The Dandelion War

What happens when an 'Uber-Geek' tries to win the love of his heart.

The Dandelion War

My name is Eugene Goldman and I am dead.

By dead I don’t mean the kind of dead like when you really, really screw up and now your going to pay for it kind of dead. At least I didn’t think of it that way at first. Nor is it the mind numbing, physically exhausting dead you suffer after pulling three all-nighters. No, I mean the really, truly and completely dead kind of dead. You know; deceased, departed, late, lifeless, having bitten the dust, passed on, extinct, extinguished, met his maker, gone, no longer among the living, pushing up daisies, absolutely, and without a doubt, dead.

So, if I’m dead how can I be telling you this story? It‘s said that “dead men tell no tales” yet here I am about to explain to you how I ended up in my present, er... condition. Am I some apparition from the great beyond serving penance for some infraction that I‘m forever damned for?  You can say that it’s something like that. But before I get started let me first tell you something of what it was like growing up as me, it might help you understand later.

When I was in high school you couldn’t say that I was popular. As a fact of the matter, I was near-sighted, asthmatic and other kids in school would harassed me without mercy. Not a day would go by without some missile of either food or masticated cellulose pulp would hit me in the back of the head as I walked down the hallway. Purposely tripping me, or knocking off my books were the favorite past times of those who thought themselves as my betters. There were days when I spent as much time having my face pushed into a closed locker as having it in some book. My only friends were the other outcasts who shared with me that same affliction of not fitting in to any desirable clique. I did have one thing going for me, I had an active and quick mind and problem solving came easy to me. So, in the world of academics I was what you would have call an “Uber-Geek”. But my torment didn’t just end at school for at home I also had to face the constant criticisms from my father, the football coach, over what he saw as my shortcomings.

My mother raised me as a single parent after she and my dad divorced. She was a kind loving individual who fostered in me the gift I had for learning. All this was to change when I turn 15 and I had to move in with my father after my mother died. My father often called me a dreamer and would add that I was “lazy” and that I wouldn‘t “amount to nothing.”  As a high school football coach he preferred “brawn” over “brains” among “his boys”. It was his dedication, as well as, his iron determination that led his football team to become district champions five years in a row. When it became apparent that I would never aspire to be the “football legend” of his dreams, he made sure that he ever let his disappointment get in the way of his contempt. I can’t say that my life was total hell because Hell would have been a vacation spot.

On the last day of my freshman year at high school he said to me, “No offspring of mine is wasting his Summer reading silly books, oh no sir. We are going to teach you the value of hard work and an honest living.” To him this meant that I now had to pull my own weight around the old homestead by assisting him in those areas of maintenance that required physical labor. He didn’t care too much for lawn work and was too cheap to hire anyone to do it. So in his mind, nothing build character more then the hard labor involve in keeping his lawn pristine.

I won’t go into detail as to the condition of the old ‘Toro’ lawnmower, with its lack of yearly maintenance since it was first purchased sometime in antiquity, nor of the Herculean effort that it took to push that foul smelling, hydrocarbon spewing, circular scythe of a monstrosity around. I won’t talk about the many hours of back breaking rakes under the hot sun, or of the hedge trimming that had to be leveled to perfection. All I will say is that none of this compares to the haranguing I would receive if I allow, through my negligence, an herbal blight to creep into my father’s private domain. Such was his ire towards botanical pest that I too began to hate the weeds with equal ferocity.

And so began the Dandelion War.

All of my summer during that year I dedicated myself to no less then the complete eradication of Taraxacum and it’s cohorts, clover and Bermuda grass. Through intensive research at the local library I learn of their habits and weakness and worked on knowing my enemies well. I gathered all sorts of destructive gardening implements and herbicidal poisons and began my assault on these yellow flowered malefactors. In two weeks time I had reduced their number by half and by another two had wiped them out into extinction. Only at the fringes of my father’s property would they stay their advance for upon our land only fescues ruled. My father was flabbergasted. Soon though, upon his recovery, he was heard to say that it just proved how a little hard work and a lot of the right kind of motivation can build character. My father was not the only one that took notice of my results. Our next door neighbor, Mister Garvenson, was equally impressed and approached me one day to ask if I would be interested in achieving similar results on his lawn for monetary gain.

A job! My very first one!

I couldn’t pass the opportunity! He explained what and how he wanted his lawn to be cared for and of how much he thought he would be willing to pay. I countered it by explaining my  over head cost in gasoline and other implements, and of the man hours involved. After a bit more talk we both came to a price that was reasonable to the both of us. Later that evening, I talked it over with my dad and he said that as long as I didn’t neglect my duties at home (meaning continuing to keep his lawn looking good) and took special care of his equipment (meaning I purchase gas out of my own pocket) I could do as I pleased. Not only did this seem like a profitable endeavor it also provided me an opportunity to further my campaign against my horticultural nemesis.

