Movement

by Gabe Sluis

Jeffery Calhoun walked into Anne Arbor Lake Ford at eight thirteen, seventeen minutes before his shift began. He wore his dirty blonde hair combed and parted in the center, a lightweight blazer over tan slacks and a red tie. He entered the dealership floor room and made his way to the employee lounge, the hollow sound of his dress shoes clicking after him.

  He passed through the door and placed his shoulder satchel in his small locker. Jeff pulled his salesman name badge from its place on the locker door and he affixed it to his lapel. The lounge was empty as he closed up the locker and went over to the coffee maker for a cup.

  Jeff, filled cup in hand, took a seat at the white-topped folding table that sat under the white board. He glanced up at dry erase spread sheet with green cars scribbled next to names. His had the longest train following his name, but this was nothing new to him. Jeff pulled his Blackberry from his inner pocket and began scrolling through emails.

  The door opened and another salesmen entered. Berry White was taller than Jeff, orange hair thinning and combed over his freckled dome. Berry wore grey slacks with a striped shirt and tie, his gut hanging over the thin black belt at his waist.

  "Hey there, buddy," Berry said to Jeff, as he went for his own cup of coffee. "Top salesman, in early for work. Who would have guessed!" he playfully ribbed.

  "Well, if you knew how to talk to women, you might have numbers like mine, Berry," Jeff shot back, affixed to his phone.

  "Har, har. I just don't want to dress like I've got some sugar in my tank to get sales! Any luck with that job you were applying to?"

  Jeff tossed his phone to the table top and rubbed his hands on his face.

  "Three months going back and forth with them! Two interviews, and out of nowhere this morning I get a canned letter saying, 'Thanks for your interest, but piss off.'"

  "That's rough, man" Berry said. "You just gotta keep hitting the pavement."

  "I don't know, anymore," Jeff said, crossing his arms. "I've finished school two years ago and I'm still selling cars here. I'm starting to go crazy. Don't get me wrong, this gig isn't bad, it's just not what I pictured myself doing. I got my degree in math for a reason. And the way they hire for jobs these days just kills me!

  "It's so impersonal. You fill everything out online and answer stupid assessment questions and everything goes off of that. Sometimes I think they don't even look at my actual resume or cover letter. If I could just get a face to face, I really think I could have a shot. And the job announcements have such specific requirements. If you lie about experience on the assessments, they disqualify you for future positions and if you don't put that you are an expert at everything, they don't even look at you. Right now I'd take a worse paying job than I have here just to get my foot in the door somewhere."

  Berry listened silently while the younger man expressed his frustration. Then it was his turn to set his joking personality aside and really talk.

  "Kid, let me tell you. I can sympathize, but what is so bad about working here? Oh no, it's not exactly what you want to do, but it's a good job. It's great money and you are not totally stuck in a cubical. Look at yourself! You are top salesman again. You are the golden child around here! Maybe you should quit stressing yourself out with that rat race and enjoy what you have. Barbara up in finance is leaving at the end of next month. I have it on good authority if you went up and had a chat with Jim, he would put you in her office. You are going places if you stick around. In ten years you could even be general manager.

  "Sorry if that bursts your bubble, but it's the truth, and you need to hear it."

  "Yeah, I understand what you are saying," Jeff said. "I've just felt so restless these last few years. There is this line in a Stephen King book I keep coming back to, 'Everything I do, I rush through, so I can do something else.' Maybe you are right."

  "Either way, I want you out of sales. You are really hurting my numbers," Berry smiled.

  "Speaking of numbers, I better get out there," Jeff said. "I gotta get more phone numbers and keep making the rest of you guys look bad."

  Jeff pitched his cup in the bin on the way out the door, throwing his right hand back to slap Berry on the shoulder for the last time.

