Recessive Genetics

"I'm home," Gramps called, opening the front door. "You there?"

"I'm making dinner," John called back from the kitchen.

"You're cooking," Gramps said.

"I cook sometimes."

"Yeah, but it's not great."

John shrugged. While he did not really cook since RISE released in the past, he could still do it, somewhat. "I need to practice."

"Yeah, sure do," Gramps said, removing his coat and boots. He strolled over to the kitchen. "What are you making?"

"Pork slivers and pepper stir-fry. I've already set the rice cooker."

Gramps popped open the rice cooker. Inside was a wet mess. "Too much water." He looked at John who was cutting the pork. "And that knife technique," he scolded. "You're going to kill someone with that thing."

Gramps didn't like to cook, but he sort of could. He could at least tell that John's technique had regressed since he last saw it.

"Err," John laughed.

"Here," Gramps said, washing his hands. "Like this."

Ten minutes later, the two were seated at the dinner table, munching on soggy rice, stir-fry, and reheated leftovers. Outside, the sky was mostly dark, showing the pair's reflection and the single light source hanging over the dinner table.

John watched the boy who stared back for a moment. They both sighed, the tangible one cursing his weakness.

John took a breath and firmed himself. He needed to tell his guardian about two things: his resignation and his new path, but the worst of all, Jenkins' disease.

"Gramps…"

"Yeah, what is it?" Gramps asked.

He was already looking at John weirdly. John would typically be in his room and eat by himself.

John swallowed his mouthful of food. "I asked Pearson to resign."

"Oh, what?" Gramps was surprised to hear that. John had worked at Pearson's Sweets for three years with no issue.

"Tomorrow is my last day,"

"I mean, you just resigned?"

"Yeah, it's done."

"But why?" Gramps inquired. "Pearson's never treated you wrong, I know him. And, he always praises you and that Rayne girl when I talk to him." Rayne was Kirsten's family name.

"He's a great person. It's not him, or the job, it's about what I want to do."

"Oh, I guess that's fine," Gramps said. He thought for a moment and placed the cutlery down. He took a drink of water. "It was always temporary. Just to get some experience, help you learn about the world before you're older."

"I am older now, I've found my path."

"A path?" Gramps was confused. John was far more mature and resolute that he was familiar with. "Don't tell me you're joining a cult."

"No, Gramps, it's nothing like that,"

"What, did you get an acceptance letter?" he said, scratching his stubble. "But your grades aren't good enough… And you wouldn't resign so fast," he mumbled.

"No, Gramps, it's not about school."

"Oh," Gramps, frowned. This was very unlike John. He would have normally had a reaction to Gramps' light-hearted comments. Gramps' expression finally settled on an uncharacteristic seriousness. "It's about your future right, your passion?"

"It's my… Table tennis."

That quieted Gramps. He firmed eye contact with John.

"There's a new game coming out, it's called RISE."

Gramps stared.

"It's a VR game, one like never before – more than a game, really – a new beginning."

Still silence.

"A whole new world, where I can become someone." John paused for a second. "Where I will become someone, reach a height I've never been able to."

Gramps gave John a weird look. "I've never known that you had such an ambition."

"Gramps, this game is different."

"Shut up with your preaching," Gramps snapped, putting aside his good nature, something extraordinarily rare. "I've seen the ads, they're everywhere. I know what this game promises."

John bit his lip in frustration. Gramps didn't understand. He didn't understand what John had, what an advantage he possessed. The ambition was only natural at this point.

But what could John say? The truth? Even if RISE's technology were advanced to the point legend, even that was still firmly based in science. Reincarnation, however, was in the game, in a computer, not the real world – everyone knew that.

John's brow tensed as he realized his explanations were futile. "Listen, Gramps, I can't explain, but I know I can do it. I'm asking for trust."

"Damn," Gramps cursed. "This is really your table tennis."

"Yes, exactly. And I have the skill, just like you did. I can make that last step."

"But this game, it isn't even released yet."

This was what John didn't have an answer to. He hesitated for a moment. "Here, I have something to show you." He hadn't wanted to do this, but John didn't have any other ideas.

"What, are you going to show me one of those ads?"

"No, come here," John said, beckoning Gramps into his bedroom.

Gramps stood up and followed John across the living room. Gramps turned on the lights.

"This place is a mess."

"That's irrelevant."

"Alright, what is it?"

John dug through his tangled covers and pulled out the device into the stale air.

"What is that?"

"Here, hold it," John requested, passing it to Gramps. He pulled his phone out of his pocket.

"What is this thing?" Gramps held the VR helmet by the straps and examined it from every angle. The first-edition RISE helmet had a very experimental look. He felt the aluminum electronics housing and the finger landed on a button.

"Don't touch that button please," John said, focused on his phone. "It won't work if you not wearing it."

"You wear this?"

