Cigars for Sawyer Read online

  ***

  When I arrived at my apartment I slammed the door behind me and flopped down on my cheap twin bed, sulking. I wanted to cut out my memories, and start over. It was a perfectly accepted practice, after all. Of course, the Memory Eater's track record wasn't without flaw, but what technology was? I could erase Uncle Chuck, and Sawyer too; I would just have to deal with mother's hate for the device.

  I couldn't believe Sawyer would say that to me. Had I failed him somehow? I had thought we were making progress, that he was making progress, but as I considered it further I realized that the signs were there.

  I rolled over, and saw the tobacco box on my nightstand, then flipped back on to my other side. In the last session I had had with Sawyer before today he had scribbled a note that he felt worthless, and unproductive. I tried to use humor with him to brush it off, thinking he was just having a bad day. But then I had to convince him to do his physical therapy, which, come to think of it, I never had to do. He had always been so motivated. I've been told that before his accident he had been very athletic, and that he had a bright future working with my uncle at the University. Now he had been rendered a shadow of his former self. For months I asked what had happened to put him in the hospital, but no one would talk. It was strange. Like everyone knew but me.

  Putting the tobacco box out of my mind was more difficult than I had thought. The seal made me think of my uncle's way. He was old fashioned, and thoughtful. I mean, who uses wax seals on anything anymore? We lived in a world of bar codes, and microchips, but Uncle Chuck uses wax seals. It was the novelty in it, I supposed, kind of like the cigars. You use cigars to celebrate.

  Sitting up, I kicked my legs over the bed and picked up the box, and set it on my lap. The box was polished, and made of fine quality wood. It smelled slightly sweet, and inviting.

  If uncle chuck had given me the box, he would have wanted me to open it, wouldn't he? Then why the seal? I had initially told myself that it was a collector’s item, and that he would have wanted me to keep it in mint condition. Maybe he thought I could sell it for a good price. No, he would have just given me the money.

  I grabbed a pen from the night stand, and tried to run it underneath the wax seal, but the pen broke. I lifted the box so I could take a closer look. While the seal had looked like wax, upon further examination it seemed to actually be metallic. It was only made to look like wax. I also noticed that just below each of my uncle's initials were two oval depressions that, now that I noticed them, just seemed to be out of place.

  On a whim, I placed a thumb in each one, more to measure them than anything, and something happened. A thin band of white light appeared behind my thumbs and ran across the depressions, finishing with an electronic whirring, and finally, a click. The seal separated.

  Now that seemed a little more like my uncle. Charles Xavier was a modern day renaissance man.

  I lifted the lid, still marveling at the curious little box, and wondering why my uncle left it to me. The sweet smell of tobacco quickly filled my room as I laid eyes on the top row of cigars that populated the box. I had never smoked before, but the smell was alluring.

  I picked up a plump cigar, weighed it in my hand, and ran it under my nose. Then, I felt silly. My uncle had really just left me a bunch of cigars, hadn't he? There was nothing to remember him by, certainly nothing to celebrate.

  Irritated again, I put the cigar back in the box, and in that moment I realized that something was off. For a split second I thought that I had noticed an oddity, just underneath where my cigar had been.

  I removed my cigar again, and then another, and another. With the top layer of cigars gone, I could clearly see some type of black slate where the wooden bottom of the tobacco box should have been. It seemed like a portable device of sorts, and what was stranger, it seemed familiar.

  I reached in the box, and gently lifted out the shiny black slate. I set it on my lap, rotated it, and flipped it over, trying to find any distinguishing features along its smooth, onyx-like surfaces.

  After tinkering with the slate for a few minutes I gave up, and set it on the bed. I proceeded to pick up the cigars, and put them back into the box when my apartment door buzzed.

  I made my way to the door, and activated its display, grateful for some kind of distraction. "Hello dear," my mother said getting too close to the camera outside the entrance to the building. "I haven't seen you for several weeks."

  "You should have been in attendance yesterday, Mom," I said. "Your brother died for heaven's sake."

  "You know how I felt about your uncle," Mother said dismissing my comment. "Now let me up dear, so we can visit please. We have much to discuss."

  Then, I heard a noise from somewhere behind me that sounded like a TV. The thing is, I didn't own one.

  I looked back, and there, on my bed, the black slate whirred, and flickered. An impatient looking image of my uncle's face projected a foot or so above the slate. Then I heard his voice.

  "Ben. Let's begin."

  I turned back to the display and stepped to the side to better block the camera just as my mother spoke. "Ben, what is that behind you? Is someone in your apartment? Is it... a girl?"

  "Uh, Mom," I hesitated, absorbing the surprise in her voice. "Now's not really a good time." She lifted a playful eyebrow, and I turned off the display.

  The door display buzzed again as I bounded back to my bed.

  "Uncle Chuck?" I said desperately as I knelt next to the strange device, but the hologram was gone.

  "Don't leave me again," I mumbled as I buried my face in my bedding. I didn't think I'd be able to handle this, not again. He was just here. I would erase it all, just to spite mother. Didn't think I could have a girl in here? I thought I might just erase her too.

  Then I heard a strange bleeping sound, and looked up. The black slate came alive again, this time with vibrant teal text intended for me. It was my uncle. He had left me some kind of instructions.