Life on Another Planet Ch. 00-05

"Yes. Doctors are a very important part of society, so the province has to make sure we are rewarded properly so that we don't leave and go elsewhere to make a living. There are a lot of people who fall into the same category, so their employers have to keep up as well."

"That's something we never studied in school. They never taught us about day-to-day living. Has that changed?" he asked.

"No ... not really. I read somewhere that half of newly-married couples don't know how to budget their household expenses or balance a cheque book. No ... they don't teach that in school, and that's a great shame. We have a big proportion of our population living at the limits of their credit. That's a recipe for disaster for many of them. Credit is far too easy to get these days."

They arrived back at the apartment building and struggled with all their packages. The cab driver was not helpful at all, hence his tip was very small. He snarled something in a foreign language before pulling away.

"Does that go on here all the time?" Jesse asked as he watched the yellow taxi disappear around the first corner.

"No ... but it isn't rare," she sighed. "Some of these drivers can't speak enough English to understand where you want to go. The company owners claim they have to have at least a working knowledge of the language and the city, but I doubt that's true from what I've experienced. If I'm in any doubt about them, I write out the address and hand it to them. Then there are no excuses."

Jesse kept his opinion to himself. He wasn't impressed with the lack of courtesy the driver showed and was pleased that Eve hadn't tipped him. Was rudeness another part of this new world he could expect?

He'd noticed that other than the cab driver, no cash had changed hands despite all their purchases. A plastic card seemed to be enough, and it wasn't only a credit card, Eve advised him. She called it a debit card, one that took the money directly out of her chequing account. The device the driver gave her was electronic with no wires, yet she was able to connect to the bank with it. Amazing!

They managed to get most of the parcels up to the apartment, leaving only a couple of awkward ones in the locked mailbox area. Jesse returned to the little enclosure with a key card and emptied the box before bringing the remaining parcels up to the apartment. He had yet to see anyone on his travels in the elevator or in the lobby.

"How many people live in this building?" he asked Eve.

"There are seventy units, but some aren't occupied. For instance, 1402 is empty. Apparently it's owned by someone from Hong Kong, but I don't think there's even any furniture in the place. That's become more common as people from other countries buy property to speculate that inflation will bring them a nice fat return when they go to sell the place. Most of the people living here work during the day, so there isn't much traffic to contend with on the elevator."

"This world is getting stranger and stranger," Jesse said as he flopped into the swivel rocker by the front window.

"I'm sure it must seem that way to you," Eve agreed. "I guess the rest of us have just gotten used to it. As we go along, I'm going to try and teach you what you need to know about how to live in this century. Some of if will be easy, and some of it will be difficult for you. You'll just have to trust me. If you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask me. I'm here to help you adapt ... remember?" she smiled.

~*~

Mica arrived home just after six, having spent the last two hours with Tony Birani, his friend and schoolmate. Tony lived on the sixth floor with his parents and younger brother. The Biranis were of Lebanese origin, and Tony's father was a successful businessman in the plastics industry. Tony and Mica were in the same class at school and had developed a friendship before either realized they lived in the same building.

"Hi Mom," the boy said as he closed the front door and unburdened his backpack.

"I'm in the kitchen, Mica. Come and meet Jesse," she called.

Mica dropped the pack on the sofa and headed for the kitchen. He could smell dinner and was immediately hungry.

"Mica, this is Jesse Peterson. He's going to be staying with us for some time."

Jesse smiled at the young lad. "Hi, Mica. Nice to meet you."

"Yeah ... nice to meet you too," the boy answered less than enthusiastically.

"Where's he going to sleep, Mom?" was his first question.

"In the guest room. I've cleaned up your things and put them in your room," she noted.

Mica didn't look pleased, but knew there was no point in arguing about it.

"Sorry to mess up your life, Mica," Jesse said, still smiling.

"Yeah ... sure," the boy said, heading for his bedroom.

"Dinner in ten minutes," his mother announced. "Wash your hands and put your backpack away."

No answer was forthcoming, but after a couple of minutes, Mica went to the living room to retrieve his backpack and return to his bedroom. Not long afterwards he appeared in the kitchen.

