It ached when she wasn’t near, even when she slept beside him.  He’d fall asleep watching her, lulled by the sound of her breath, yet in the night he’d reach over to hold her and she would be gone, half a world away.  He missed her warmth, the feel of her skin, he yearned after human touch. He could see her sandy hair sprayed across the pillow, but he longed to feel it between his fingers.  He could gaze into her gray eyes, see her smile, hear her laugh, but it all felt so empty, so cold. The warmth of human proximity was gone, and at times it only made her feel further distant.

In the morning he’d awake with a groan, rise from bed, and seldom bothered to dress.  He’d pull on his bathrobe, shuffle to his feet, and in a few moments he was at work. His computer terminal was all of three meters from his bedside.  He’d fire up the terminal, detach his flexi, and a few minutes later he’d flop down into his desk chair, coffee in hand, to start the day. From there, the day’s news would consume him; he’d have constant messages from the editor in chief, follow leads and review footage and take statements.  All the while he never left the comfort of his bedroom, content to let the world come to him. Years of service and multiple awards had earned him his six-second commute.

In the early days he’d seen the world.  He’d gone everywhere, been everyone. On camelback he’d ridden across the Sahara with the Tuaregs, he’d braved swamps and monsoons to squat with the last slum dwellers of Bangalore.  He’d hiked through the wilds of northern Canada, ridden by sleddog across Yakutsk. He’d knelt shoeless in a mosque in Iran, bathed in color and cloaked in ancient words that seeped from the stones in a place that oozed history.  He’d walked silently through the Sistine Chapel of the Vatican Museum.

Everywhere he went he’d met new people, spoken different languages.  Over time he’d found his flexi’s translator app cumbersome, and had learned languages he spoke frequently, becoming fluent in dozens.  He’d known intense heat and bitter cold, the sting of a multitude of insects and spiders and at least one ill-tempered taipan in Australia (that had been a close call).  But through it all, he’d met people. So many people…all races, creeds, colors, shapes, and sizes. He’d exchanged hearty handshakes and solemn bows, learned how to say “thank you” a good two dozen ways.  He’d gazed into so many eyes, found the same humanity, the same hopes and dreams, fears and needs, the same inherent value, the same humanity, behind each and every pair.  

The lights were always bright in Amsterdam.  It was a timeless reality: the frantic, frenzied fusion of blaring house music and strobing lights.  It was late, he was due on a flight to Hong Kong the next morning and he’d only arrived in Amsterdam eight hour earlier from the home office in San Francisco.  He was exhausted – in those days, he often was – and in need of a drink, and his options were limited. So it was that he found himself in one of those wild clubs, with the deafening music and bright lights and fluorescent drinks.  Everyone seemed to be dancing, shouting over the music, ordering silly cocktails with silly garnishes that came in even sillier glasses. And there he sat, hunched over the bar, in his favorite wrinkled gray shirt and beige trousers, battered boots resting by their arches on the rung beneath his stool.  He hadn’t shaved in a day, his dark stubble matching the heavy eyebrows and spray of unkempt dark brown hair that crowned his creased face. He was focused on his flexi, reviewing his notes for the following day, headset on to block out the noise as he nursed his beer. He could not have looked less nondescript, couldn’t have seemed less interested in his surroundings.  Perhaps that was what had drawn her attention.

The tap on his shoulder had made him jump, his reflex elicited a shriek as a glass of something sickly sweet and lime green spilled across his shirt.  Sputtering, angry, he pried off his headset, snatching a handful of cocktail napkins from the bartop to dry himself. Yet he dropped them as he turned to confront the careless rube who’d disturbed him…

She was slender, fragile.  Her skin was pale and flawless, smooth as porcelain, with aggressive features on a round face and a wide, carefree smile beneath captivating gray eyes.  She’d hastily apologized. He barely even heard her. Her voice was sweet, light and breathy like a soft breeze, and even through the blaring music he heard it crystal clear.  She wore a tight, flattering dress, bright yellow to the point of being garish, yet his gaze never broke from hers. He stammered, in spite of himself. He reached up to straighten out his hair, as though that would do anything for the gnarled curls that wanted for a shower.  He’d introduced himself…in Dutch. She’d laughed. Hardly anyone spoke Dutch anymore. She smiled…it was sweet, she said. They got to talking, exchanging pleasantries and compliments, mostly. He offered the seat next to his. She accepted. Her name was Lise, and she was beautiful.  His was Bryan, and he forgot about the green stain across his shirt. She didn’t care, and neither did he. He never did clean that shirt.

Lise was brilliant.  She was driven, intense.  Bryan had spent his life blowing across the world like a leaf, following truth and beauty.  She was a whirlwind: tight, controlled, unstoppable, and when he was with her it felt like he was drunk.  When she saw a problem in the world she wanted to change it, not by talking about it as he did but by getting her hands in up to the elbows.  She was a problem solver, always marching ever forward. After a lifetime of wandering, in her he found a rock, a tether. And as weeks turned to months, in time Amsterdam became the stable center around which his world revolved; the eye of the storm.  All around him the world was changing at breakneck speed. As the walls came down and borders blurred, colors ran together and merged. Traditions died, languages went extinct. With each passing day, “human” increasingly became the only applicable identifier for inhabitants of their tiny world.  He’d spent a decade of his life documenting an entire world of vanishing identities, yet with her, he found his. With her, he was more than dusty clothes with a headset and a flexi. With her, he meant something.

