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A Chip on the Old Block

Lisa Gray

    “It’ll happen to you. Mark my words!”
    No, thought Glenn. Dementia wouldn’t happen to him. Not for a few years. He was only forty. He had his whole life ahead of him.
    His freedom wouldn’t be restricted. Like his mother’s was.
    It was all in her own interests of course, he told himself. She’d had to be admitted into the home. Those periods of forgetfulness had increased. The forgetting to eat. The forgetting to wash. To change her clothes. The forgetting she’d turned the stove on. And the forgetting to turn it off. There was no way she could look after herself any longer.
    And there was no way his mother was coming to live with him.
    Why, she’d already taken over his life when she’d lived in her own house. The endless stream of phone calls from her. His constant trips across town to check on her. And then the final straw. The disappearances.
    At least the operation had helped with that. Just as the government had decreed. Even though, unusually, he’d had reservations about it. Just like his mother had.
    In her lucid moments.
    “It’s necessary, Mom,” he’d said. “so I can always find you.”
    “Or someone else can,” his mother had retorted.
     “It’s for your own protection,” he added.
    “They’ll say that to you one day!” his mother said, acidly.
    No, that will never happen, Glenn thought. He would see he kept physically and mentally active till the end.
    He wasn’t like his mother. He wouldn’t let himself degenerate in old age.
    As his mother had done.
    He remembered the first time he had turned up at the house on the old block where he’d grown up. To find his mother gone. He’d scoured the neighbourhood for her and finally found her sitting under a tree.
    “Who are you?” she’d said.
    He had swallowed a sigh of exasperation.
    “It’s me, Mom, Glenn, your son,” he’d said.
     She’d looked him blankly in the eye and replied, “You’re not my son!”
    “Yes, I am. Don’t you remember?”
    She’d shot him that steely eyed look she’d always had and said, “I remember.”
    Thank the lord for that, he’d thought.
    “I remember everything,” she said.
    But she didn’t. Things had got steadily worse after that. More disappearances. Fewer lucid moments. The operation had certainly made it easier for him to find her, but, he had to admit, his mother’s decline had accelerated since she’d gone into the home.
    “Junk food, drugs and a diet of crap, brainless television!” she’d rallied, on one of his visits. “It’s all a government plot!” she’d said.
    God, she’s getting delusional, thought Glenn.
    “Get me out of here, son,” she’d said, an unusual plea in her voice.
    “I can’t, Mom,” he said. “I need to know you’re safe!”
    “Take me home, son,” she’d pleaded. “Please!”
    You can’t go home, he thought. Your house is up for sale.
    He’d been quick to put it on the market. But no sale had gone through. He needed the money to pay off some of his debts that he’d accrued in the now cashless society. And to pay the cost of keeping his Mom in the home. Sometimes the burden of that bill became too much for him and he contemplated the other recent government initiative.
    There had been a spate of them in these middle years of the twenty first century.
    Ending life in a dignified fashion. Not that he could discuss it with his mom.
    He remembered the first time he’d brought it up.
    “I’m not a bloody cat or dog! Getting a lethal injection or having poison in a drip! That’s how it all started! Before the chips. You won’t remember. And not one person complained about it either. It was all in their own interests and their owners, they said. Poor, bloody mites! I thought at the time. Walking round with an electronic chip in their body. God knows what that was doing to their health. And now I’m the same. I’ve never felt well since it happened.”
    “That’s all in your imagination, Mom,” he’d told her. “A bit like when you said you felt rays coming out from the television screen. There’s been a government assurance about micro chipping in people with dementia.”
    “And you believe everything the government tells you?” his mother whispered, pointing to the scar in her neck between her shoulder blades where the chip had been implanted. It did seem unusually large.
    “They’ve got our welfare at heart,” he’d said.
    “Just like you have mine,” she replied.
    Did he detect a bitter note?
    He was glad to leave the home and get in his driverless car to his penthouse apartment. At least he could relax now he was out of there. Be at ease. He didn’t have to concentrate on driving. The car was all controlled for him. Like almost everything nowadays. It made him feel safe. Comforted. He didn’t need to worry about carjacking. That had been virtually eliminated. No criminal would attempt that when he knew he could be tracked by satellite everywhere he went. The only downside of it was the car had been extortionately expensive. He’d be in debt for years paying it off. If only the sale of his mother’s house would go through. He needed the money to maintain his lifestyle. He turned on the television news.
    Just in time to miss something about the latest government initiative. Something about a trial experiment. On people forty and over.
    His mother was wrong. Life was so much easier and pleasanter than in the past. The government had made sure his health was taken care of. He’d had his twelfth inoculation this year to protect him from any potential illness he might develop. Though he had to admit he’d not been feeling good since the last one he’d had a week ago.
    It was probably because he hadn’t had his thirteenth.
    If he didn’t feel any better he’d go down to the local pharmacy. They would give him good advice about what drug to take to combat his sickness. After all, he wouldn’t notice one more pill on top of the twenty seven he was already taking. Yes, mankind had made leaps and strides since the Millenium. He opened the cupboard. Why, he didn’t even have put up with the ugly, dirty, misshapen vegetables his mother had prepared in his youth! Or even cook. Everything was dried, preserved or packaged. For ease. The few dissenters who’d maintained that factory produced food was full of sugar, salt, chemicals and additives and was contributing to a sick society had, quite rightly, been sent packing.
    No one had the right to halt progress.
     A warning buzz sounded on the television screen and a caption appeared.
    “Tornado Warning! Proceed to the basement!”
    He proceeded to the elevator and joined the throngs of other people making their way down.
