September 07, 2063:
What Tshimo hungered for most, however, was the meaning of the words he never heard her say. He remembered Kundera’s dictionary of words misunderstood. The Graphic Teleport Interface (GTI) that had whisked his Zinzi away brought to him the realization that he needed a dictionary of words unheard. He took a seat on one of the benches lining Thato Thuto Street.
“Zinzi” he muttered into his wrist watch. Images of Zinzi started floating about in the air projected from the watch. He lay down on the bench and let them swirl above him. A cat meowed. Reminding that he wasn’t alone and ought to be careful.
“Encrypt” he muttered into the wrist watch again as he put on his decrypting glasses. He had to ensure that no one else but him would see his collection. He zoomed in on one image of her laughing. He rotated it to see every side of her face. He checked to see if the freckles formed any decipherable pattern when she laughed. They were like stars on her face. Almost as if one could find a Venus or Leo type constellation. He tilted the image to see inside the nose, to see if he could make out any pattern from the nose hairs. He looked inside the ajar mouth; her pearly whites captivated him. He zoomed out and let the images swirl around him randomly. And he wondered.
He wondered what it would mean if she said ‘yes’. But yes to what? That mattered little to him. His concern was what would her ‘yes’ mean. To whichever question. She had never said yes to him. Granted she had never said a lot; but it stuck out like a backlit electronic device that she had never said yes to him. Even when he asked for her name. Even when he suggested that they be Facebook friends. She never said yes. Never agreed with him. And months later she was yet (he emphasized this – “yet”) to say yes to his Facebook request. Was she at least agreeable to his existence. K’ore if it were up to her, if she were god (as she progressively became to him every day she withheld her yes), would she have created him. Would she have given her ‘yes’ to his being.
But what would her yes mean? Would it be a passionate or otherwise? Would it be a yes-yes or a whatever-yes? Would it be a conclusive yes or a foundational yes? He had to know. It had been too long. Cowardice had lost it’s appeal to him.
“GTI Log” he muttered with authority into the watch. He would spend his last commercial credits to follow her. Zinzi’s images swiftly gave way to a list of departures, routes and arrivals. Thato Thuto Street was not on any of the lists. Obviously. This was the poorer section of the village. No one around here could afford teleportation. Zinzi had to have booked a private shuttle. He panicked. Private teleportation was the preserve of the very powerful. He was just a son of a hydroponics technician; what could he possibly offer her? The doors of cowardice opened widely; dejected, he dragged himself towards them.
‘What can I offer her,” he recalled the musings of the 20th century sage Tupac. Love? What was that worth, he wondered. Something ought to give. His heart was too weak, his brain too clouded with infatuation – he could no longer trust himself. But he had to know his true feelings for Zinzi. He whipped out his precision extractor node (pen) from his right knee pocket. That was the only way to reveal the truth. The pen lit up soon as it placed his thumb on the biometric scan. He sat up and doubt bedeviled him. To write about Zinzi would be to kill her. Through the pen he’d explore his deepest desires and live them out to their logical conclusion. Such knowledge would render her useless, it would reduce her to a mere muse for a fantasy. The wonder of the yes would disappear completely. Zinzi would just be a variable in a formula. He dared not kill her.
“You won’t be spilling any truths today my old friend,” he smirked. He let the pen wheeze out its last breath and shoved it back in the pocket.
The path of the rogue attracted him, he may have even blushed a bit at its advances. What other options were open to him? Patience had not served him well, if at all – he still held on to the hope of the ‘yet’. Zinzi was yet to say yes, he held steadfastly. His was just to bring matters to a head. He was ready to do so, where it not for the discriminatory teleportation services.
“Call Zinzi,” he instructed the wrist watch. Ellipses chased each other on its screen, ala Pacman. Panic seized him. Would she say yes to his call?
He imagined she had the standard interface on her device, although this was unlikely, given her social status. But he needed that interface for his fantasy. In it his picture and name appear on her screen, with the request “Do you accept this call?” And the options Yes or No. For him it would be definite enough, if she accepted the call, it would be a definite yes. His life would be complete. He could wrap everything up and descend into blissful in-existence.
The halo-gram was a bit fuzzy at first, but her voice came out clearly. It was a yes, not of his fantasy but a real yes. Albeit not a definite yes, something much better. It was an inviting ‘yes?’. The halo-gram gained some coherence, her puzzled face pierced through his panic. Pretty is ever. He smiled, all questions had been answered. Whatever followed was inconsequential. The yet was dead. The yes life affirming. His God had set forth the motion of his life.
Also published on Medium.