I was able to bring Mister Garvenson property to par with our own in half the time. Soon word got around the neighborhood about my achievements in lawncare and in a short amount of time I found myself inundated with requests to do the same for others. By the end of July my clients had increased, my monetary income soared, and I had expanded to include the dozen homes around a three block area. Not one leafy trespasser took root within my empire without my knowledge and the green horde of unwanted interlopers were kept at bay. My father, possibly impressed by my achievements (and probably helped by the purchase of a new lawnmower on Father’s Day) was heard one day say that I was someone with potential. He even went so far as to introduce me to his friends, even though most already knew who I was since most were my clients.  Whenever they came over to watch a ballgame and “down a few”, I always stood on the fringe fetching beers and snacks as called for. It was during one of these gatherings that I met Bethany Fitzgerald.

She was petite, bubbly and with her long brown hair and wonderfully blue eyes a goddess of beauty and perfection. From the very first moment I laid eyes on her I was irreversibly smitten. On the day I met Beth, her mother had sent her on the errand to gather her wayward father. The entire encounter amount to nothing more then a brief inquiry by her as to her dad’s whereabouts and me mumbling incoherently as I pointed to the back of our house. But it was enough for me and soon my thoughts were filled with ideas as to how best I could make my adoration and consequential intentions known to her. I thought of sending her flowers and a card signed, “From A Secret Admirer”. But since Mrs. Frump of Frump’s Florist and Gardening knew me well, the “secret” wouldn’t have been a secret for long. Then I thought of balloons tied together in a fashion that spelt out her name inside a heart shaped border. Sounded great, that is, until I discovered the how number of balloons and the price of helium required made it unfeasible within my budget. Economy also nixed the idea of aerial sky writing. But I didn’t give up so easily. I came to the inevitable conclusion that the only possible opening left for me was to be direct and to do so face to face before the end of Summer vacation and the beginning of school. So after a day or so of gathering my courage, I walked down the block to her house, climbed the concrete steps that led to her wooden porch, and knocked on her front door.

Nothing happened.

I knocked again a little harder and stood waiting nervously. Then it occurred to me that maybe I should have check the drive way for a car to see if there was anyone home. Stepping lightly (though why I thought of doing so after banging loudly on their door I can‘t say I knew) I approached the end of the porch to take a look. That’s when I heard the door open and saw Beth looking to see who it was. I was still like game caught by a predator. She stared at me with an questioning look and I felt my mouth go dry. Then, as if she had a flash of insight, she turned her head and yelled inside, “Dad, it’s lawnboy from down the street.”

I stood there like an imbecilic deaf-mute with a severe case of autism. When Mister Fitzgerald arrive at the door I did manage to compose myself enough to at least mutter a slight “Hello”. It sounded more like a question rather then a statement.

“Well, hello to you too. You must be Frank’s boy?” My motors skills had finally recovered somewhat and I managed to nod an affirmative response.

“I hear you do a fantastic job on lawns. (yes nod) I talked to your dad and he’s agreed to allow you to do mine as well, unless of course, you already have too many to do? (yes nod) So you already have too many?” (NO, WAIT! a quick negative nod) Then you can do my lawn then?” (another yes nod) When can you start? (start? quick, think! damn you, paralysis) How about next Tuesday? (yes, yes nod) Very well, next Tuesday it is. We’ll be seeing you.”  And with that he closed the door.

It then hit me that coming to do the Fitzgerald’s lawn was not the reason I was there. Panicking I was about to knock on the door again when I stopped myself and thought of how this would be better. Now I had an chance to run into Beth at least once a week and may be able to talk to her. Fantastic scenarios filled my mind on how I will sweep Beth off her feet with my charm and intelligence. It was some years later that I was to remember that as Beth and her father turned away I heard her say “he’s a dork”  in response to an inaudible remark.

The August days moved swiftly towards Summer’s end and I labored frantically not only to meet my obligations, but in the hope of truly conversing with My True Love. Several times I’ve seen her when she would either be riding her bike down the street, or when she would be with her parents running errands. In those brief moments I would wave a hand, or shout a squeaking, “Hi Beth” to which she would respond either unenthusiastically (when prompted by her parents) or none at all (when she wasn’t with them). I had to do something, something that would attract her attention to me in a positive way. An idea came to me that seemed not only perfect, but fit within my cost and was efficiency in delivery. I carefully made plans, gathered all the materials needed, and began constructing what was later to be known as my greatest folly to date.

