The Jean Walsworth Operaton
by Melissa Wee
“We keep you alive for one year. Then we pull the plug and your fantasy fades away quickly and painlessly.”
Jim inhaled sharply and looked at the man before him. He wore not a lab coat to prove his scientific genius. Nor an expensive suit to flaunt his wealth. Nor a funky sweater to express his quirkiness. But, well, nothing at all. The naked man eyed Jim carefully.
“Something wrong?” A question people were always asking Jim. Jim had shabby brown hair, dark eyes with dark circles around them, and stubble, no matter how many times he shaved. Poor Jim always looked tired.
“It’s just… why only one year?”
“100 years of paradise or one, what difference does it make?”
Jim’s eyes searched the room for something to occupy himself with. Something other than the unyielding eyes of naked Dr. WhateverHisNameIs. But the walls were blank: no framed diplomas, certificates, or credentials. No windows. The only piece of furniture was the desk. And the only thing on the desk was a cardboard placard with “Dr. Jean Walsworth” handwritten neatly in sharpie. “Dr. Jean Walsworth,” the name Jim had read in countless headlines and heard in countless conversations, was all Jim needed to trust the smiling, naked man before him. No, Dr. Jean Walsworth, the multibillionaire groundbreaker in the field of neuroscience or, as Dr. Walsworth called it, the field of “figuring out that mushy brain stuff”, did not need to show off diplomas, buy proper placards, or wear clothes to instill confidence in his patients. Jim straightened his tie.
“It’s just… I don’t know if I’m ready… to go… yet.”
Dr. Walsworth nodded his head gravely. “Then I must ask you to leave immediately.”
“What?” Jim had waited weeks for this appointment, dwelled months over this decision, and had saved up years for this procedure.
“My friend, doing this is going. You’re leaving your friends, your family, your job, your life. And if you’re not ready for death, if you’re not ready for your life to end, then you’re not ready for your life to end. Understand?”
“… I think.”
Jim shifted in his seat while Dr. Walsworth watched him carefully. The ticking of a clock that Jim couldn’t see echoed slightly in the room. Jim closed his eyes and tried to imagine leaving his shallow friends, his insane family, his mundane job, his dreary life. Jim smiled, opened his eyes, straightened his tie and took a deep breath.
“But… I mean, I can be ready.” Dr. Walsworth smiled.
“I understand,” Dr. Walsworth said, leaning back in his chair, “You’ll have to make arrangements, write a will, say good bye. It’ll take time. We’ll continue on with the boring paperwork for now.” Dr. Walsworth placed a metal briefcase on the desk. “But when the day we crack your head open comes, you must be at least ninety-seven to ninety eight percent prepared to end your life.” He slid the case towards Jim.
“Inside are all the details of the timeline, the surgery, how all this super trippy brain stuff works, blah blah blah, all boring. Most importantly, I want you to complete ‘Fulfilling Your Fantasy: A Guide to Your Dreams,’ so your three million and something dollars won’t go to waste and we’ll imitate your ideal fantasy world to the best of our abilities. ”
“Right,” Jim said, taking the briefcase.
“It’s been a pleasure,” Dr. Walsworth said standing up, hand out. Jim winced slightly as Dr. Walsworth’s goods came directly into his line of vision. He stood up quickly and took his hand. “Please visit me when you’re ready to end your life.”
*****
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY JIM!!!!”
Jim stood in the doorway of his little apartment, his briefcase in hand, slowly absorbing the horrors his family and friends had inflicted upon his apartment. Tacky rainbow streamers taped mercilessly on his beautiful Autumn Sunset Orange paint job. Fifty-something pairs of dirty shoes staining his beautiful Banana Cream White carpeting. And of course, those familiar smiling faces, each capped with its own reflective, smiling Barney birthday hat (probably on sale at Walmart), waiting for his reaction. After the last piece of confetti dropped, one of the thousands Jim would undoubtedly labor hours over vacuuming later tonight, Jim forced a smile.
