The Internet President

Chapter 8 Stolen Memories

Chapter 8

Stolen Memories

Maria browses the contents of her bookcases along the walls of her living room. Movies and music blend on her shelves.

James sits on a couch and sets up his laptop on the unbroken table. He eyes the damage on the other table with guilt and embarrassment. The legs on the broken table hold up two triangular sections on either side of the crushed center. They point up like tents for two opposing camps. “It’s weird they put everything back. Did they stage the scene for the cops?”

He checks out their YouTube video. “Maria! Two point five million views! O.M.G.” He fist pumps.

Maria inventories her media collection with vacant eyes lost in her own world.

James checks for trending topics. Not there. He scowls at the laptop screen. James searches and reads recent tweets for his name. “Only fifty tweets about James Wong and most aren’t about me. I don’t understand.” His positive attitude wears down.

Frantic. James reads through the thousands of text comments on his video. The most popular topic is Maria’s curve-hugging power suit. Posters applaud the clothes as a statement not to judge women based on their appearance. Opposing comments discuss her hotness, including ratings in the eight to eleven range. Vulgar suggestions and a feminist backlash round out the debate.

James talks at his screen. “Maria, your outfit got us a lot of attention. I hope that translates to votes.”

Maria ignores James and mutters to herself. “Wrong genre, wrong shelf.” She separates music and movies into different bookcases with mechanical movements.

Many posts have the phrase “Unleash the Internet,” not always spelled correctly, with links to YouTube videos. James clicks.

Two Italian men in New York Yankee caps talk in a thick accent. “It’s not enough to bring down the two-party system. We need to give them the finger.” They flip off the camera in unison. “I’m voting none of the above,” says the guy on the left. “And more jobs. Fuhgeddaboudit.” says his friend. The video ends.

A man from Nebraska rambles for five minutes about how teaching prayer in schools would fix America. He ends his video by saying, “Vote none of the above and more jobs. I’m Alan Perry. I’m none of the above.”

Hundreds, maybe thousands, are claiming to be none of the above. Right, left, or middle, the videos represent every view. Tax the rich. Tax the poor. Abolish the IRS. Kill the EPA. Protect the environment. It’s a firestorm, every possible argument on the Internet distilled into one location. Everyone agrees to fix America. How is another story.

His agitation bubbles higher with each video. “Just what the Internet needs, more rants.”

Maria stares at a DVD case for Moonraker. Perhaps irritation is contagious. “Duplicates? I never.” She checks the disk for scratches. Panic and shock roll across her face. She inspects one after another in desperation.

James inhabits a separate hell, losing energy with each post that ignores him. The pranksters support the idea of a protest vote for the lulz. You can almost hear echoes of them laughing in the shadows. The Internet trolls pile on, just to rile up anyone they can. None of the above has become the Internet meme to end all memes.

He feels like he set off an atomic bomb by mistake. “I can’t even go viral right.” He lowers his head, dejected. The firestorm he ignited goes on without him. He slumps, a lonely ant in an anthill. He wallows in his disappointment until a scream startles him. He rushes to Maria, the source of the shriek.

Maria screams again. “Who the hell puts Hellraiser in a case for Forrest Gump?!” She positions her hands as claws with wild eyes, a feral animal ready to pounce.

James says, “Life is like an evil puzzle box. You never know what you’ll get.” His joke is no more successful than a deer staring down a predator.

Her lip twitches, like a dog ready to bark. “Out of order. Duplicates. Disks in the wrong cases. All my UFC fights are missing. Being shot at is one thing but violating me like this…” Maria’s voice trails off.

James holds his hands out to calm her. “You can put them back. I’d offer to help, but my ears were ringing for a week the last time I mishandled one of your disks.”

Maria takes a step towards him, angry, but in control. “They came into my home and had their way with my entire collection. I spent decades curating that collection.” Wetness trickles down her cheeks. Tremors rumble through her hands. “What if they do it again?”

James says, “Go digital. You don’t need the Dewey Decimal System. The computer sorts any way you want.” Perhaps he’s right, but she’s not ready to hear it.

“It’s not the same. Computers don’t solve everything. These aren’t even my disks.”

James takes in her meaning. Perhaps the police interrogation was a ruse for more time to switch cases. “Did you record your surveillance on disks? I assume that’s what they were after.”

Maria’s ears pick up. “What’s this sudden interest in the recordings?” She eyes James suspiciously. Her breath quickens.

“They threatened me in a police station!”

“They offered you something, didn’t they? What was their price?”

James pauses, unsure how Maria will react. “The price was you.”

Her body convulses. Tears stream down her cheeks. “Did you pay it?”

“Of course not,” James says.

Maria waves James off. “Don’t worry about the packages. It’s better you don’t know.” Maria calms and wipes tears from her eyes, angling away from James.

James expected her to be pissed, but crying? Maria is built of stone and steel. “Is this really about some disks?”

She walks to a bookshelf with her back to James. “Caring about people and things is a vulnerability. I’m not fond of being vulnerable.” She grabs a box set and returns with Robotech: The Complete Set. “Decades ago, this is what we bonded on. I liked the soap opera romances and—”

James finishes her sentence. “I liked the space battles. ThunderCats and He-Man, whatever. Robotech is what I ran home for.”

“What we ran home for.” She corrects him. They smile at each other and giggle like kids, a release from a difficult day.

She pulls out a Top g*n DVD from a shelf. “Do you remember when I introduced you to ice skating?”

“You tricked me,” James says with a laugh. “I thought we were going to watch ice skating. I didn’t figure it out until I noticed people in line with ice skates. My ankle has never been the same.”

Maria flips the case over. She shakes her head and points on the back. “This isn’t the same case. You left a coffee stain, a ring, right there.”

James gasps. “You went so volcanic that I thought you’d never speak to me again.”

“Each one of these is a memory,” Maria says. She puts Top g*n down and grabs a music CD, Enya’s Watermark. “This was playing the first time you invited me to join your Dungeons and Dragons group. I was the first girl.” The room is silent for a long pause as they reflect on happy times.

Maria opens the case. Empty. A stolen memory. “They rummaged through my past. This isn’t my collection anymore. This isn’t my past. They tore it away and left me with a forgery.”

James offers Maria a hug. She hesitates but then accepts.

“I didn’t know you were sentimental. You’re such a girl.” James grins in spite of himself.

Maria pulls away. She playfully punches his shoulder.

James pretends to be scared. “Don’t hurt me. I might have to call the cops.”

She glares at him. “Too soon.”

James says, “Sorry. But, you’re right. These memories are good reminders that life used to be more than a job or a company. Thank you. I’m sorry this happened to you.”

Maria looks James straight in the eye. “I hate politics. It’s quicksand for your soul.” She growls in frustration. “I want to hurt Renquist, hurt him bad. That requires money and power.” Maria groans softly, then sighs. Acceptance. “Your president idea. I’m all in, for real this time.”