============================================================ THE LAST TRANSFER Short Story by Julio Lonnie Lopez 2026 ============================================================ Douglas Jenkins is a modest five foot six inches in height. And when in large crowds, even his shadow would forget that he was there. One could obviously tell that Douglas spent more time with electronics than dumbbells. His slightly stooped shoulders and ink-stained fingertips spoke of decades hunched over delicate machinery. Unfortunately, Douglas lived in a dichotomy. He was a technically brilliant man with a terribly broken heart due to a teenage rejection that began all the way back when Ronald Reagan was president. Keeping mostly to his craft, he chose the profession of video transfer technician, establishing "Memories Preserved" in his hometown right after the digital revolution made such services necessary. Douglas favored the meticulous work of transferring aging VHS tapes to modern formats, saving family histories from technological oblivion. He has been offered many times to expand into photography restoration or computer repair, but he continues to refuse. He tries to mask his singular focus by giving legitimate reasons; needing to maintain quality control, wanting to specialize in one area, or any other excuse that might sound plausible at the time. This particular morning, Douglas pulled down the security gate one last time, the familiar metallic rattle echoing through the empty shop. The sun beat through the dusty blinds, illuminating dancing particles that swirled in its golden beams. Through a dust-blurred vision, he caught a familiar cardboard box awaiting his attention. Tomorrow would be his final day after twenty-seven years, and this last order seemed to mock him with its ordinary appearance. The only time he did go out was to attend the local business association meetings, like he did each month. It was a carefully chosen social engagement, providing just enough human contact to prevent complete isolation. Tall community leaders that made you arch back to view their successes lined the conference rooms of the local hotel. The monthly camaraderie, fresh from the neighboring business owners, had gleaming moments of connection on the well-maintained surface of Douglas's professional life. Business owners exchanged pleasantries, hardly giving any attention to the lone video technician below their social standings. Douglas might not like the people in the outside world, but he did appreciate a decent life when it came along. He approached the cardboard box a little before noon. The silence of the shop beat on his patience, reminding him to complete this final task. He inspected the label reading "Calloway" in neat block letters. Through a wistful sigh, he caught himself wondering once again if Sarah Matthews would ever walk through his door. Sarah Matthews was the woman he has had problems forgetting ever since she left him at eighteen, claiming he lacked ambition. It was not that Douglas could not find ambition after she left. No, the ambition came easy in his head. It was when he established this business in their hometown that his childhood dream reared its hopeful head—that someday she would need his services and see what he had become. Douglas took the box to his workstation, allowing himself to carefully open it like a time capsule. The words he tried to say aloud were "last job", but he was constantly stuck on the emotional weight of those syllables. Only a few seconds passed but Douglas did not even notice his own hesitation since he was still processing that after tomorrow, his life's work would conclude. So Douglas dropped the sentiment and acted like he had to continue with the technical task, without acknowledging the emotional significance. Some would say Douglas's business was a means to mask his inability to move past Sarah, and those that say that would be right. Every day, without fail, Douglas would maintain his equipment and study new digital formats. Every night he would practice in front of his computer screen how to greet Sarah if she ever came in, without having his practiced words sound like a damaged compact disc struggling to get past a scratch. Douglas's expertise was a form of self-validation that would prove his worth to the woman who once dismissed him, only to have the years pass without her ever appearing in his shop. Still a little saddened by this final day of business, Douglas sorted through the tapes in the box. The job had been dropped off a month earlier by someone whose face he couldn't recall. Eight VHS tapes, each labeled with fading marker. He picked up the first one: "Christmas 1996." He slid the tape into the player, adjusting his equipment. The screen flickered to life, and his heart stopped. There she was. Sarah. Younger than he imagined her now, but older than when they'd parted. Her hair was shorter, her face more mature. She was decorating a Christmas tree in an unfamiliar living room, laughing at someone off-camera. "Come on, David, you're not even getting the tree in the shot," she said, her voice achingly familiar even after all these years. Douglas's fingers trembled as he paused the playback. These were Sarah's tapes. Her memories. He checked the order form again: "Jennifer Calloway." Not Sarah Matthews. Had she married? Of course she had. In panic, his eyes shut as the realization came crashing down. Once he reopened them, he could see the look of Sarah's face frozen on his monitor. She beamed with joy in a life that had continued perfectly well without this gentle technician. For