“Thanks, people.”
“Well,” Selena, Jim’s girlfriend, hiccupped, “Jimmy, darling, we looooove you!” She took a swig from her beer, dropped it to the ground (a spill Jim would undoubtedly spend hours scrubbing clean later tonight), and flung herself at Jim in a weighty embrace.
“She’s such a goddamn lush,” Jim’s mother half-yelled to one of Jim’s coworkers, “Hardly better than Jim’s cocaine-addict prostitute of an ex!”
Selena didn’t seem to hear but instead clumsily tore off Jim’s suit coat and took his briefcase, “I’ll put these away so you can have fun at your partaaaay, my birthday boy boo!”
“I’d go off my meds and kill myself before I see that slut as my daughter in law.”
Zach, Jim’s lifelong best friend, handed him a small, round present. “Go on, open it!”
“Now?” Jim said, examining it.
“Yeah, it’s nothing big, just wanted you to open it now so it won’t look bad next to all those big fancy presents.” Zach pointed to the pile of presents, which consisted of three cards, an opened bottle of wine with a bow on it, and cheesecake.
Jim unwrapped it to find an old baseball. “…Wow, Zach. Thanks.”
“Remember that time you hit my baseball over to Ms. Winiper’s garden? And you felt so bad that you climbed her fence? And got so mauled by her poodle that you had to get twenty-seven stitches?”
“I’ll never forget.” Jim subconsciously rubbed the vulgar scar on his nose.
“Well, this is the ball. Hit her rain gutter and bounced back. Never made it to her yard. I just wanted to see if you’d actually go and get it. And from that moment on I never doubted our friendship for a second, my pal.”
Zach embraced the blinking Jim.
“These two have always been a little gay.” Jim’s mother shook her head. “I’d always tell Jim I didn’t want to see him with any of his homo friends, but this one stuck around. Probably gonna elope tonight.”
Jim pulled away from the hug and groaned, “Ma, come on, enough of that.”
“A mother knows these sorta things Jim. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. I can sense the sexual tension. A mother knows.”
Zach coughed, said “I’m going to try some of that wine” and left.
Jim was planning an escape through the bathroom window when Selena stumbled into the room sobbing. She glared at Jim and shouted, “Is it the SEX?!”
“What?” Jim asked, blinking.
“It’s the sex, isn’t it?!”
“Selena, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jim said, feeling the staring eyes of his co-workers, extended family, and boss.
“THIS!” Selena said, holding up the metal briefcase with one hand and a manual in the other. “‘Fufilling Your Fantasy: A Guide to Your Dreams’!!! Is the sex so bad that you’re resorting to,” Selena opened the manual and read, “ ‘amazingly realistic sensory experiences through stimulation of neurons’?!”
“Selena, this isn’t about sex….”
“Then what is it about, Jimmy, what IS it about?!”
“The skank has a point,” Jim’s mother said, snatching the manual, “What is this about?”
Jim sighed. “Well I guess I was gonna have to tell you all eventually… I’ve decided to have the Jean Walsworth operation.”
The entire room gasped and started muttering.
“Uncle Jim, what a ‘Jean Walswa opration’?” Jim’s four year old niece asked, sucking and slobbering on Jim’s mobile phone.
“Well, Susie, what they’re going to do is crack my head open,” Zach started choking on his cheesecake, “take off my skull, replace my skull with a brand new one that can send electric signals into my brain and with those electric signals create any fantasy world I could dream of.”
“Crack open your head?”
“Yeah, and during that time they’ll keep the rest of my body working by giving me air, food, and water through little tubes. But, after a year, they’ll cut off my oxygen supply and let me die.”
“Die?” Little Susie, dropped Jim’s now soaking phone, took off her Barney birthday hat and sat down.
Jim’s mother shook her head slowly, “Die, Jimmy? I can’t have my only child die.”