  Jeff ensured his shirt was properly tucked beneath his blazer as he exited the back areas and entered the show room floor. The day was bright and peaceful and mirrored the young salesman's mind after the talk with his colleague. Maybe he should stop fighting the inevitable and commit to the job he had, as a real career. He had carved himself out a respectable place in the dealership after spending the last six years working and going to night school.

  Jeffery Calhoun was lost inside his head as he pushed through the glass doors and out onto the patio. He walked in front of a pillar and past a brand new dark blue mustang. As he approached his usual place to post up and wait for potential buyers, the sudden revving of an engine caught him off guard. Jeff turned toward the noise, coming from the customer spaces a few paces way. A bush disappeared as a light grey, old model Chrysler LeBarron came shooting right for the pillar directly behind him.

  Jeff instinctively threw up his hands to cushion the blow, or stop the cars advance, as he tried to back away. But the old car, much too powerful for the old woman behind the wheel, was not to be stopped. Jeff felt himself swept along and pushed to the side as the car crunched into the building.

  There was no smoke from the radiator, or any other indicator that a car had just crashed into a buildings, as seen on popular movies or TV. The car was intact other than the crinkled hood and the massive intrusion into the pillar.

  Jeff knelt beside the passenger fender, catching his breath as the old woman inside cried. A gaggle of dealership employees arrived to help the uninsured woman from her seat as she wailed and apologized that her foot had slipped on the wrong peddle. It took everyone a moment to notice that there was one causality of the wreck; Jeff Calhoun with his right arm pinned between the hulk of metal and the masonry of the patio pillar.

  The room was furnished in dark oak. A dark oak long table was surrounded by oak bookshelves. The carpet was deep red. The tall backed leather chairs were occupied at one end of the room; the far end by the door were empty. There was a low conversation by the well dressed individuals already seated as a loud knocking punctuated the meeting hall.

  "We are ready for you!" a sure spoken older woman called out. She sat at the head of the table and represented five of her colleagues.

  The heavy oak door opened, held by an older gentleman as two younger people, carrying stacks of papers, entered the room and took sets at opposite sides of the head of the table. The older gentlemen followed his helpers inside and took his time becoming seated, eyes fixed on the group across the room. He pulled he back of his chair with his right arm, the standard equipment of which was missing from the wrist down.

  "Thank you for coming Doctor Calhoun. If you are ready, we can convene this hearing of the research committee," the woman said.

  "We are ready, Margaret."

  "Excuse the formalities, Doctor, but we will be recording this for our records. I am Doctor Margaret Liddell, Vice Chancellor of the Medical School. Comprising the board is Doctor Ben Peaks, Head of the Biological Medical Engineering Department. Angela Spruce is from the Universities Ethics Department. Professors Dugan Mathis and Shiv Akhol, also from the BME Department. Finally, we are joined by Professor Emeritus Andrew Maylor.

  "We are called to order to consider and render a judgement on the next step of Doctor Calhoun's proposed research project to move his limb regeneration into human trials. The board has received copies of your abstract, results of the study up to this point, and proposal for expanded funding through federal grants. Do you have any questions about the structure of the panel proceedings?"

  "No, Margaret. I've been in this room more than once," Dr. Calhoun said, leaning back in his chair.

  "Fine," Dr. Liddell said with annoyance at the informality. "You may begin with your opening statement, Doctor."

 
"Thank you, ladies and lads," Jeff Calhoun began. "As you know from that stack of papers I had my people send over, and that I'm sure you read every word contained within, we had a major breakthrough back in May. In animal trials, after years of dead ends and failures, we have isolated the proper cell coding necessary to allow for limb regrowth in mice. In case the significants of this is lost on some of the board members, we are on the eve of a new age of human existence.

  "In the near future, the memory of humans permanently loosing limbs without regrowth over time will be forgotten. But this eventuality is just the start. We project that taking control of our own biology in this manner will eliminate the need for clumsy prosthetics or transplants, and may even have the potential to extend human life indefinitely. Used properly, we could extend this technology to pets, dental applications and even livestock. This will be a revolution. This university and medical school will forever be remembered as the ones who pioneered the next stage of human evolution. So forgive my confidence and irreverence for this perfunctory gathering, but my team and I are anxious to get back to work."