    No one spoke. There was no point. Different nationalities. Different languages. You couldn’t communicate with them. Even if it was safe to do so. Sometimes he did feel isolated and alone. Powerless. Still, what did he need power for? That was the job of others. Wasn’t it?
    But strange how the weather had got more severe since the Millenium. There had been whispers of government intervention.
    But no one could control the weather, could they? And why would they want to?
    And yet there was no doubt these tornado warnings were getting more frequent.
    He’d never actually seen a tornado. From the basement you could see nothing.
    Nothing.
    But when he returned to his apartment, things had been moved. Touched.
    Probably the agents of the government making sure his and all the other apartments were safe. It was good to know that. That they were keeping an eye on him.
    Like he was keeping an eye on his Mom.
    His phone ringing startled him.
    “Yes?” he said.
    “I’m afraid I’ve got to inform you that your mother has gone walkabout!” said a severe sounding voice. “She used the tornado warning to slip away from the basement of the home.”
    “But you can track her by the chip, can’t you?” he said.
    He had nothing to worry about. His mother would be taken care of.
    “You mean the micro-GPS receiver!” said the imperious voice. “A chip just gives access to your mother’s data, should anyone locate her. A micro-GPS receiver is what locates her.”
    Chips. GPS receivers. What difference did it make? All this information technology was giving him a headache.
    “Well, presumably you can locate her by the whatever?”
    “Unfortunately we can only locate her for a few hours. The power source for our technology is not sufficiently developed for long term use at the present. We are experimenting on this at the moment.”
    I bet you are, he thought. He knew GPS was a multi billion dollar industry in these middle years of the twenty first century. And set to get bigger.
    They couldn’t afford to lose someone. The bad publicity would be lethal.
    “Your mother’s last location was in the vicinity of her old house. It is your duty as a global citizen to locate her and return her to us.”
    He didn’t like the woman’s tone. Wasn’t it her duty to keep track of his Mom? Wasn’t that what he was paying for?
    Still it wouldn’t do to antagonise her. He didn’t want his mother back on his doorstep.
    “I’ll see if I can locate her,” he said.
    “You do that!”
    As he replaced the receiver, annoyed at the woman’s inference, a worried thought crossed his mind.
    What if his Mom accessed the house? He thought of the snub nosed revolver she had always kept hidden in a drawer.
    “I’m taking no chances!” she’d always said.
    He’d been meaning to get rid of it when he cleared the house out. But he’d procrastinated.
    What if she got hold of the revolver? Would she attempt suicide? He knew how much she hated the home.
    And then another thought took hold. What if she did? Wouldn’t that be a blessing?
    No more retirement home fees to pay. He could take possession of her house, sell it and pocket the proceeds.
    Still, one way or another, he had to find his Mom. He’d go to her house first.
    She’s found it all right, he thought, as he rummaged in the bureau drawer, an hour later.
    The revolver was missing.
    It was lying on the ground, beside her, under the same old tree.
    At the sound of his approach, she jumped up, grabbed the revolver and started waving it threateningly.
    “Who are you?” she said.
    He sighed, tired of the same old scenario.
    He pictured the gun going off.
    “It’s me, Mom, Glenn, your son.”
    “You’re not my son.”
    Her voice was panicky. Anxious.
    “Yes, I am. Don’t you remember?”
    She shot him that steely eyed look she’d always had and said, “I remember.”
    Thank the lord for that, he thought.
     Or should I?
    “I remember everything,” she said.
    I’ve got to get the revolver off her, he thought. It was waving about dangerously.
    A thought occurred to him. What if it went off accidentally? In the struggle. No one would ever know. And it would be a blessing.
    He took a step nearer his Mom.
    She pointed the gun steadily at his chest.
    “I told you it would happen,” she said.
    What was she rambling on about?
    “They’re going to do it to you!” she said.
    “Do what, Mom?” he said, gently, taking a step nearer her.
    He had to distract her.
    “I heard it on the television.”
    “Heard what, Mom?”
    He could almost reach out and touch her.
    “That’s why I’ve got to do it,” she said.
    One more step was all it would take to reach her and wrestle with the gun. It was almost over.
    “Do what, Mom?”
    He prepared to grab the gun.
    But his foot froze.
    “Kill you,” she said matter-of-factly.
    “Kill me!”
    It was something he’d never contemplated.
    “It’s for your own good, son,” she said, “so they can’t give you the operation, too.”
    “The operation?”
    All thought of movement had gone.
    “I heard it on the television. They’re going to have compulsory GPS receivers implanted in everyone forty and over. They’re saying they’re working on developing extended power sources. They say it’s for your own protection. But it’s all a lie, son. They just want to restrict your freedom.”
    There was a pause.
    “Like you did mine.”
    The clause was cutting.
    He felt powerless, remembering the tail end of the news bulletin he’d caught.
    A government experiment. Something to do with people forty and over.
    “It must be for our protection,” he repeated, unwilling to believe what he was hearing.
    “They’ll say that. Then they’ll start experimenting on you. Say it’s in your own interests. Treat you with drugs. Say you’re incapable of living alone. Take your property away.”
    He thought of the way things had been touched. Moved. In his apartment.
    “There’s no escape. They’ll always be able to find you.”
    She pointed at the scar between her shoulder blades.
    “You’ll be just like me!”
    His mouth dropped open.
    She lifted the revolver and positioned it directly between his eyes.
    “No mother would want to see that happening to her son. However he’s treated her!” she added.
    His eyes widened in horror.
    His mother wasn’t going to commit suicide. And she wasn’t going to die accidentally wrestling with a gun.
    She was going to shoot him!
    Her finger slowly squeezed the trigger.
    He wouldn’t degenerate in old age. He didn’t have his whole life in front of him.
    His mother had.
    She pulled the trigger hard.
    “You’re a chip on the old block, after all,” she said, smiling.

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