Dr Jew

Falling, falling, falling. There was no sound for he falls to this day. The kitchen presented itself to him alone. In another world things could be different and land a different way. But then he would not be he, and who should he be? Who. He is here and things happened that are imprinted in time, the words, movements, emotions, peace that follows when he allows it to come back as it always does.
    Robot Raccoon would be missing him. It was time to go, as she had already done, as he would already do when it was done however long it remained undone. Turning his back on a kitchen he would never see again, it vanished behind him, evaporated.
    Now that it was done it was child 's play to make his way back to the living room where Robot tapped out a faithful rendition of "Chopsticks" that showed unvanquished obliviousness to Jew's absence or presence, Robot filling "Chopsticks" with all the insignificance that could be infused in such a dreary number.
    "Robot, I 've got to go," said Jew.
    Robot stopped playing piano and spun around. "What? You've only just arrived. Don't tell me you only came to piss in my toilet. You haven't touched your tea and we haven't played poker. No, I simply refuse to let you leave. Sit down, Jew boy."
    Jew remained standing. "You're still my friend and I don't want to be rude—"
    "So don 't be!" said Robot.
    "—but this isn 't about you at all. It's just me. I'm leaving… goodbye."
    "Alright, boy. It has been good to see you. Come again sometime. Anytime, yeah?"
    "Goodbye, Robot."
    They each turned a back on the other. Robot back to "Chopsticks" and Jew to the door.
    The words that rang through his mind were a mantra of one word that lost all meaning as it echoed and boomeranged. Goodbye Goodbye Goodbye. It was the first time he'd ever spoken the word, he was sure. Its finality was an axe that split two moments asunder to never meet again without the aid of a skilled quantum therapist.
    And where now this Goodbye that ran across a gray six o 'clock sky sunless and packed with clouds portending Goodbye, Goodbye. Each footstep. Each breath. Not just Goodbye and Forever but his Goodbye and Forever till death do us part. So inscribed and sewn.
    He walked the miles back to his home, his parents ' house.
    He pulled the screen door open and his mother sat watching television where something happened, people moved, nothingness to him.
    "Hello," he said.
    "Where have you been?" she said. "Your father's gonna kill you. You were supposed to mow that—"
    "Stop," he said. And it sounded so strange from a young boy to his mother. But he could not deny the words. "Just stop, Mother."
    She said nothin g more. She watched him pass bleary-eyed and vacant into his room and shut the door behind him. On the dining room table a plate of cold food awaited him and would keep waiting, not getting any colder for well beyond that point now.

IV.

    2004.
    After I was pardoned I shifted my research toward animals and ways that I might be of service to humanity. Popular Mechanics was the first to pick up on Dog Away. When I explained it to their man, he didn't get it.
    "Because dogs are sinister," I told him.
    No, he did not get it. Man's best friend and that rot. A dog's best friend is his next meal, I told him.
    They ran the article, barely accentuating my purpose, hinting at other possibilities for the technology, things so remote from its actual design that I wo ndered if it was really me who they had interviewed. But apparently someone else had seen the article and was on my wavelength: Alger Obert.
    I thought the first email was a prank. Oh right , Alger Obert is emailing me, about Dog Away, of all things.
    "I read the Popular Mechanics article with great interest. I've always had an aversion to dogs and want to learn more about this fascinating device. The article suggests it might not even make it to market. That would be a great shame. Please give me a call."
    I did call. But first I contacted the Chicago Moon-Times to see if it really was the great man's email. They confirmed it, so I used the number he'd sent me.
    "Hello?" said the voice that answered. It sounded just like the man I had seen many times in that famous balcony, lacerating movies with Jean Sasquale (RIP).
    "Hello… Alger?" I said.
    "This is Alger."
    "This is Dr. Jew."
    "Who?" he said. And for a second I thought it was a prank after all. Yes, this was Alger's number, but he didn't care about Dog Away. Why should he? I went on.
    "You… contacted