“Ma, it’ll be fine. And I’m not your only child, you have Charlene.”
“Yeah, but she’s always been a slow one. Never quite there if you know what I mean.”
“Mom,” Charlene said from the other side of the room, smacking her gum, her pockets stuffed with Jim’s supply of cigarettes, “I can hear you.”
“Jimmy, if you’re not satisfied why don’t you get some of those porno magazines like your father did when he was alive. Or hire prostitutes like Uncle Al.”
The entire room turned to Uncle Al, who went bright red. His blind date, who was all up on him seconds before, left to go to the bathroom.
“They did all sorts of kinky fantasy things for him,” Jim’s mother shouted. “Your grandmother was finding whips and hand cuffs and all sorts of fun toys in his room ‘til he was forty. Hey,” Jim’s mother pointed to the sniffling Selene, “I bet you could even get your skank girlfriend to fulfill your fantasies.”
“No, Ma, you don’t understand,” Jim said, falling back onto his couch. “It’s not a sexual fantasy. It’s like a, uh, fantasy life.”
“And what’s your fantasy life like, Jimmy?” Selena yelled, sobbing, “What’s your fantasy girl friend like?”
“Well, first off, I’ll be the richest man alive.” Jim leaned back and closed his eyes.
“Money doesn’t buy you happiness, Jim,” Zach said, his mouth full of cheese cake.
“OR an amazing girlfriend,” Selena said, flipping her jet black hair.
“Yeah, but I’ll be free to buy what I want and do what I please. I’ll eat unlimited flan, bathe in champagne, live in a castle on the sea, lounge in a Lazyman recliner, be King of the World!”
“You’ll get used to all the riches, become bored, and be back at where you started,” Zach said, taking a glug out of the wine bottle, its bow still on.
“Yeah but I’ll have challenges, exciting adventures,” Jim said, sitting up. “I’ll be chosen as King of the World to save the beautiful Icelandic princess from her possessive stepfather. I’ll travel across desolate deserts and thick jungles on my loyal dragon. I’ll battle giant crocodiles and man eating caterpillars. And then, in one last heroic feat, I’ll slay her stepfather in an epic duel! I’ll be a hero, worshipped by all and given a well deserved feast by the oppressed people of Iceland.”
Jim’s paraplegic boss shook his head in pity and Charlene slyly stuffed some cheesecake in her pocket.
“Yeah, but sooner or later, the people of Iceland will find a new hero and you and all you did for them will be forgotten,” Zach pointed out, now working on the cream puffs.
“But I have my Icelandic princess! Eyes like the Northern skies of Iceland on a silver winter morning. Hair as soft as the manes of the Icelandic unicorns she rides. Skin like the—”
“But Jimmy,” Selena shrieked, “Even if she’s perfect, even if they make your eye ball neurons see a pretty girl, it’s not true love.”
“But it is!” Jim exclaimed, jumping out of his seat. “Because there’s more than just ‘eye ball neurons’—there’s warm-fuzzy-feeling neurons and shortness-of-breath neurons! And what is true love more than that?”
Selena sighed and looked around the room for a comeback. Then she saw Jim’s niece, who was shivering in a corner, rocking back and forth, whispering, “Die?”
“WELL you’re still going to die in a year! The whole thing is just not worth it!”
“100 mundane years of a mediocre life or one fantastic year of paradise! I’m gonna die either way, so I might as well go for the one year of paradise!”
“See, that’s it!” Selena said waving around the briefcase, just skimming Jim’s head, “If you’re going to die either way, why not just get it all over with and die now?! What difference does it make!?”
“NONE!” Jim said, his arms outstretched. “None at all, we can all die right now and in the end it’d make no flipping difference!”
Jim whistled and his pet dragon ran through the wall, proceeding to roast Jim’s girlfriend and every last one of his obnoxious relatives, coworkers, and boss. He and his faithful companion Zach then hopped on the dragon and flew North, where the Icelandic princess was in great peril.