You reach over with a thick furry finger and push save.
You like this body, you like your job, you like the relationship with Roger and you love Roger more than life itself. Further, you like how bright you’ve become thanks to the Chronivac. You’re not Einstein, but at 140 you’re smarter than the average Bear and an IQ of 120 is definitely average.
You feel sharp pains and itching on the skin of your upper arms as the last adjustments are made. You know there are a couple of really nice bear tattoos on your muscular arms now.
You turn the machine off and take it with you. It has done its job, for now. You have a new life so it’s time to leave the old one and walk out the door. Luckily, no one was home or they wouldn’t have recognized you as the boy who was their son, but even that memory fades as it’s replaced my memories of growing up in another house in a lot less nice neighborhood. Memories of a father that disowned you when he discovered his only son was gay; memories of being beaten and thrown out of the house to find you own way in the world at only sixteen by that same unloving man.
As you shut the door behind you and walk out to your truck, you put a cigar in your mouth and light it. You open the cab door, put the Chronivac on the seat next to you, get into the truck, start it up and drive home. Home, what a wonderful word! Roger waits for you there.
You wonder what Roger would do with the machine in the cab of your truck as you stop for beer at the corner Quicky-Mart.
You get back into your truck, checking out the cute sliver bear filling up his truck at the pumps, and then you drive home.
Roger’s BMW is in the driveway, it’s almost sunset.
You take the Chronivac with you and walk up the path to your door, puffing on the last of your cigar.
You open the door and are met by Roger.