  "Thank you for that Doctor Calhoun," replied the Professor Emeritus, clearing his throat, "but the matter is far from closed."

  "That's right," the department head, Ben Peaks, took over. "We have many questions and concerns. Do not take this the wrong way, we are all quite impressed with your findings thus far. I personally have been inspired by your sudden and swift jump into the field of Bio Med. Returning to school after your own injury and completing your Ph.D. in six years is quite a feat!"

  "And the last fourteen years of service to this university," Dr. Calhoun cut in. "Don't forget that. I have put my own goal aside for much of that, assisting Mathis with his micro biome research, teaching undergrad classes. I could go on..."

  "As we all do, and are equally aware of your contributions," Peaks resumed. "All of us can also sympathize with the burden you carry which has motivated your research."

  "No, no," Calhoun cut in once again, putting up his right stump, an imaginary hand held out in a halting motion. "I have expressed this to most all of you in the past. But I guess it deserves reiteration. I am at peace with the loss of my right hand. Yes, it motivated my return and drove my research, but I have face the fact that I will never regrow this hand. I mentioned dead ends and setbacks. If you had read the particulars of the abstract for the next stage, you would have seen that the code for gradual regeneration must be implanted in an embryo before the cells become specialized. Only an individual inoculated against our forgetful biology at a pre-birth state can reap the benefits of this technology. I am a couple days past this stage, admittedly. So don't turn my drive and excitement for this research into a purely personal pursuit, because it is not. Not anymore."

  "Thank you for that clarification, Doctor," Dr. Margaret Liddell said. "But this is not a personal attack. Doctor Peaks was only trying to be polite and cushion the fact that we have grave misgivings about the speed and ethics of your progress. In truth, it is the opinion of this board that much more research and time should be spent confirming your findings thus far."

  "You have not published findings in any major medical journal of your progress, why is that?" Dr. Shiv Akhol asked.

  "Come on, Shiv!" Calhoun answered. "You know exactly why! If I go publishing every one of my steps, some sharpshooter will come along and beat us to the goal. I have had all my research papers written up by my grad students, ready for publication, as soon as we can slap a patent on this! It has all been well documented.

  "Margaret! Don't you want the university to benefit from this first? I'm telling you, this could secure funding for every project forever! No more hands in our business from the state! No more tuition increases! Autonomy and a blank check to grow in any way you chose!"

  "But that is not the scientific way," Dr. Mathis said in a soft voice. "As scientists, it is critical to be transparent and submit our findings to our peers for review and comment. You must release your findings so that it can be reproduced and replicated by independent sources. We fear there could be conformation bias in this research. Science is not a race, it is a journey for all man kind to take together. You cannot keep this only for the good of the few."

  "Furthermore, as an institution, we can't let that line of argument sway us from the ethical considerations," Angela Spruce responded. "Doctor Calhoun, your proposal states specifically that you would manipulate the genes of ten unborn children in your first round of experiments. In subsequent trails, you suggest experiments that would require the removal of human subjects limbs and organs for confirmation of your hypothesis. I am not here to debate the particulars of these actions or call them Nazi-esque, but rather to point out that they are large steps and require heavy debate."

  "Did you just compare me to a Nazi scientist!?"

  "Jeff," Dr. Ben Peaks, spoke up, calming the room, "No one here wishes your research failure. But you have to admit that this course of action has no breaks. You are going after the goal in the most direct manner possible, ignoring the terrain. Something this momentous must have oversight and undergo proper consideration- on more than just ethical and social fronts."

  "Yes, that was well said, Doctor Peaks," Dr. Liddell agreed. "That is why it is the opinion of this research board that your request is to be denied until your progress up to this point as undergone scrutiny from the scientific community and the ethical considerations can be dealt with."