the next several hours, Douglas became a time-traveling voyeur through Sarah's life. Christmas mornings, a wedding reception (he skipped through the ceremony with a heart too tender to witness it), the birth of a daughter, then a son. Beach vacations, graduations, ordinary Sunday afternoons. He watched her age gracefully through the lens of home videos, watched her succeed, watched her live. There she was in scrubs, talking about her promotion to head nurse. There she was teaching her daughter to ride a bike. There she was, building the life she'd wanted—stable, purposeful, structured. By the time he finished the final tape—a high school graduation from 2015—his eyes were red and strained. Not just from the hours of staring at the screen, but from the weight of witnessing a life parallel to his. A life that could have included him, had he been different. He carefully transferred each tape, making sure the quality was perfect. This would be his last job; it had to be his best. Each pixel that contained Sarah's smile was preserved with meticulous care, the digital artifacts of her laughter cleaned with software he had perfected over decades. When he finished, he packaged the flash drive in the company's signature blue case and called the number on the order form. "Hello, this is Memories Preserved. Your order is ready for pickup," he said, trying to keep his voice professional. "Oh, great! I can come by this afternoon," replied a young woman's voice. "We close at five," Douglas said, fighting the urge to ask if Sarah would be coming with her. Briefly his thoughts appeared from somewhere deep within, walking to his consciousness where he scooped them up, tenderly examining his feelings. Sarah's memories nibbled after nibble at his emotional reserves, her distant presence tickled Douglas's heart. Douglas gave an inspective glance over his empty shop. Why should Douglas care what other people did or thought of him? He had everything he needed right here; comforts of technical expertise, the satisfaction of preservation, and best of all a life lived with purpose. Douglas was content in the decision that these memories of Sarah would be his company for the evening. At 4:30, the bell above the door jingled. Douglas looked up from his desk to see a young woman in her late twenties enter the shop. Her resemblance to Sarah was unmistakable—the same eyes, the same curve of her smile. "Jennifer Calloway? Here for a pickup," she said. "Yes, I have it right here." Douglas handed her the blue case. "All eight tapes transferred to digital files, organized by date." "Thank you so much," Jennifer said, taking the package. "Mom would have been so grateful. She kept talking about getting these transferred before—" She stopped, swallowing hard. Over his decades of running such a personally involved business, Douglas had picked up the skill of reading people. He could tell when they had something more to say, when they wanted to share their history with someone. When they were desperate for someone to listen to them just talk about their life, no matter how mundane. It was a sales skill he had honed, being able to detect the customer's emotional need and pulling it out of them. Letting them just talk, even if it meant for hours. His senses were screaming for him to ask the right questions right now, to get her to say more without being intrusive. Tell me everything about your mother, he would demand. When exactly were you born? You know you could have been my daughter? Did your mom ever talk about me, about a long lost lover? Did she miss me? Was she happy? With her life? With her choices? He wanted to barrage Jennifer with questions so he could learn so much more than the tapes could fill in. But then Douglas felt a chill, the curse side of his gift for gab. "Before?" Jennifer's eyes glistened. "Before she passed. Cancer. Three months ago." She gestured to the box. "These were for her memorial service this weekend. A slideshow of her life." The shop seemed to tilt slightly. "I'm so sorry," Douglas managed. "Your mother's name was Sarah?" Jennifer nodded, surprised. "Sarah Calloway. Did you know her?" "A lifetime ago," Douglas said quietly. "We went to high school together." Jennifer's face brightened. "Really? You should come to the service. Mom would have liked that—reconnecting with old friends." Douglas nodded, unable to speak. "I can't believe she never came here herself," Jennifer continued. "She was always talking about preserving memories, how important they were." She glanced around the shop. "Are you closing?" "Retiring," Douglas said. "Today was my last day, actually. Your mother's tapes were my final job." Jennifer smiled, and for a moment, Sarah seemed to be standing before him again. "That seems fitting somehow." After she left, Douglas stood alone in his empty shop. Outside, the sun was setting on his career, on his long-held fantasies of reconnection, on a chapter of his life defined by waiting for something that would never happen. It appeared it would be another quiet evening for this man. But this time, with an invitation to Sarah's memorial service in his pocket—a chance to say goodbye properly, to honor the woman who had shaped his life even in her absence. As he walked to his car, he realized the irony. All these years, he'd been waiting for Sarah to bring her memories to him. In the end, she had—just not in the way he'd imagined. And perhaps that was enough. ============================================================ From False Universe https://afalseuniverse.com ============================================================