"Here," John said, holding up the screen. There was an official image by the RISE corporation, a picture of a woman with the device strapped on. "Well, I said that it wasn't going to show you an ad, but here you go."

"It's one of those helmets."

"Exactly." John swiped the image, showing several more advertisements depicting users in helmets and visuals of the game. But as he browsed, his face suddenly dropped.

Gramps didn't seem to notice John's reaction and was watching the official documents. "Wait, pause that," Gramps said, examining the advertisements. "20/12/24?"

"What?" John put aside that worry and changed his focus back to his conversation with Gramps. "Oh, that's the release date of the game."

"Then why do you have this."

John bit his lip. He wanted to keep as much of the supernatural and what resulted of it hidden, even from Gramps. "Look, Gramps, I can't tell you anymore, but I hope this is enough for you to understand. This is my chance," John picked up the helmet. "What I didn't have before."

Gramps stared at him.

"A chance, but I can't just do it without you."

And then Gramps laughed, nice and heartily, like a skinny Santa. "John, you are just like me when I was your age, well maybe a bit younger.."

"Huh?"

"You see with my parents, they always wanted me to go to school, get a job, a house, get married, obtain the American Dream, expect in Lansbe – but I've told you this before, right?"

John nodded.

"However, all kids your age, my age back then, want to pursue their passion, never opportunity. It was during the depression, when it was my time."

"Your family was well off, but not enough to be so leisurely."

Gramps nodded this time. "Exactly, but something happened,"

"You decided to play table tennis."

"Boy, I know that I'm a shit parent, but I've at least taught you not to interrupt an old man and his ramblings," Gramps scolded. He sat down on John's bed, shifting some covers. "I never told you – partly because I'm afraid you might follow my tracks, partly because it's a very pivotal moment for me...

"But, you see, I didn't just tell them my choice, I declared it, I showed it. It was with my parents in my bedroom one night, a brand-new table tennis paddle, the best, something the professionals would use."

"The old one hanging in the living room, right?"

Gramps nodded again, "I wanted them to know I was serious, that this game was the next step for me, that I also had the tools, that I had a chance to reach my dreams and be someone." Gramps took a breath and looked John in the eye. "I suppose it runs in the family, these compulsive commitments. Well, except your dad and grandfather."

John smiled. "Must be a recessive gene."

Gramps smiled too. "Yes, exactly. Now go back to the kitchen, I'm suffocating in here, and the food's cold."

The two returned to the dinning table to finish the meal.

"But Gramps," John asked as they sat down, "Why didn't you want me to follow this path? You never told me about that moment before."

"Shit, John, you're begging for a monologue, a cheesy mess that will cling on my throat and hurt to come out," Gramps muttered between mouthfuls of rice. He washed it down with a gulp of water.

"My parents weren't wrong to attempt to dissuade me from my dream. I did fail, and no amount of confidence or passion could help me in the end. It's just life, the majority are fated to fail: real second chances are mostly a myth. And no person wants their kid to suffer; I don't want you to fail in the same way as I did.

"It's usually a choice – passion or opportunity – but it's often just best to follow opportunity and try to drag your passion with you.

"However, I will never agree with those that say it's just a game, either just a game of hitting a ball or just a game of pioneering a virtual world. Passion is a choice, not often the right choice, but it's one that I respect: it takes a lot of strength to follow the heart, knowing the high possibility of failure.

"But of course, if your passion follows the right opportunity, jump on it, and consider yourself a child of fate."

"I understand," John answered firmly, resolute within.

"Now, your eighteen soon, so I can't really say anything about your choices, but considering our shared flaw, I probably never did."

"Yeah, I guess."

"Anyways, just go for it; if you fail, it's fine, you're still young. I mean, I turned out alright in the end." Gramps thought for a moment. "Well, mostly." He coughed and drank some water. "Point is, if it's your choice, take the shot. You probably have a better chance with your whatever secret you've got than I ever did."

"Gramps, thank you."

"Now shut your mouth and only open it to eat, it's bad to talk so much at the table."

"Wait, Gramps, one more thing."

"Yes, last thing."

But John's mouth was agape in hesitation. "Gramps, there's something you need to know."

"Yes, that's what has been going on all night."

Unwillingness was piling up. This was the time to say it, John had already finished one of the two objectives and now there was just the second. But simultaneously, how could he just tell him after a conversation like that. Both of them had just shared something so genuine, and now John had to tell Gramps that he was sick, that illness was festering.

John's mind was sending mixed signals to his mouth. There was a visible vibration of dread on his lips.

"Gramps."

"Yeah?"

"Come with me to the candy shop tomorrow morning, six o' clock.

…

John slammed the bedroom door behind him.

His lip was bleeding. Biting it in frustration was becoming a bad habit.

He jumped into the bed and screamed into the pillow.

Gramps had simply nodded, thinking it had to do with John's secret, and kept on eating. But John couldn't elaborate, his jaw was locked into a simple chewing motion, and the rest of the meal had been in silence.