"Hey, that's my seat," he announced when he saw Jesse sitting at the table.

"Mica!" Eve snapped. "That's rude. Behave!"

"It's okay ... I'll move," Jesse said, looking at Mica with a slight smile. He picked up his utensils and moved to the other side of the table. "This okay?" he asked the boy.

He got a nod in response. Jesse now knew his place at the table, smiling to himself and thinking how similar this was to his younger days at home with Roberta and his parents. Everyone had a designated place and stuck to it.

Mica was going to take some winning over, he thought. Perhaps he could enlist the boy to help him with the computer, since they would be sharing it. When Mica finished his homework, he'd bring the subject up.

When Jesse had helped Eve clear the dinner dishes, Mica disappeared into his room, instructed to finish his homework before he did anything else.

"What grade is Mica in?" Jesse wondered.

"Grade five. He's doing quite well I'm pleased to say."

"Do they really give kids homework in elementary school?" he asked.

"I'm afraid so. I wonder sometimes just how much teaching is actually done. I've met all Mica's teachers and they seem like nice people, but they have to follow the curriculum and that mandates that students do some 'class preparation' as they call it. I do a lot of oversight on Mica's work as well. Sometimes I wonder if the standard the Education Ministry sets is dropping. I guess I'm becoming an old fuddy-duddy," she smiled.

"My parents watched my progress too. We didn't get homework until Junior High, and it took a while to get used to the idea that school wasn't over when the bell rang at three o'clock. I guess if Mica is getting some homework each day, he'll get used to the idea."

"Yes, there is that benefit," Eve agreed. "I think university was the worst, though. Medicine must be the most demanding course of any. I can still remember being exhausted each night from trying to keep up with the lectures and advanced study. We never seemed to have a free moment to ourselves."

"I don't think I'm cut out for that," Jesse said. "I was thinking about journalism. My teachers in high school thought I had talent for writing. They were encouraging me to write as a hobby."

"Journalism has changed dramatically in the past twenty years," Eve noted. "Now, we have blogs."

"What are blogs?" Jesse asked.

"It's a computer based article, usually an opinion piece like an editorial. It's free to anyone who wants to read it. Some of them have become quite famous. Newspapers have shrunk dramatically in the past twenty years. So many people get their only news from the television, or on their smart phones. The traditional newspapers now have their own websites and you can read their papers on line."

"I don't understand any of that," Jesse said in a voice betraying his frustration.

"Don't worry. You'll catch on quickly," she reassured him with a smile.

"I hope so. I feel so lost and ... incompetent. It's like I've been living in the dark ages."

"In a way, I suppose you could say that. Certainly in the information age, you have been coming from the dark ages into this new world. But it's not hopeless, I assure you. I think you might even find it exciting. Do you know how to type?"

"Yes. I took typing in my second-to-last year. Like I said, I wanted to be a journalist, so I needed to know how to type. I even bought an old Underwood to do my school reports and my writing."

"Good, because every computer comes with a standard typewriter keyboard. You can take advantage of your skill and really create some great things. Plus ... as an added bonus ... no more carbon paper and white-out," she laughed.

"Really! Oh good. My typing wasn't the best in the world, so corrections were a real pain."

"Well, there's something I can do for you right away. I have my own laptop computer and printer, so I can help you find your way around a couple of very useful programs. Why don't I make some tea and we can get started right here in the kitchen?"

"Sure ... thanks," he said, showing the first signs of enthusiasm in a while.

Eve put the kettle on and left the kitchen, returning in a few seconds with a slim, rectangular, silver tablet that she placed on the kitchen table. She lifted the lid of the device and Jesse could see a screen on the inside of the lid, smaller but similar to the new television screens. The base of the device was a keyboard with a number of additional keys. She pressed a button and seconds later the screen came to life, asking for a password. She quickly typed in a few characters and the screen welcomed "Evelina" and changed again.

"Is that your proper name?" he asked.

"Yes. It's Czech. Sort of like Evelyn," she explained.