  The room sat silent with all eyes on Dr. Calhoun as they waited for his response.

  The former car salesmen stared off at the glassy wood table as he ran his tongue over the teeth of his closed mouth. He placed the remainder of his right arm on the table in front of him, and addressed the board.

  "I will not publish my findings until they have been confirmed. On that I am firm. I will be flexible on the ethical considerations, and allow an exploratory committee to make recommendations to be included into the study. My only precept is the inclusion of one of my research assistants in this committee. Does this satisfy your demands?"

  "This is not a negotiation. That is not how we function," Professor Emeritus Andrew Maylor said. "Your research is hear by suspended until you fully comply to the satisfaction of this board."

  "My father was a plumber," Jeffery Calhoun informed the room. "He taught me as a young man that when negotiating for a raise in a job, make a reasonable demand and dicker if necessary. But if you can't get what you want, have a back up job waiting in the wings so that you can threaten to leave for a better position. Now, believe you me, I have been a busy man these last six months since little Harold regrew that paw. But, unlike my fathers advice, I'm not threatening to leave, I will. And I will take all my research with me if you do not work with me on these ridiculous demands."

  "You must be aware, Doctor Calhoun," Angela Spruce attempted to point out, "that all your research up to this point is the property of the University and legal action can be taken should you attempt to leave with any facet of it."

  "Please, Jeff, be reasonable," Doctor Liddell said. "We can make this happen but it must be done in the proper way."

  With everyone's eyes on the Doctor, including his graduate student assistants, Jeff Calhoun got out of his seat without a word and left the meeting room.

  Calvin Young was sitting in his hospital room chair, by the window when the detectives left his room. He gazed out at the old city morning progressing in front of him, going over the interview he just had. He shook his head in frustration as he tried to dismiss some of the implications the investigators had made.

  There was a knock at his door and a man popped his head inside.

  The man was in his late sixties, white hair and brown suit.

  "Is this a bad time?" The older man asked, still half-tilted in the room.

  "Uh, no," Calvin said. "What is this about? Are you another cop?"

  "Oh, me? Ha! No. I'm a Doctor. My name is Jeff Calloway."

  The doctor put out his left hand to
shake Calvin's.

  "Seems we have something in common, no right hands to shake with!"

  Calvin looked at the stump of a right hand hidden under the sleeve of Dr. Calloway's brown jacket.

  "Are you an amputation specialist?" Calvin asked, shaking left hands with his guest.

  "In fact, I am. But don't let me lead you wrong, I am not with the hospital. I am employed by a private research company that likes to do pro bono work for those in need.

  "I heard about your incident," Dr. Calloway continued. "Two men pulled you out of your car and maimed you, is that right?"

  "Yeah," Calvin said in a low voice, resting the fingertips of his left hand on his injured wrist. "I was on my way home from my shift at the grocery store where I work. They grabbed me out of my car, shined a red light in my face and then hit me in the wrist with something. It was all so fast..."

  "That's terrible. Horrific really. Do the police have any idea who did this?"

  Calvin snorted. "I don't think they know much of anything. They kept asking me questions like they thought that I work for a drug dealer or something. Maybe it's because I am an orphan, but they said some high end drug dealers have palm print access for their houses. Apparently they think I got my hand cut off because I have access to drugs like that..."

  "And I deduce from your attitude, that this is not the case at all."

  "No, man. I got out of the orphanage and have been working at the store for the last few years. They have promoted me all the way up to assistant night manager. It's not much, but I got a good thing going for me. I'm just glad the job comes with benefits so I can get medical..."

  "And that is why I'm here," Dr. Calloway said. "Your basic employee health coverage is not going to cover advanced therapies. Due to our similar afflictions, I like to take personal interest in deserving individuals."

  "How'd you lose yours?"

  "Car accident. An old woman was at fault. I was only a few years older than you are now."

