from THE PROSPECT OF MY ARRIVAL
a novel by Dwight Okita
About My Name
I have been given the name Prospect because people have high hopes for me. I have high hopes for myself too, but right now I'm just staring out the windows of Trevor Gruehling's penthouse suite, watching the steady sweep of headlights across Lake Shore Drive. I must say, it's pretty high up here on the 56th floor. But a high view and a high hope are two different things. Don't ask me how. Don't force me to compare and contrast. I can't do it right now. I'm too worn out from a great night of dancing at Club Hallucination. Upstairs, Trevor and Kitty have jumped into the shower of the master bathroom. I jump into the shower downstairs because I need to remove the scent of smoke and alcohol that clings to my skin.
A chrome spiral staircase connects the main floor to the upper one. It reminds me of a big strand of DNA. Once I'm out of the shower, I feel new. I open a window. The gentle hush of traffic is surprisingly soothing. It is like putting a seashell to my ear but instead of hearing an ocean -- I hear a city and all its voices.
I hear a door swing open. "Prospect, you rat bastard!" shouts a voice from the floor above. "Are you stealing stuff down there? I've got security cams everywhere." He laughs.
"Why would I do that, Trevor? All I have to do is ask nicely and I'm sure you'll just give me things."
"Yeah, right," he says, but I think he's pulling my leg.
I sit on the endless leather sofa in Trevor's sunken living room. The sofa encircles the room. From just about anywhere you sit, you can watch the three huge plasma TV screens flicker with activity.
On the first TV screen, women on the Home Shopping Channel are modeling an ugly dress at an attractive price…and business is booming. 23,762 SOLD! The two women, identical twins, wear the same dress but in two different colors: chocolate mousse and butterscotch.
On the second screen, a crazed teenager boy kneels beside a bathtub, holding an older man underwater. The man's arms and legs thrash wildly and water flies everywhere. Finally the splashing comes to an end. The boy takes a hunting knife and slices off the man's head. He drops the head back into the tub with a plop, making tiny tidal waves in the water.
But I have to say it is the third screen that fascinates me the most. For it is on this screen that I witness the delicate growth of a human fetus. And then the baby is born and her body ripens into a healthy teenager with the hopeful beginnings of breasts. A cell phone floats down gently into her hand like a new appendage. Through the miracle of time-lapse photography -- I now see her body wrinkling, her brunette hair going undeniably gray, her spine curling into a question mark. And then she is dead. A thousand rose petals rain down upon her. It is so sad, I have to turn all the TVs off just to stop thinking about it.
I think back to what Trevor had told me in the car as we drove away from the nightclub. How enraged he was the first time he first heard about the Pre-Born Project. The notion of scientists again playing God, allowing an embryo to decide its own destiny. That was sacrilege. Not that Trevor was a church-going man. The thought of a pre-born looking at the world for the first time with an infinite sense of wonder -- this stirred in Trevor a curious mix of jealousy and longing.
I told him that I was sorry he'd lost his sense of wonder (he'd had it surgically removed!), and that if there was anything I could do to make up for his loss -- I'd consider it. And that's when Trevor mentioned the one thing that I could do.
"Prospect, my man, I'd like you to seriously consider quitting the Pre-Born Project," he said.
"Why?"
"Man does not have the right to control the destiny of future generations. Translation: Stop fucking with God's perfect plan." He urged me to give it deep consideration.
"I'm not trying to -- do anything to anyone's plan. I'm just trying to do the right thing. I'm just trying to help."
I asked Trevor what he'd do if I decided to remain with the project "If I told you that -- I'd have to kill you," he said. Then he smiled that smile of his.
But even now as I stand at the window watching cars zoom along the Drive, I know my answer. I can't withdraw from the Pre-Born Project. I'm too far into it to walk away now. I'm too, what's the word...invested. My thoughts are interrupted by a voice. "Prospect, aren't you coming to bed? Cat Woman and I want to tuck you in." (Her real name is Kitty, but he calls her different things depending on his mood.) I hear more giggling upstairs. Like the giggling of small children.
"I'll be up in a minute." I go to my knapsack and retrieve my toothbrush and paste. I don't mean to be rude by keeping my host waiting. As I brush my teeth, I wonder why my presence being requested. The answer lies at the top of that spiral staircase. I carefully climb the steps, moving toward where the giggling is coming from. I pause for a moment on the stairs. "Well don't stop now, Prospect, your public awaits you -- not to mention me and Kitty" he says. "Tomorrow, we'll talk about politics and art and where society is headed. But tonight – well, there's a lotta love in the room tonight."
There's that word peeking out at me again. Love. "I don't feel anything," I reply to Trevor.
"Are you sure?" he says. "Love is very magical. I'm definitely feeling something."
As I climb up the last stair, I suddenly find myself in the middle of Trevor's bedroom which is perfectly cylindrical in shape. But what strikes me most is the glass dome ceiling that comes down over his bedroom like a cake dome over a cake. At the exact center of his room is an enormous circular bed. I am invited to lie back on the bed by one very naked Trevor Gruehling. It is there, looking up, that I see an amazing view: the night sky scattered with stars…planes bound for parts unknown, their red tail lights streaking above us. I almost don't notice that on the other side of the bed is one very naked Cat Woman.
