me?” he cried towards the stranger.

The man with an afro of leaves turned, he looked surprised for a moment, before he smiled.

“I remember loving you.”