  Calvin shook his head in commiseration. "So, what therapies are there for a missing hand? My orthopedic told me they would have me talk with a prosthetic specialist once my bones heal."

  "I do cutting-edge science," Calloway said, digging into his jacket pocket. He drew out a thick pen like device and a blue pill bottle. "You see, I have developed a drug which targets cellular memory.

  "Do you ever wonder why we don't grow back missing body parts? It is because our cells become specialized and only reproduce cells to replace themselves. They have cellular memory, as all cells do, but for some reason, they don't remember that there was a hand on the end of that wrist and that they should grow it back. It has been a huge mystery in human biology. Lizards and starfish can regrow their tails and arms, so why can we regrow something as small as a fingertip?"

  "And what, you think you figured it out?" Calvin asked.

  "Oh, I did, my boy. I did. These two pills will start the process. Two more and you will have that hand back in six months or so."

  "Then why don't you have your own hand back," Calvin said suspiciously.

  "Oh, it's been forty years since I lost mine! I've grown attached to having just one! But, also, it has to do with the cellular cycle. You see the cells in your wrist still remember the hand there. If it heals too far- reproduces and replaces the cells that remember, the memory is lost. So far I have found there is about a month long window for my therapy to work."

  "And what do I have to do for you? You said these two and another two. Are you going to get me half way and then I find out here is a catch?"

  "Nothing like that. I offer this free to you. All I want to do is have you for research purposes. I want to make a small tattoo mark on the highest point on your amputation site. This is just for rate tracking reasons. I'm sure the tattoo will be less than permanent when the hand begins to heal. Then, after today, in a bout a week, come to my office for a blood test and your second round. After that, check-ins so I can see your progress."

  "What are people going to say when suddenly I have both hands again?"

  "That's another reason you are a great candidate!" Calloway smiled. "You are an orphan, are you not? No family to tell that you lost your hand. I'm sure there are people from your work who know, and so you will have to convince them the hand was found and reattached. You wear a glove to protect your new growth until it is back, and then the fictional reattachment has totally healed! Can you do that?"

  "Yeah," Calvin said, supervised at how much sense the offer made. "I'll do it."

  The doctor handed the pill bottle over. With one hand, Calvin popped the cap free and took the pills like a shot.

  "Okay, then. Now for the tattoo. Could you unwrap your dressings for me?"

  Calvin complied as Dr. Calloway took the cap off his self contained machine. He also removed the other end, exposing some dark green ink which he loaded on the needle by activating the device. When both were ready, the doctor inked a small dash on the top corner of the raw, stapled flesh.

  Calvin winced at the sharp pain on his injured wrist, but the procedure was over before he knew it.

  "Now, I just need to take a photo for comparison..." the doctor said as he snapped a photo with the camera built into his glasses.

  "Perfect," he muttered to himself as he reviewed the image on his lens. "Now, here is my card. Wait, take two. Come see me in a week or so. If you need me at anytime, all my numbers and addresses are right there. I am accessible to you whenever you need. I look forward to seeing your progress Mr. Young."

  "Thank you, Doctor. Thank you for doing this for me."

  "People like you and I are the reason I get up each morning, Calvin. So, no. I have to thank you. I really should be going, though. Before the staff get suspicious and kick me out for stealing their patients. Good day, Mr. Young."

  The doctor left the room and closed the door carefully in his way out. He walked down the hall and out past the med/surg waiting room. A young woman got up and joined the old man as he got onto the elevator.

  "Did he agree to take the placebo?" she said under her breath once the doors closed.

  "Of course he did," Dr. Calloway said, holding his head high. "They always buy the oversimplified scientific explanation. No one in that situation could turn down the kind of opportunity I sell them. I should know, I was in his position once. I know how I would have reacted."

  "The last two also agreed without much fuss. What would you do if they turned you down and began to heal on their own?"

  "I don't know. If that ever happens, we can cross that bridge when we come to it. With only two more subjects to activate and study, I feel the numbers are with us."

  The Game