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eBook Category: Science Fiction
eBook Description: She had suffered a terrible loss, and virtual reality was helping her heal. But it wasn't enough.

eBook Publisher: Fictionwise.com, Published: Asimov's, 1994
Fictionwise Release Date: December 2002

11 Reader Ratings: Great Good OK Poor

Available eBook Formats [MultiFormat - What's this?]: Adobe Acrobat (PDF) [75 KB], eReader (PDB) [31 KB], Palm Doc (PDB) [18 KB], Rocket/REB1100 (RB) [17 KB], Microsoft Reader (LIT) [67 KB] - PocketPC 1.0+ Compatible, Franklin eBookMan (FUB) [90 KB], hiebook (KML) [72 KB], Sony Reader (LRF) [49 KB], iSilo (PDB) [15 KB], Mobipocket (PRC) [20 KB], Kindle Compatible (MOBI) [47 KB], OEBFF Format (IMP) [29 KB]
Words: 5271
Reading time: 15-21 min.
Microsoft Reader (LIT) Format: Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud ENABLED
Adobe Acrobat (PDF) Format:  Printing DISABLED, Read-Aloud DISABLED
All Other formats: Printing DISABLED, Read-aloud DISABLED

"I'm not ready," I said. I laced my fingers together and leaned forward in the soft chair, perching on the edge of the cushion. I looked up at Alice. The window behind her was polarized black as pitch and gave the unsettling impression of limitless depth, framing her face like one of those old velvet paintings you could buy down in Tijuana before the Burning.

"I think you are, Stacey." she said. "We've been working towards this for a long time. We've done everything we can in realspace. It's time for you to face him." She looked at me with an expectant, open expression, as if she was wondering what my response was going to be. I suspected that she knew, though. She always knew.

I looked down at my hands, leaned back in the chair, shifted my weight. The chair responded by subtly rearranging the cushions to support me. The silence hung between us. Our sessions were often like this--islands of brief dialogue separated by vast gulfs. Finally, I heaved a huge sigh. It felt like it was coming not just from my chest but from my whole body, like my soul was escaping. There was a tightness around the corners of my eyes and across my forehead. I looked up at her. I nodded.

The Virtual Session room--real wood paneling, indirect lighting, abstract art on three walls. A fourth wall dominated by an instrument panel of black glass and polished chrome. Two pieces of furniture, elaborate barcaloungers crowned with spiky helmets, sprouted neatly tied bundles of wire leading to the panel. Red and yellow telltales winked from beneath the glass like the eyes of jungle animals.

Alice led me to one of the chairs and strapped me in. "Remember, I'll be right there the whole time. I'll be him."

I nodded. I could feel beads of sweat forming on my upper lip and forehead. Alice attached sensors to my fingers, my neck. She produced a tissue from somewhere and gently wiped the sweat from my face.

"You'll be fine," she said, and began to connect herself to the other chair.

I was standing next to home plate in the Little League baseball field behind the ConEd cooling towers. A breeze coming in off the Long Island Sound brought with it a faint smell of salt and sewage. The sky was a soft, pale blue, a shade I hadn't seen in twenty years. I reached up and touched my face. No u.v. block. Brief surge of panic. I looked at the sky again and realized that I wouldn't need it.

My son was sitting in the whitewashed risers paralleling the third base line, looking at me. He raised his hand in greeting. I gave him an answering wave and walked towards him. My heart was pounding in my chest.

He looked vibrant and full of life, like he did in the yellowed, age-curled pictures I kept in the shoebox on the top shelf of my bedroom closet. It clashed with my last memory of him--withered, emaciated body, skin stretched tight across skullbones framed by crisp hospital linen, sick, flickering light in his ancient child's eyes. I sat down next to him.

"Hi, Mike," I said.

"Hey, Mom."

It's crazy, but I couldn't think of a single thing to say to him. There was so much I wanted to tell him. (I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, baby). I wanted to take him in my arms and hold him to me and not let go. An inane thought came bubbling up to the surface of my mind--I wondered if he was hungry. It was a manageable thought, though, and I held on to it like a drowning swimmer clutching a life preserver.

"You hungry, champ?" I asked. My voice only cracked a little.

He smiled up at me. "Yeah." I saw Keith in that quick, sure grin and a surge of loss and anger passed through me like a hot, sudden wind, gone just as quickly.

A wicker basket suddenly appeared at my feet. The corners of a red and white checked cloth peeked out from under the edges of the lid.

"I've got some deviled ham," I said, knowing that it would be there. "And some Ho-Ho's for dessert."

"Great," he said, but it didn't sound right. I don't know why, but at that moment the illusion collapsed and I knew that it was just Alice there, Alice in a Michael suit, Alice strapped into a VS deck weaving a fiberoptic tapestry of ones and zeros with an insensate, cybernetic loom. To fool me into grace.

"This is bullshit," I said.

Michael frowned. "Mom...?" The frown was very good, very Michael-like, but the illusion was already shot.

"Just get me out of here, Alice. It's not working."

He sighed, shoulders set with the exaggerated exasperation of a child. "Okay," he nodded.

I closed my eyes and when I opened them again I was back in the VS room. I unstrapped myself and started to get up. A rush of vertigo sat me down again.

"Hey," Alice said. "Easy." Her face hovered over me like a cloud.

I looked at her accusingly. "I knew it was you. This is just bullshit gameplaying."

She shook her head. "You did very well for a first virtual session. Of course, your history helps you a lot here, but some people can't even interact in V-space at all. You created the ball park; you gave me enough cues to help build a consensual reality." She smiled gently and touched me on the shoulder. "We made progress today."