Remote Control Read Free

him.
    Am I dead?
    His vision clears and beyond the crowd, he sees hundreds―no, thousands ―of screaming people.
    "Where the hell am I?" he bellows.
    But Harry knows exactly where he is.
    * * *
    He is standing now―after much assistance―and as he gazes across the stadium, his eyes rest on the hockey net at the other end of the ice rink. The home team is just setting up for a power play. The same scenario he's already witnessed at home, while sitting in his recliner with his popcorn and beer.
    "Excuse me," a woman says beside him. "This is yours."
    She presses a small black object into his hands. Harry's remote control.
    He's stunned. And very confused. "But how did you…?"
    "You dropped it when you fainted."
    "I fainted?" He rubs his forehead, squinting as a sudden pain flashes through his temples.
    Well, this is just wrong. I, Harold Abner Fielding, do not faint.
    While he tries to make sense of it all, his hands habitually caress the remote control buttons. When he grazes the volume button, he applies more pressure than he initially intends. The result nearly makes him pee his pants. The volume in the arena increases.
    "Must be a coincidence," he mumbles.
    He pushes the volume decrease button and the surrounding sounds diminish to a bare whisper. Flabby fingers stroke his 'long lost lover', pressing the mute button. The arena is eerily silent, yet all around him, people go through the motions of screaming, jumping up from their chairs, stomping their feet and whistling at the dueling hockey teams. It reminds him of those old black and white silent pictures with the incomparable Charlie Chaplin.
    He laughs, but no sound is emitted from his throat.
    "You suck!" he silently yells at the guy beside him.
    The guy gives him a nasty scowl.
    Apparently, the remote only gives Harry the effects. Everyone else hears just fine.
    Experimenting more, he presses the rewind button. It's a hysterically funny sight watching people move backwards, only slightly slower than normal. He glances at the woman behind him and immediately wishes he hadn't. She is regurgitating an all-beef hotdog smothered in mustard and onions.
    His stomach heaves, so he turns around and resumes fiddling with the remote. Fast forward gives him the expected results. The channel buttons do nothing that he can see.
    Distracted by this unexpected turn of events, he halfheartedly watches the final minutes of the game. As the puck makes its way across the center line, he catches sight of the "memory" button on the remote.
    "Now what does a remote have to remember?"
    He pushes it.
    * * *
    Zzzz-zap!
    A blinding flash of light pierces his eyes and he clamps them shut. When he opens them, he finds that he is standing next to the television in his stuffy two-bedroom rental. The remote control is at his feet and a burnt plastic odor lingers in the air.
    What the hell just happened here?
    He shakes his head, trying to free the cobwebs of his mind. He obviously imagined everything.
    Good God, Harry. You're losing it, buddy.
    He laughs. It starts off as a self-deprecating chuckle, then bursts into a full blown Jell-O belly laugh. Above his own laughter, he hears a thunderous cheering. The hockey game is in the last three minutes and the crowd is screaming wildly.
    The puck inches near the net, and Harry sees imaginary dollar signs. His bet is going to pay off.
    "Shoot!" he screams, trying not to think of what just happened.
    The puck hits the side of the goal net and ricochets between one player's feet, and the buzzer sounds. Game over. The home team has lost.
    And so has Harry. He's just lost one thousand dollars.
    He lets out a cry of frustration. "Goddamn losers!"
    Leaning over―which in itself is a huge undertaking of clumsy choreography, a few squats and grunting wheezes―Harry finally retrieves the remote control from the floor. He places a hand on the top of the television, to steady himself as he rises and at the same time he changes channels with the remote.
    In the