Sighting

This was possibly a prairie falcon, although falcons are small raptors, comparatively.  It flew like an osprey or pterodactyl for all I know. It was probably a ferruginous hawk; I don’t think it was a golden eagle. None of those are native to here, according to the Audubon book, which might be outdated. It could have been an osprey.. That would have been impressive. It roosted in the small leafless roadside maple, just a little breeze.

I had to stop the car in the middle of the road that separated two sides of the brown deer golf course. It sat overpowering in a young tree, looking about the size of a healthy turkey or farm goose with a giant white fluffy breast. We stared at each other as I looked for traffic from ahead and behind. At some point I was going to have to scare it, I knew, but I had to point my arm in the direction to tell the drivers why my car was just sitting there. (Was he texting?) Maybe they would notice this beautiful creature and slow down. A feast for no one this year.

It leered at me and flew away. I couldn’t hear from across the road, but I could tell by the speed in which it flapped its wings, it’s sound was a giant bellows.

The Ruckus

Time is a relative device humans use to measure the accomplishments of the day. With time, they recouped their energy, rebuilt the damaged cells during sleep and recharged circulation and flow of energy. With that replaced time, their stressed and fragmented cells got a nice boost. Their bodies broke the molecular bonds, and with the energy, they resumed their work and body maintenance instead of eroding, crumbling, and spilling off into the universe, atoms for someone else’s miracle.

When they slept, they grew more of themselves, replacing the volumes and history that they knew, loved, and lived. Every seven years, they were a brand new set of cells. If they ignored this renewal, their own suffering cells suffocated, shriveled and discarded, blown away with the next high pressure system. They desperately desired to reel in their healthy, usable time, as it might not account for much with every passing tomorrow.

They had forgotten one thing—cells don’t grow when the body doesn’t breathe. The trouble is, in trying to make the 24-hour day into a 30 or 48, the people bent the bar until their minds and bodies, now overtaxed and in desperate need of a recharge, found themselves in impossible situations. They were suddenly unprepared to wrestle the task once so familiar. If they could only contain the time they lost every day and reuse it for rejuvenation, they would feel almost classy like a new ball of clay, a couple years younger than the tired wrinkles worn just the previous day.

With each prick of the finger, two tiny needles released from the stylus in rapid syncopation—one, two! Mesmerizing as it zapped index fingers, thumbs, big toes and pinkies, the little “click” like the pop a stapler or engage of a cocking shotgun were but a split second in so many lives. Such a small sound in a big world. Millions of these things.

Individual metabolic rates were recorded and stored in the Cordoba before archival with the private insurance company and DNA technologies. One of the drawbacks to the new insurance plan was that those who held government-provided health coverage were not covered for end-of-life time borrowing, ELTB. Of the almost one billion U.S. citizens, only half had private insurance.

The rest had the “Gov’ Plan”—an individual plan with no social security and no magic funds attached—enough so they could stay married to their big jobs and little homes with a small safety net.

Carlos Brown certainly got his work done. As demolition foreman for T-WREX Demolition and Recycling, he could align the crews, cranes, wrecking balls and dynamite, and after the dust had lifted, he would be ready at 5:30 to take his wife out to dinner and still have one more hour for his son’s little league team, the Mets. Carlos Brown and his crew operated the towering cranes, balanced almost beyond physics with advancements that they could stop a 5,000 pound wrecking ball like it was a game of tether.

But when Carlos Brown needed twelve or 48 hours, no matter, it comes right off his health insurance, just another tick from his end. With his life expectancy fully documented, he knows all the answers and all the health risks. Thankfully he will not develop heart disease, but with his rare blood type, expected glaucoma by age 50, and Parkinson’s by the age of 45, he hardly had enough time to plan and earn a savings without struggle for his family. At age 30 with his wife and little guy, there were not enough hours in the day.

The next day, a Friday, he had his meeting with T-WREX Human Resources about the personalized annual health report from Perreniage, his family’s provider. The human resources administrator pressed him. “So, how much of yourself did you replace this year, Mr. Brown? In 2025 you borrowed four and a half weeks—that’s a whole month Carlos,” she said.

“Says here one of these occurred on company time.” She needed just a little more background about why he would borrow time while he was working, especially in the field of demolition. Everyone has to report to a superior. He had broken his time pact.

Carlos Brown was not alone. There was Sammy and Shiny, Rickie and Frank, Floyd and Francine. Millions who wanted more and who would never settle for less, and had no qualm with loving their world as it occurred just then.

Cordoba

Once a week, the data inside each kiosk was destroyed, along with the jingly bag of spent blood samples now ready for discard as toxic waste.  Each week, the blue eco-van would pull up next to the automated machine, usually in the early hours when citizens in the neighborhoods of the upwardly mobile were sleeping or working.  The small, fastidious and anxious driver would race to get to another kiosk, or Cordoba, at yet another clinic.  Sometimes, the driver would hit sixteen stops on a busy Monday after a NASCAR weekend, only stopping for lunch or when the battery to the van needed changing.  As sentinels to identity theft, the drivers were cautious to the point of paranoia with each insecure step outside their vehicle.  The had endured the training of an FBI agent, on the cautious lookout for “time stealers.”

After a secure stow in the six gallon bio-waste bin located inside van, the small driver transported the fresh data and expired samples to the main clinic for verification with the client’s physician.  Following verification, the information specialist uploaded the new data to the orbit, and in one business morning it passed through a system of 26,2144 satellite mirrors and 512 sensors, before bouncing back to the mainframe in Provo, Utah.

Like the viruses they aim to contain, health clinics had spread wildly in the past few decades.  In the past year, over a half-million had opened in the western hemisphere, alone‑-each clinic a base for six to twelve mini-clinics.  At every clinic and at every kiosk, one could borrow the time necessary to finish the job right.  We choose, we sacrifice.  Sometimes, we want the moment back.