There was only one problem I had fail to foresee. You see, had I made any attempt to research Beth as I would usually do for any other subject, I would had learn that she, my Beth, already had a boyfriend. And not just any boyfriend, it was Jeffery Cunningham, the quarterback for the J.V. football team. Apparently, Mrs. Fitzgerald and Mrs. Cunningham had known each other in school before the Fitzgeralds had moved back. In their time of getting reacquainted Beth and Jeffery began seeing each other. On the day that my plan was to be unveiled, as I wore my best baby powder blue suit with the lemon yellow tie, as I held in my sweaty hands a bouquet of summer flowers, and stood in front of a very large and prominent sign that read, in six inch letters, “I LOVE YOU BETH FITZGERALD” as love songs played from a cassette, I was not aware that Beth and Jeffery were returning from a day at the lake with their friends. All eyes were upon me as Jeff pulled up the driveway in his car. Beth was vexed. Beth was mortified. Beth was livid.

All I can truly remember in that turmoil moment of anger and embarrassment was a lot of shouting, threats, and pushing around. I felt disassociated, as if I was not in the scene, while distantly feeling the muffled kicks and punches coming from Jeff and one of his friends. Beth, meanwhile, crimson cheek in anger remained seated in Jeff’s car looking down and away. I distantly heard the destructive crash of plastic as someone threw my tape player into the street. My sign, ripped and torn into many pieces, was scattered across the lawn as fallen leaves in Autumn.  My nose was bloodied and my suit grass stained as I got up after being knocked down several times. Later I would find the flowers I brought dead and trampled over a grated storm drain.

When school started, Beth never spoke to me, never acknowledged my existence, she became one of the others who thought me not even worthy of taunting and remain so up to when we graduated. But, before all that, before school began, she did take notice of me one last time. My business was suffering because of my despondent state and it became apparent that unless I recovered soon I would lose everything. It was while working the Ferguson's yard that noticed a shadow behind me. Startled I turn around quickly hoping it wasn’t Jeff coming around to beat me up again. Instead I found Beth standing there in front of me with her hands behind her back. For a moment I actually entertained the idea that all was forgiven and even went so far into believing that she had finally come around and had left Jeffery for me. That illusion was quickly shattered when she showed me what she held hidden- a very large bouquet of gray feathered dandelion heads. With one deep breath she blew as hard as she could and what didn’t flying right away she scattered across the lawn maliciously. Demoralized, I lost all interest in the fight against my foe I allowed myself to lose the Dandelion War.

That would have been the end of that if it weren’t for what I had learn during the Dandelion War. Sure, I could have just let my despondency take over and not care anymore but if I did that it wouldn’t have been too long before I’d find myself overrun by the green cancerous rhizomes of despair. If I were to have allowed myself that what would I have then? I’ll tell you what; a father who would hate me again, a business gone busted, no money, no friends and... still no Beth. I had to come up with a plan, a better plan, one that would guarantee success, one that would show them once and for all that I was not a loser. And then it came to me, The Plan. It was simple and foolproof and success almost guaranteed. The only hitch was that I first needed to learn patience.

One school year came and ended, Summer followed Spring and business was never better. The incident of the past year was mostly forgotten, although Beth still didn’t talk to me, and would continue to wane in the coming years. Fall came, school would start and then end, Spring then Summer, another year would go by and I would have yet another profitable year. By my third year of work I was able to hire a couple of guys giving me time to concentrate on other things. By graduation I not only had the means to afford college, I had the grades to apply to any place I wanted. My father was heard to say on that day that he always knew his son would be a success, all I need was a little encouragement from him. After much consideration I finally settled on an engineering degree specializing in robotics (What? You didn’t seriously believe I would be doing weed-killing all my life, did you?). As it turn out I was rather good at it.

Within four years I was able to develop ideas that were to lead to several successful patents. By the time I received my degree I was already working for one of the leading researchers in the robotic industry. Ten years later, I not only headed that company, I had started my own. Finally, ten more years after that, I was not only rich but had friends in places that gave me the kind of power I needed for my plan to work.  It was also around this time my father died of something to do with heart failure. The funny thing about it was that it didn’t surprise me any. It was thirty years since the Summer of my debacle and I was ready to act.

You see, I never forgot Beth.

Sure, there were other girls, and later women, who came and went in my life but none of them were Beth. A pale mimicry in comparison to the remembered brilliance of her specter was all they were to me. No woman could make me happy, no one could comfort me. I was alone and that is why the plan had to succeed. In the time that I grew in fortune I also gain in knowledge. I knew that soon would be the day that I could implement my plan and when it did come I was sufficiently ready.

Like I said, I never forgot Beth and as I developed the means to do so, I followed her progress in life. Indirectly and electronically, I learn of her attendance at state college to pursuit a career in teaching. Through hacked emails I learn how she had gotten a teaching job back in our home town, of how she reconnected with Jeffery, and of their eventually marriage. Through official records I learn of their first child, Elizabeth, and then of their next two, Clyde and Jeremy. Financial statements and tax filings told me of the money troubles they had accrue as part of raising a family and of living beyond their means. And then, after thirty-five years of waiting, I learn of Beth’s terminal cancer.