The world around him grew smaller by the day, yet on those cool Amsterdam nights in her apartment they shrank further still.  As twilight fell and the lights of the city rose around them, his view extended no further than her. He couldn’t see anything or anywhere else.  She was captivating. Her touch was delicate, her whisper inviting, her skin smooth and soft and comforting, and amidst all the changes he’d witness it felt good to have one thing in his life that remained solid, immovable.  She was his grounding wire: the check to his energy, and in her bed, in her arms, all the pressure of his life and his career melted away as though wax before a flame. Lying in the darkness with her safely in his arms, he felt as though he were immersed in water, floating carelessly on an endless, rolling sea.  

As months turned to years, he abandoned the San Francisco apartment he never saw, and packed up his meager belongings and dusty clothes to set off to Amsterdam.  For the first time since childhood, at last he felt at home. They moved together to a spacious loft downtown, where a large dining room window allowed the city lights to intrude.  Their furniture was minimalist, their needs limited, yet within those walls he felt safe and warm. Now, every time he completed an assignment, in a few hours he was back in the city he’d grown to love, with Lise close to him.  

Yet soon after, life began to pull her away.  The UN job was the opportunity of a lifetime: development coordinator.  It would take her to every corner of Earth, to the Braun stations in orbit, perhaps even to Luna, perhaps even to Mars.  He hated to spend so much time away from her, but life without her would be so much more painful, and he could never tell her not to go.  She was a problem solver. She wanted to help people. There was no better way to do so.

By that point his career had advanced considerably.  Field work was no longer required; he’d earned the right to a quiet life, to a desk, and by the 2090s a work desk did not need an office, or a set position.  Or even an actual desk. And so, as Lise changed career paths so did he: he took the editorial position. He could work from home, spend his days bathed in Amsterdam’s perpetual light.  And every time she came home, there he would be, waiting for her just as she’d waited for him for so long. As she’d been his tether, so now he would be hers. As she’d been home for him, now he would be home for her.

It was hard, being away from her for weeks at a time.  The nights were easier: with her UBI account she’d installed a telepresence system.  Each night, no matter where she was, on Earth or elsewhere, when he retired to their bedroom there she would be, smiling.  They’d lay in bed together, side by side. They’d talk about their day, about where she was, the important work she was doing…about how much longer she’d be there.  They’d chat on through the night, often for hours, neither of them wanting to say goodnight, to fall asleep and let it end. Inevitably, though, one of them would. Usually it was Lise: she’d nod off after a long and exhausting day, and for a while he’d watch her sleep.  

Eventually, though, the system on her end would recognize her dormant brainwaves, and shut off.  And just like that, he’d be left alone, on one side of a bed that missed her as he did. Even when she was awake and they were talking it was hard.  He’d want so badly to reach out and touch her, caress her cheek, kiss her forehead. But he couldn’t. If he tried, all he’d do is disturb the projection, which would shimmer mockingly as his hands passed through.  He spent a life longing for her, treasuring the fleeting moments when she was home, dreading her departure every time, throwing himself into his work while she was away to distract his troubled mind from missing her.  

It was an autumn morning when he awoke, amazed, and found she was still there, sleeping next to him.  No doubt the telepresence system had glitched, yet as he reached for his flexi she spoke.

“You can’t turn it off,” she whispered.  “It’s not on.”

He was shocked.  She looked up and gazed into his eyes, then raised a slender hand and touched his cheek.  The system wasn’t on. She was there.

“You’re…you’re here,” he stammered.  She merely nodded in response.  “But, I thought you were supposed to be gone for another six days…”

“Well,” she replied with a coy grin, “something came up.”

“What could possibly pull you away from work?”

“A new position,” she replied, smiling wider.  “Global development coordinator. It’s not a field position.  I can work wherever I want, like you. And…” she continued, leaning in close to him, “I can’t think of anywhere else I would rather be.”

He smiled warmly, though he fought the urge to be selfish.  “But I thought you wanted to save the world?”

“Turns out I can do that anywhere.”

“Yeah, but you’ve always had to be there.  Out there in the world.”

“Things change, love,” she replied, leaning her back against him as she guided his arms gently around her.  She was warm to the touch. He always missed her warmth. “And the more I think about it, the more I’ve realized my world is here.  In this place, with you.”

“You’ve always been my world,” he replied, trying to find something romantic to say.

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, smiling, “and I’ll never stop saving you.  Just like I did that night I spilled that drink on you.”

He grinned, holding her tight as the memories flooded back.  “I still haven’t washed that stain out,” he mused, absently.

“Don’t,” she replied, closing her eyes.

 

END