Chapter 3

Okay, I guess this is where I have to admit to the world that I’m just your average somewhat self-absorbed teenager. After my success with Sherry and Dad, I was starting to feel like I could easily have my way by just aiming the remote, pushing a couple of buttons, and making a wish. But you know what? I read somewhere that if things start to feel like they’re too good to be true, it’s probably because they are. My next two attempts at mind manipulation shook up my world more than I could have imagined.

It was Mom’s turn to be, um, maneuvered into catering my whims. A week after I got the car (something Mom still didn’t entirely approve of, and she was still kinda pissed at Dad for going around her), I decided to try to curtail her nagging about my room. I mean, it was supposed to be my own private space, right? I didn’t see why she should be always raising a stink about my bed not being made, a cluttered desk or a few clothes dropped on the floor. If she didn’t like it, all she had to do was avoid looking into my room. But she didn’t see it that way. Every morning after breakfast, she’d stick her nose in the door and give my room the once-over. If it was looking the least bit chaotic (her word), she’d insist I take care of the problem before I got busy with whatever I had planned for the day.

Resolving to fix the problem once and for all, I closed my door, brought up the text on the TV screen and reviewed the chart for my options. I decided to go with “Impart a greater sense of forgiveness.” as her behavioral shift. I waited until later in the morning when she was sitting at the kitchen table making up a shopping list. Her back was to me as I stood in the hall and aimed my magic box at her, held down the buttons and made my wish that she’d start cutting me some slack in the housekeeping department. Three times.

Now it was wait and see.

The next morning, fully expecting to be undisturbed, I’m sitting at my computer posting a bunch of junk on my Facebook page when right on schedule, she sticks her head in the door, takes one look around and says, “Unacceptable, Bobby. Get it straightened up before you leave the house.”

Not what I expected! I was upset that I’d failed, and in my frustration I said something really stupid. I looked at her and asked, “Are you serious?”

She gave me one of her special looks and said, “Absolutely serious! Are you thinking about testing my resolve on this issue?”

Her words and the set of her jaw quickly brought me back to reality. “Um, no. I’ll get it done before I leave.”

“Good boy.”

So my efforts hadn’t made a dent in her neat-freakiness as far as I could see. Maybe I’d pushed the wrong buttons or something, but I was pretty sure I hadn’t. Or maybe she was just immune to whatever electrical signals I was sending her way through the remote.

Then I had a disturbing thought: Maybe it hadn’t actually done anything to Sherry or Dad either. Maybe Sherry’s returned appetite and Dad’s generosity was just coincidental and had nothing to do with the remote. Shit! The more I thought about it, the more that made sense. I’d been kidding myself all along! The damn remote case was EMPTY! How could it have possibly done those things? Except it turned on my TV. How was it even doing that?

How could I know for sure?

As I made my bed and picked up my dirty clothes to put them in the hamper, I knew I was going to have to give it another shot. Not on Mom, though, because it was a pretty sure bet that she wouldn’t be an easy subject. No, I’d zap Sherry again because she seemed to respond so easily.

But I still wouldn’t know if I was successful unless I got her to do something that was way out of character for her; something I knew she wouldn’t do on her own in a million years. Then if she did it I’d know for sure the remote worked and I could easily reverse whatever suggestion I planted in her brain, no harm done.

I thought about it for the rest of the morning, trying to come up with something that would convince me that I had caused her mind to do a major shift.

Then I had it!

Now, if you’re squeamish about even the mention of anything incestuous, I should warn you that I’m owning up to some major sleaze here, but in my defense, I honestly planned to turn it around right away if she showed signs of doing what I suggested.

So later that afternoon Mom had just brought Sherry home from swimming practice and little sister was toasting her (now) very nice bikini-clad form on the chaise by the pool. She always gets all worn out at practice, so I waited until I was pretty sure she was dozing before I snuck up to within a few feet of her, pushed the buttons and thought, “Sherry, you’re going to develop a very strong romantic interest in your handsome brother. You want his body!” By the time I’d done it three times, I was already starting to feel guilty.

I climbed into my car and headed across town to my own swim team practice. That’d give the suggestion plenty of time to percolate through her brain. If there was going to be any shift in her attitude toward me, she should be showing signs by dinnertime. At the first indication of success, I’d look for an opportunity to get her in my sights and reverse the previous suggestion.

So what’s that line from Roberts Burns? Oh yeah, “The best laid plans of mice and men...”

I got home from swimming practice at the same time Dad got home from his office. Mom was in the kitchen finishing dinner and Sherry was curled up on the couch reading. She looked up at us when we walked in but I didn’t see anything particularly adoring in her expression. She just waved her hand in a quick “Hi” and went back to her book.

Okay, so maybe she was being coy and hiding her feelings. She wouldn’t want to be obviously gushy over me in front of the parents. Mom would spot something like that in a second and be all over it.

All through dinner, I kept sneaking peeks at Sherry across the table, looking for any little signs that she was acting strange, some hint that she lusted after me. But nothing. In fact, when she caught me watching her, she asked, “What? Have I got a wart on my nose or something?”

I dropped my eyes to my plate and went back to eating, convinced that she had proven my suspicion that the remote had no effect on her at all.

So the whole thing was just wishful thinking on my part. I guess I felt some sense of relief along with my disappointment. I mean, I never really felt right about what I was doing - or rather what I thought I was doing. I could toss the remote since it was obviously phony. Except I still wanted to know how it projected that text onto the TV screen. It might not be magic, but it still held some secrets I needed to fathom out.

After dinner, Mom and Dad retired to the family room in the basement to watch CNN. Sherry got busy with her smart phone texting who-knows-what to all of her weird, giggly friends, and I went to my room to try one more time to make some sense of the remote.

I pushed the “menu” key to turn on the TV and waited for it to get to the list of button combinations and behavior changes. I started again at the top and read it carefully all the way through. There were a lot more options than I remembered and I discovered I’d never made it all the way through the list. The more I read, the more I couldn’t imagine why it was so detailed for something that didn’t even work.

When I got to the bottom, there were a few lines of very small, very fine print I hadn’t taken notice of before. In fact the print was so small I had to get to within about three feet of the screen to even read it. If the TV hadn’t been HD, I probably couldn’t have read it at all.

What I read was: “Caution! Never repeat command process! Reciting commands more than once may make behavioral changes permanent and irreversible. Different subjects may have different degrees of susceptibility to suggestion. Some subjects may be immune while others may be highly susceptible.”