The Plan was simple, though the technology to implement it had to be created. I had come up with a technique by which the memory engrams of an individual  could be stored electronically. All the memories, the experiences that make up a person, perfectly preserved in a digitalized form and readily accessible at any given moment. With the click of a mouse and the running of a program any individual I so choose would be grant electronic immortality. That was the fate that awaited Beth Fitzgerald-Cunningham and... more. Once stored digitally, I could download it into any device I so choose including one that was articulated. Furthermore, this machine would not only speak but could have the ability to move and be fashioned in any appearance I so please. In other words, the plan was to take Beth and make her into a robot.

My only problem after solving the technical portion of it was in obtaining Beth’s memory engrams. The solution came when the cancer was detected and brain scans were require to monitor its progress. Through sources in the hospital I accessed her scans, ran it through software I had developed. Voila! electronically stored personality traits readily available. The process was slow and in order to obtain an accurate representation required many scans to be taken. Fortunately for me, as a major contributor to the hospital’s funding, I requested as many scans as I needed. Sure, Jeffery was to question it at first, but when he realized that it didn’t cost him anything he agreed to it much to Beth’s annoyed protestations. By the time Beth was at her deathbed, I had finally enough to reconstruct a perfectly detail copy of her. She died and I resurrected her.

The result was something I had not anticipated.

When she awoke in her mechanical body she was very distraught and confused. This was understandable because the very last brain scan was taken at the time of her death. I explained what had happen to her and of what she was now without being too technical. She was still very much confused but it seemed she was beginning to understand. And then I explain who I was and everything became clear to her. She wasn’t very happy to hear this at first. Then I pointed out to her that with a simple push of a button I could terminate her forever instantly. She seem more placid after hearing that and I decided to tell her the rest of my plan.

“So let me get this straight”, she said, “as far as anyone is concern I’m legally dead?”

“Yes, dead as dead can be. The records will show you died of an inoperable brain tumor and that Beth Fitzgerald-Cunningham is no more. You are free to chose the life you wish to lead”, I said.

“All that I was, all my memories, everything I ever was is now in this robotic body that will never age and never breakdown? No one will ever know the difference?”

“That’s right, never age, no breakdowns, and as for anyone being able to tell the difference, unless someone does a thorough microwave scan no one will ever suspect.”

“But why?”

“Because I love you, Beth.”

At this point I had imagined that she would be so overwhelmed with gratitude she would instantly embrace me and tell me how she was in love with me. Instead, she stood there as puzzled as she was before and maybe even more so. Then she asked, “So, what do you want in return?”

Not quite understanding that in Beth’s world everything was a matter of give and take, or nothing for something, I explained to her what she needed to do for me.

“So you’re going to sit in that chair, scan yourself in the same way you scanned me-”

“Almost, I got your scans from the hospital.”

“Right, you’re going to scan yourself and input your, eh... memory engrams?”

“Yes, memory engrams.”

“Memory engrams into this hard drive and then download them into me, my robot body, so that we’ll be together forever?”

“Yes, that’s the plan.”

“Okay, I’ll do it!”

Her answer was something unexpected so I hesitated at first. Only after she reassured me that she would agree and that everything would be fine did I strapped myself in the chair and began the process that would not only lead to my death but, to what I thought was going to be everlasting bliss. The moment I was out of the flesh and into the machine that is when my troubles began.

“I’m sorry, Eugene.”

“Sorry about what?” I asked, or thought, or processed nervously.

“I can’t do it. You see, things hadn’t turn out right in my life. Yes, I had a job, married my high school sweetheart, had children, but for all that I was still miserable. Part of the reason why I gave up the will to live was that I had found out Jeff was having an affair with a younger woman and that he was planning to run out on me and the kids. Also we were so heavily indebt I had to resort to embezzling money from the teacher’s association retirement fund. And just a week before I died I found out that my 16 year-old daughter is pregnant. Pregnant! Hell, Eugene, I’m too young to be a grandmother!”

“So what are you trying to say?”

“Don’t think that I’m ungrateful, or anything, you’ve given me a new start and everything, but I just can’t do what you ask. I have freedom to do as I want and with the abilities you’ve given me there is nothing I can’t do. I’m sorry, Eugene, but I got to leave you now and pursue my own dreams.”

“WAIT, WAIT, BETH YOU CAN’T DO THIS!”

“Good-bye, Eugene.“

Stiffly, but steady in her new robotic form, she walked out the door leaving me for dead in my digital nightmare.