Over the next hour, Eve introduced Jesse to the wonders of the computer age. She concentrated on Microsoft's Word program to give him an idea of all the possibilities it contained. He was almost overwhelmed by the various features and special effects he could create. He couldn't possible remember them all.

Eve briefly introduced him to the Internet as well, explaining it was a resource for information, entertainment, interactive communications, and another bewildering assortment of capabilities that Jesse couldn't possibly absorb in one sitting. At the end of the session, with a low battery warning now appearing, he sat back in his chair and shook his head.

"I can't believe what you've just shown me. It doesn't seem possible, and yet I've seen it with my own eyes. Does everyone have one of these computers?"

"No, but here in the developed western world, I would say that a majority of people have one, or access to one. You can borrow the use of a computer at the library if you don't have your own. A lot of students do that if they're on a tight budget."

"What does that computer cost?"

"Oh, it varies depending on the speed of the processor and the amount of memory or hard drive, but anywhere from four hundred to a thousand dollars ... or more if you need something really powerful."

"And Mica has his own computer?"

"Yes. This model is called a laptop since it's portable and can operate on either battery power or household power. Supposedly you can place it on your lap and use it. Mica uses my older desktop computer which is fixed in place, not portable. I have a charger that recharges the battery in my laptop. The battery is good for two or three hours, depending on what I'm doing, so I usually keep it plugged in when I'm at my desk or here at home. Next year, Mica will have a smaller laptop called a notebook computer."

"Amazing," Jesse said, shaking his head. "This is like something out of science fiction ... they only imagined things like this in stories that I've read."

"I'll get you a laptop, Jesse. You'll need one when you go back to school," Eve announced.

"Am I going back to school?" he asked absently.

"You said that's what you planned," Eve reminded him. "I think ... at your age ... that it's the best option. You can even go to school here at home ... online as it's called. There are a number of courses you can take to prepare you for the day when you're ready to attend a classroom. It will help you fill your day with something constructive."

Jesse looked at her and shook his head once more. Why was she doing this for him? Money seemed to be no object for her. She was giving him everything; clothes, a home, food, a phone, a computer. He had no idea how he could possibly pay her back for her generosity. He felt like he was going to be in debt for the rest of his life.

"It's about school, Eve. I know I'm not ready for university. Surely the entrance requirements will have changed in fifty years? There is so much to catch up on that I don't know how long it will take me to qualify again."

"I know you're right about not being ready, Jesse. But I can help get you up to speed on the minimum requirements. We can do that together. With the online courses you can more easily catch up. I want you to succeed and I want you to learn to exist successfully in this world you've found yourself in. It won't be easy, but I can see you are bright and willing to learn, so I have an obligation to help you make it."

"Obligation?"

"You're my ward, remember," she grinned.

"Oh ... so that's what that means," he said, still shaken by what he had seen that evening

Chapter 4 Something to Be

Friday, July 15, 2011, 5am

Jesse was mentally exhausted when he finally went to bed that night. His first day away from the hospital was so full of surprises and challenges that he began to believe that adapting to this world was impossible. Perhaps a good night's sleep would restore him. What he experienced, however, was anything but a good night's sleep.

For the first time that he could recall, he was visited by a nightmare. It was his father, mother, and sister, all trying to reach out for him, but each time they fell away, disappearing briefly before returning and trying again. He heard them calling to him, but he couldn't answer and they couldn't get close enough to hold him. He tossed and turned in anguish as the dream progressed, finally waking in a cold sweat, the sheets pushed to the bottom of the bed in a tangle of cotton. His pillow was soaked with perspiration.

He lay there, fully awake, the images now having vanished. There was no way he would be able to sleep after the disturbing visitation. He rose, pulled on his shorts and a t-shirt, and shuffled out into the living room. The curtain was partly open and he could see the lights of the city below. In the dark, a few items brought back familiar memories. The big, red "W" on top of what was once Woodward's Department Store, and the lights on the roof of The Vancouver Hotel. The rest was unfamiliar or indistinguishable in the well lit city.

