The Dream of Genes

Chapter 9: Eugene

We drove up to her house. The contemporary beach home looked to cost around thirty million dollars, and it seemed to be worth every cent because of its sleek and modern yet natural and comfortable appearance, combining the two worlds into a beautiful piece of architecture. It was captivating. The long, thin strips of wood stacked horizontally on the exterior made me think of a sunrise. In addition, a handful of palm trees stood proud a few meters above the house as a wide variety of short shrubbery hugged their lower trunks like children on their father's legs. Yet, the white roof was flat on the top, but places where it protruded out were curved on the bottom, making it look like a vast flower bed positioned on the sides of the building. A bird sang as it took flight from atop one of the palms.

There appeared to be a guest house to our right that had the same cedar sunrise pattern. The two houses were only vaguely connected by more vegetation: a tree whose limbs and silhouette helped bridge over a paved stone path and a lush bush on the other side of the path that had leaves exploding outward, which made it look like it was reaching for help. It could have probably used good pruning, as its thin branches crawled, swaying a little in the breeze as it blocked a part of the path. I rolled down the window and took in a breath of the fresh air. It was crisp with a hint of salt and better than the one in our condominium.

Vincent drove the car to the right, where a steel-blue Cit­roën DS Cabri­o­let sat right outside the wooden exterior garage. Luckily, Vincent parked to the right of her car, so I had an easier time departing. I retraced my steps, unfolding my chair and preparing everything accordingly.

By my side, Vincent patiently waited as I eased myself back onto my fully-formed wheelchair. "I meant to ask you this, but what do you think about being driven everywhere? Being chauffeured everywhere? You never have to worry about driving with bad drivers or being afraid of getting hit by a—never mind." Vincent's lips slammed shut as a flush of pink hit his cheeks.

A smirk reached my face. "You think I'm afraid of getting hit by a car again?" I asked but did not wait for him to respond as I wheeled myself upon the slightly sandy paved stone. "Let me tell you, I have already gotten hit by a car in this before," I said, motioning towards my wheelchair with a simple head nod as I pushed on the wheels to propel myself forward. "But do not think I cannot drive. I have the option to; I only do not because I have you."

"Me?" Vincent said before snapping his head toward me, his wide-eyed expression of shock so apparent that I did not need to look at him to know. "That's what happened to you that night!?"

I ignored his second question as I said, "There is an extension that they sell which connects to the pedals. You can push down for the stick to brake and push the button on the top with your thumb for the gas. In the past, I used it once or twice, but I never really had anywhere to go, so when you entered my life, I thought it would be best to keep it out of your way and let you drive with a bit more legroom."

"Oh, I guess that makes sense," Vincent muttered as the sandy surface turned to a clean wooden one.

Vincent rang the doorbell, and we both stayed silent as we listened to the sound of feet charging down a flight of stairs like raindrops splashing upon the Earth on a stormy day. We heard her turn a corner before we could see each other from behind the two transparent front doors.

She stopped point-blank, and I knew why her eyes blinked like that—why she hesitated to open the door. The slight smile disappeared from my face when she noticed my paraplegic body sitting in a wheelchair. Irene instead looked at Vincent and opened a door for us.

"Come in, Jerome," she said to Vincent.

I knew that the topic of names would more or less come up soon, so as I passed the nearly invisible threshold, I said, "You may call me Eugene."

"My name is Irene Cassini," she said in a honeyed tone.

"Oh, I know, sweetheart," I said, wheeling past her to Vincent's side. So that was her name, Irene. I felt the sudden urge to 'accidentally' ride over her toes but chose not to. I grimaced. It had been a while since anyone but Vicnet had seen me in a wheelchair. I had forgotten how much lower I was now compared to the rest.

"Jerome, have you contacted the new Mission Director yet?" she said, walking before Vincent.

I looked up at him. "Oh, no. No, I did not. I need to do that. Can I borrow your phone?" Vincent said. He seemed more nervous in her presence. I looked over at Irene; her blue eyes were penetrating and looked like they belonged to a judge.

"My phone is not a good idea—he would know you were here. Use your portable wristphone instead. It would help try to amend the first impression of you to the director." As Irene spoke, Vincent moved his arm to his chest and pulled his cuffs back, revealing his portable wristphone.

"What's his name again?"

"Mission Director Chino."

"Thank you," Vincent said, getting a connection ready. He took a few steps and turned left to what looked to be a dining room. As he talked, I could only hear mumbles and incomprehensible lines.

Irene looked at me, and I looked at her. She wore a black suit and a pencil skirt, complemented by a tall white collar. It was the same thing I imagined every female at Gattaca Aerospace Corporation would wear. The only thing that made her different was her genes. I wondered what her number was if she could work at Gattaca.

I was clueless about what to say to her, and she seemed not to know what to say to me. I wondered what was going through her head. Is this what children sitting outside the principal's office felt like? We both did not want to be here, yet we were.

After what felt like forever, Irene finally said, "Would you like a tour?"

"Sure, why not? It's not like I have anything better to do here," I said because it was the truth. The only reason I was here was because I could not be trusted to be left alone. We were wasting both of our time being here.

Irene took a few steps towards the living room before she stopped. I followed her slowly. She didn't say anything as I looked at the open room. The room seemed homey with its coffee tables, white sofas, and decorative ocean blue throw pillows, matching the ocean on the horizon behind them in wall windows so clear that it looked like they were not there. Yet, the room appeared untouched due to its immaculate condition.

I looked up to find that Irene was already looking at me. "It looks fine," I said. It was definitely better than our stale condominium, but I was not concerned about that.

"Will you be staying the night here?" she asked, not moving a centimetre.

"I'm not sure," I said. "Jerome will answer that, I guess."

"I'll show you to your room, then."

Irene returned to the front door and exited, taking a sharp left turn. We passed the bush monster as I tried to follow Irene across a thin path of patio, maybe obstructed by lounge chairs and tables. There were so many of them; I wondered why she would need them all. Why have such a lavish house just for one person? My wheelchair was not level as one wheel was on the hardwood, and the other rolled on the well-manicured lawn.

She guided me along a stone path adorned with grass, designed to mimic nature but unmistakably crafted by human hands. I thought it belonged to someone else, but as Irene opened a sliding door leading to a small blue room with minimal furniture: a wooden shelf, a couple of chairs, and...a bathtub? I did a double-take as I looked at the white porcelain tub sitting in the corner.

"If you are staying here, this will be your room."

"Whatever." I rolled my eyes. This excursion was so dumb.