Chapter 1

Emails From Heaven

Jul 03, 2024

First page of my Pitch Deck for the screenplay version

His hood concealed most of his face. His belly poked through the red, black, and white sweatshirt; the New Jersey Devils decal faded from years of laundering. Store employee of the month, Derrick, followed, suspicious. He had seen this before: adults and kids alike pretending to play a game while stealing from the store. The Devils fan grabbed a computer motherboard and hid it under his team sweatshirt. He glided behind a display of power supplies. His protruding paunch gave away his age—forty-four-ish. His grimace revealed one dimple on his left cheek. Derrick kept his distance and pretended to count the video graphics card inventory.

At the other end of the aisle, a short individual wearing a zombie mask seized a fan card. Too big for his pocket, he tucked it under his arm. Any passing mom would have guessed the boy to be 10 years old. Boys grow slower than girls. This one had a narrow build and walked with the gait of a foal. His knees were still discovering their stability. His shoes were too big for him—the universal sign that he had outgrown his favorite pair, yet his parent either didn’t have the time, money, or disliked shoe shopping and made sure he wouldn’t outgrow this pair too soon. Or, all the former reasons.

Derrick overheard the man and kid whisper into their Walkie-talkies. He mumbled to himself like a spy with an earpiece, “Playing a game or faking it.”

Derrick slithered past his framed headshot, hanging near the restroom alcove. “Employee of the Month.” He didn’t care that he was mid-blink in the picture; he was a professional and must live up to this title. He had to be certain the pair were not in the store for nefarious reasons. He tilted his upper body forward for new and improved eavesdropping.

The man muttered into the walkie-talkie, “ASUS Z790-A captured, over.”

The boy answered into his own device, “Roger, Nano-Four. Fan accessory card, anniversary special, secured, over.”

Derrick glanced at his watch; it was almost break time. He had enough espionage for one day, stepped in front of the man, and crossed his arms. Game over.

“Just playing with my kid,” said the man.

Derrick remained cautious. “Make sure you fill out the purchase card with that item you’re hiding under your sweatshirt.”

“Oh, of course,” said the man, revealing the motherboard, surrendering further excuses with a sigh.

Derrick noticed the Devils insignia and threw his hands in the air as if to say, “Why didn’t you tell me you were a Devils fan?”

“Rangers suck,” Derrick said.

The dad grinned. A connection.

“The last game—Where was the offense?” Derrick said.

“There was an algorithmic perspective that failed to execute.”

Derrick nodded.

The dad and his son moved past the cubicles, glimpsing the other customers hard at work on their electronics. They found their partition and plopped onto the hard plastic chairs designed for high customer turnover.

Josh Turtletaub pulled off the zombie mask, uncovering a head too big for his slight stature. Andrew shook off his hood, revealing a cherubic face and black hair thick enough for a comb to vanish. They meticulously attached the motherboard and fan card to their homemade laptop. Andrew presented the mini screwdriver to Josh as though it was a gold bar; the last tool needed to complete their masterpiece. Josh held up the final screw, slid the Philips head into the slot, and carefully turned the tiny fastener into the laptop casing. Here, his child-sized hands were useful, and he knew it. He beamed with pride. Andrew wrapped his arm around his son, and Josh placed the laptop upright and opened it, testing the hinges; indeed, it cornered with ease.

“Try the power button,” said Andrew.

He did.

It came to life. The hum was a symphony to Andrew and Josh’s electronics-loving ears. If there was a vibrating, pulsing waltz, they would have danced. Everything was there: Windows, Excel, Outlook. Andrew and Josh high-fived.

“I almost forgot,” said Andrew. He revealed a sticky label that read, “Built By Andrew and Josh Turtletaub.”

“Maybe by the time I’m 18, we’ll have built eight more laptops. One per year. We can have a collection like Izzy’s books and Mom’s anti-aging serums.”

Josh adhered the label underneath. It was crooked and creased, but it didn’t matter. It was a label of love. They gazed proudly at their homemade laptop; they had just chiseled their version of The David. Josh spoke into the walkie-talkie even though his dad sat next to him. The game must conclude. “Mission complete, over.”

Andrew followed his lead, pulled out his walkie-talkie. Even with the reverb, he said, “We’ll test emails at home and eat meatloaf, over.”

They headed towards the front of the store, passing through a warehouse filled with computer parts since the dawn of PCs. Aisles and aisles of new and used items, refurbished computers, dismantled laptops, and patrons placing items in their shopping carts or inhabiting their reserved cubicles where they were creating their own masterpieces.

At the checkout counter, Josh pulled the zombie mask back over his head while Andrew pushed his credit card into the payment terminal. A rack of impulse-buy items was strategically located across from the cashier, but Josh was captivated by his new laptop. Nothing could dissuade his attention.

The cashier grinned at this dynamic duo. He grabbed a shammy and buffed up Andrew and Josh’s laptop. “Looks like you built an original,” he said.

Josh shifted his weight. He heard the employee, but his nerves lit up like a fluorescent bulb whenever a stranger addressed him. He knew this was his burden, especially because next year would be the New New Jersey Science Fair, where the winner would receive free tuition at Orange University, a fledgling school with an up-and-coming science program. The school was opened in 1987 by New Jersey resident Bark Shannigan, who claimed to be the first to make the donut hole a popular snack, battling former school chums Jane and Reg Moore, who had opened The Donut Hole restaurant in Destin, Florida in 1985.

“I had the hole first,” Bark said in an interview with the Fair Lawn Fare Gazette. The dispute was never resolved. Later, from a personal catastrophe of losing a finger in a deep fryer, came an invention greater than the hole: the double deep-fried donut. It became so popular that Bark Shannigan was able to open forty-two Bark Shannigan Donut Houses throughout New Jersey, with one outlier in Pennsylvania. He became a multi-millionaire and decided to build a college in Orange with a culinary program, which was the harbinger to chemistry and then science programs. The stipulation for that lucky middle schooler who won the New New Jersey Science Fair was that he or she must maintain a 2.9 grade point average in high school. Josh knew he could ace this requirement, but presenting his experiment to strangers would be the challenge.

The cashier tucked the signed credit card slip into a drawer and said to Josh, “You know it’s the shy zombies who change the world.”

Andrew rubbed Josh’s shoulder and told the cashier, “Josh isn’t always a flesh-eating corpse. The mask comes off only when it’s truly important. Right, Edison?”

Zombie-Edison-Josh nodded in agreement.

Josh held the laptop as though it was a tray of crystals as they passed through the automatic sliding doors.

Outside Electric City, the air was charged. It was late October, a time when the weather is confused in New England. The trees were winter-ready but the sun’s rays pounded against the pavement, damp from a brief rain shower, it produced a rainbow glare. Andrew crossed into the parking lot and a Kia driver slammed on the brakes; the horn blared.

“Dad!” Josh cried.