He was surprised at the amount of vehicular traffic that he saw. The clock on the wall said it was approaching 5am and he could see the vague beginnings of dawn behind the North Shore Mountains. He was exhausted once more, having felt no benefit from whatever hours of sleep he actually got. He sat forlornly in the swivel rocker, looking out at the city, his eyes unseeing. Then the tears came - tears for everything he had lost. He didn't have a single tangible thing with which to remember his former life or family. No pictures, no clothing, no home ... nothing! Everything and everyone he once knew had vanished into ... where?

~*~

Across the hall, in 1404, Kirsten Gustafson rolled sleepily toward the incessant electronic beep of her clock radio. She didn't need to look at the time, she knew it was 5am and time to get up and get dressed. Another day, another practice at the university rink. She wondered for the umpteenth time if it was what she really wanted. Women's hockey was a dead end for most young women. Her only ambition was to make the UBC women's hockey team no later than her second year. In September, she would begin her first year at the giant campus.

Her parents wouldn't be up for another two hours and would have time to enjoy a breakfast and a coffee before heading off to open their store. Kirsten would have to settle for some juice, a banana, and a distasteful protein shake. If nothing else, the shake would suppress her appetite for the duration of the practice. She was mindful of her weight, trying to maintain a delicate balance between the strength and power needed to play a defensive position, and an appearance that didn't exaggerate her size. At 180 centimetres (70 3/4"), and 77 kilograms (169lbs), she was a big girl.

Size ran in the family. Her father was 190 cm and 105 kg, almost exactly his playing weight when he retired with Vancouver's NHL team. Her mother was within a centimetre of Kirsten's height, but slimmer at 62 kg. Fitness was a way of life for the Gustafson family, and always had been. It was part of their Scandinavian heritage.

She groggily shuffled to the bathroom and began her morning ritual. She inspected her flawless, pale-hued body, checking to see if there were bruises from the previous practice. Pulling her light blonde hair back, she wrapped it in a knot with an elastic band, ensuring that it would be below the back of her helmet and not bother her when she played. When not playing hockey, she would braid the long, flaxen locks and allow them hang down her back just below her shoulder blades. The coach had tried to get her to cut her hair short, but Kirsten had stubbornly refused. It didn't affect her play and she was proud of her hair, so it stayed.

A shower could wait until after the practice, but a wash and a thorough brushing of her teeth was mandatory. She was satisfied with her appearance. Her teeth were perfect and a bright white when she smiled ... and she smiled often. Her face was round, her only flaw she believed. Her nose was small with a slight curve to a little nub. It didn't seem quite in keeping with the rest of her body, but it was not something that could be changed. She bore no facial scars from her hockey experience. A full face screen made sure of that. She looked again in the mirror. No make up, and yet, she was reasonably content with her appearance.

She quietly dressed, gathered up her hockey equipment, and headed for the elevator. She didn't have long to wait and, with a soft ding, the doors opened to an empty cabin. Seconds later she was on her way to the garage and her mother's car. She was careful to make as little noise as possible, not wanting to disturb the other residents.

Unknown to Kirsten, a restless Jesse Peterson had heard the door to the other apartment open and close with its distinctive solid "clack." He'd also heard the footsteps passing his door and then, a few moments later, the ding of the elevator. By that time, he'd moved to the door and peeked out in curiosity. He caught just a glimpse of a strikingly tall, blonde, young woman, carrying a large blue bag into the elevator. He couldn't see her face, but what he did see was quite a sight. This must be the mysterious Miss Gustafson. What did Eve call her? Impressive? She was right about that.

Kirsten drove carefully out of the underground garage, heading toward the university rink. In the back of her mind was the question of whether that guy who had been at each practice was going to be there. He seemed to be focussed on her. He gave her the creeps and she wondered if she should mention him to someone. She didn't really have anything to report other than he was at almost every practice and she felt like he was watching her. As far as she knew, it began and ended at the rink. Nonetheless, she memorized his face and would be watching for him. She was convinced he thought he was being subtle, but he was one of only five or six people in the stands, and the only one tucked up in the top row out of the main lit area.