The Dream of Genes

Chapter 2: Eugene

I did not say goodbye. It had been more manageable, like it always was, to solely disappear, sparing myself the messy details of another farewell.

I sat in my wheelchair right in front of the incinerator. I had been staring at it for a while, contemplating my life. Since birth, my parents emphasised that I would win at everything I tried—and at first, I won. I tried and won many things. However, as I grew, I always seemed to fail at them. I never understood why they cheered for me as I stood on the silver podium. Why cheer for second best? I did not win.

I remembered the day I walked in front of that car. If one were ever to research what the tabloids said, they would claim that I was drunk when the car hit me: that it was not purely my fault. But they were mistaken; I was completely sober when I tried to take my life. I barely drank a glass or smoked a cigarette before the "accident." I did not remember much of what happened after I walked onto that busy road, but I remembered pain and people yelling. Thinking it was the end, I was happy because I had succeeded in doing something right.

Upon waking in a hospital cot, still in pain, I realised I would never again achieve the gold I desired—even at death, failure persisted. But now, I was worse than I had been before. I could not move my legs. I could not walk. I could not do anything right. Losing the ability to move my lower half diminished me as a person and made me less than a man. However, I did manage to kill something that day. I killed half of my soul, and so the other half must try even more today. I could not do it. I could not be Jerome Morrow. I could not be perfect anymore, especially not now, now that I was subjectively almost equal to an invalid. Now, I was one with the "healthy ill."

I had tried drinking myself to death and smoking my lungs out to die a slow death because I had brought this penance onto myself. But now that Vincent inspired me and gave me a reason to die, one where I could exchange my silver for gold, finally, I could make a meaningful contribution with my meaningless life.

I opened the door of the incinerator, the air pressure synthesizing with my breath. It opened effortlessly, staying ajar as I placed my hands on the final metal step I would have to climb over. Inside held no chair, and I had no help in my endeavor. Vincent would be taking my identity for the rest of his life as soon as I got rid of mine. He would not have to worry about me anymore. I gave him what he needed, and he gave me a reason to escape.

I pulled my torso across the steps and upon the thin ledge separating me from my death. With a few grunts and twists, I got my body to sit on the metal surface. With a few more, I was seated on the floor of the incinerator. I closed the door; it now had an airtight seal. The horizontal bars reminded me of a jail cell. I found myself locked in with almost no chance of escape. Soon, I would be burned alive and turned into ash, but did I truly want this?

I thought I did because I would save people the trouble of getting rid of me, but the heartache. Would they even care enough to grieve me? I did not know as I slid my hand into my pocket and pulled out my silver medal. Placing the red, white, and blue ribbon over my head, I relaxed with it on. I looked at it once more, bringing the cool metal closer to my eyes. The two swimmers looked as joyful as they could be as they raced each other, fighting for their lives. I got ready to push the button, stretching my arm just enough to graze it with my fingertips.

"Eugene?"

A familiar voice rang through the house. Only one person called me by my middle name, but he was supposed to be at Gattaca Aerospace Corporation on a rocket on launch pad 18 set to Titan. Why was he here? "Where are you?" Vincent asked.

I could hear his frantic steps pounding down the wooden stairs. I had no idea what to do. Why was he here? Why was he not in that rocket? Why did he come back?

"Eugene!" he yelled again.

It would only be a matter of time before he found me. I could kill myself now. I had provided Vincent with two lifetimes' worth of my DNA. He did not need me anymore, so why did he come back? I could not kill myself now. Vincent was here when he should have been on that rocket. Was that not his dream: to escape the earth that abandoned him? Why did he come back?

Vincent discovered me as the door hissed open. He looked exhausted as he leaned on the doorway, taking rapid and shallow breaths; his hair and clothing were all messed up. After he caught me in the act, we stared at each other as he caught his breath.

"Took you long enough," I said to break the silence. "My wheelchair is outside the incinerator, and you did not check there first?" I scoffed. "I am frankly surprised you got into Gattaca. You would have been hopeless without me."

Vincent blinked a few times as he processed my words. "So you aren't going to commit suicide?"

I closed my eyes, massaging them with my thumb and pointer. "Oh my goodness, of course I was going to kill myself, idiot."

"Then why didn't you?" he asked. His breathing returned to its typical speed.

"Because you're here!" I shouted, throwing a hand toward him.

We stayed in silence, neither of us exactly sure what to say. What do you say to someone who gave up their dream for you? What do you say to someone who almost killed themselves for you? What do you say to someone at this exact moment? I had no idea, and I am guessing neither did he.

My eyes drifted towards him like ice floating in the ocean. Finally, I got the courage to ask the question that ricocheted off the wall of my empty head. "Why did you come back?"

Like the last time we talked that morning, a hushed void occupied the expanse between our spoken words—time to process what was said and a moment to do something.

"I don't know...because you were going to kill yourself?" Vincent took out the envelope I had given him. I did not expect him to return. I thought he would have seen it my way—that he believed we would both be happy with this outcome. I guess I failed at that as well.

"But your dream..." I countered.

"Isn't worth a dead body," he finished.

Vincent continued, "Director Josef killed the administrator to achieve his dream, but ultimately, he never got to see it." He watched me as if he were looking into my soul through the pupils of my eyes. "Let's get you out of here."

Momentarily, he disappeared as he wheeled my chair closer to the door. As I had done before, I pulled myself up on the edge and then twisted my body so I was sitting on the thin metal. I did not need to notify Vincent anything as he pulled me up and placed me in my wheelchair. I looked back at the incinerator I was once in as Vincent wheeled me backwards a few feet. He walked in front of me and closed the incinerator, then locked it. It was like I was a baby who needed help to move around and needed all the dangerous things that I could get myself hurt with locked away. But Vincent would never say that my future was bright or that I was made for good things like my parents had promised and drilled into my head.

If only I tried.