Noology (14 page)

“Your body just isn’t meant to operate
this way. You are tricking it into functioning without sleep and without refueling
yourself. What is going to happen when you crash, and how long are you willing
to push yourself before you collapse into disrepair?”

“I’m fine,” he grunts through gritted
teeth.

“What about your dad, Tate?”

“What about him?” The venom oozing from
his eyes almost stops me in my tracks. Almost.

“Look what the drugs have done to him.
How can you put yourself in such a vulnerable position? How would you live with
a crippling addiction that hurts not only you, but everyone around you? How can
you take that risk?”

“I am not my father,” he enunciates, each
word sinking like lead. I shrink in cowardice, and am silent. After a long
moment, he storms out of the kitchen and locks himself in the study.

My pallid hands shake furiously after
such an explosive exchange. I am finally beginning to understand the powerless
situation Tate has been in for all these years. People are independent thinkers
with free will and choices, and any bystander is impotent. I am destined to
watch, idle, as my closest friend destroys himself. And there is nothing I can
do to stop him.

The rest of the week passes rather
uneventfully. My mother dotes on both Rian and I, showering us with affection
and love. My father provides noble words of sound advice to guide us in life’s
journey. Rian and Amy spend their time wrapped in each other’s arms, exploring
our childhood residence.

Tate barely exists beyond the confines of
my father’s office. I rarely see him and almost never witness him attempting to
sleep. We exchange terse greetings, but nothing more. How can this week have
soured so quickly? He opened up for the first time and let me in on the private
torture that has haunted him his entire life, yet now we can barely stand to be
in the same room. Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so critical. It is his life and
he can do with it what he pleases.

As I pack my bags with the humble
garments I am forced to wear, a crushing despair overwhelms me. At the
university, Tate is my sole means of survival. Now that we are hardly speaking,
how am I to persevere through this grueling period of education and evaluation?
I begin to hyperventilate, choking on the notion of having to exist without my
lifeline: my best friend. After a spell, I realize what I must do in order to
overcome this crushing blow and endure. I seal my disorganized bundle of
clothing within my worn duffle and drag myself downstairs.

After a moment of stumbling through the
house, I encounter Rian outside on the antique bench by himself. I plop down
next to him, and he turns to face me with a startled expression.

“What’s up, Avey? You look so serious.”

“Rian, I want you to contact Cerebrus
when you get back. Tell him I would be delighted to go out with him. I am truly
flattered and really excited about it.”

“That’s fantastic, Avey!” Rian lights up
in a beaming smile. “What should I tell him to do?”

“Tell him to leave a note in the cubby
beneath the statue on the university campus with his plan for the evening. I
will look for it in a few days. Thanks, Rian.” I lean over and kiss him
delicately on the forehead.

“Cerebrus is going to be thrilled! You
won’t regret it!”

I leave Rian sitting at the bench to
continue gazing across the expansive wilderness surrounding our house. Much as
I too want to bask in its organic glory before heading back to civilization, I
need to give my brother a moment alone to relax in peace.

With my affairs in order, I embrace all
of my family members in turn and address each person with a heartfelt goodbye.
As the solid oak door slams shut behind me, tears sting my eyes and cloud my
vision. I march in grim silence beside Tate the whole way back to the
dormitory, fighting back convulsive sobs as I trudge. The weight of my
situation buries me, and I am attempting not to asphyxiate.

Tate and I left for break arm in arm,
giggling in the warm glow of the autumn sun. We are returning sullen and
broken, barely speaking and on the verge of collapse.

“Begin with a small incision just below
the clavicle on the left side of the patient’s body. Bring the scalpel down and
across the chest and carefully peel back the epidermis to reveal the rib cage
protecting the heart.”

It has been three days since I got back
from break, and I haven’t exchanged a word with Tate. In fact, I haven’t even
seen him around in the dormitory. Presumably he’s studying for the SMART’s, but
I hope he is taking proper care of himself.

Professor Whitman is instructing us in
the art of performing open-heart surgery for our practical experience. Each
group of two individuals has a frigid cadaver sprawled on the gurney before
them. I have partnered with Nirvana and our patient is a teenage girl, no older
than nineteen. There is no shortage of dead bodies in Certet with disease
claiming some and depression provoking others to suicide, and the medically
driven population has no compunction to conduct research on all deceased
specimens. All qualms about repurposing the dead in this way are ignored for
the betterment of society through performing vital investigations into the
workings of the human body.

As we sever the pale skin of our cadaver
and negotiate between the protruding ribs, we discover the fleshy heart slick
with viscous blood. It is astounding to think that such a small and frail
bundle of cells determines whether a being lives or dies with its incessant
pounding. The class continues, following the precise instructions of the
professor and maneuvering the surgical tools under his watchful eye in a
chronological pattern. Finally, the procedure is complete and we are released
for the afternoon, sprung from our tightly bound educational manacles.

 
 
“Are you going
back to Crusty Hall?” Nirvana asks as we step out of the hospital and into the
haze, the air thick with threats of precipitation.

“Not quite. I have to run a quick errand
and then I will be heading over. I will see you in a bit,” I reply. I amble
towards the university statue, a pillar of respect and domination.

The statue is located directly outside of
the regal university library. While it once was an awe-inspiring tribute to the
founders of the university, now it is but a husk of its former self as a result
of neglect. Narrow columns support a pedestal with a lanky doctor fitted in
medical garb and trailing a stethoscope. The bronze sculpture has acquired a
mottled patina film from years left out in the rain and streaks of bird
droppings tarnish the exterior. At the base of the statue, between two of the
thin stone columns, lies a tiny cubby recessed into the marble. All of the students
are aware of its existence and many use this clandestine alcove as a repository
for personal messages now that electronic communications have been abandoned.

I carefully reach inside the niche,
fumbling within the small space for a letter or scrap of paper. After a moment
of groping blindly in the cubby, my fingers brush against a damp wad of paper.
I extract the envelope and see that it is in fact addressed to me. Rian
delivered my message and I eagerly rip into the sealed letter, anxious to
uncover Cerebrus’ response.

As I gingerly unfurl the delicate paper,
I inhale deeply to quiet my frazzled nerves as they buzz with anticipation.
Curling letters scrawl across the ivory parchment in glistening black ink.

“Dear
Avelyn,

I am pleased to hear that
you would like to go out sometime. I am very close with Rian, and I know that
you have inherited some of the same humorous and fun-loving attributes that
encapsulate his personality. I propose we arrange our first date for this
Saturday evening. I will organize everything so you just need to bring
yourself. Meet me at this statue at five o’clock.

                                                                             
Yours,

                                                                             
Cerebrus

 
My heart races as I scan the wrinkled page, and I am unsure
whether this was a good idea after all. There is no turning back now, so the
best course of action is to roll with the punches and embrace the opportunity.
What’s life without a little risk?

As I turn towards the dormitory and trek
across campus, cool droplets of rain begin to caress my chapped face. The
ominous grey clouds rupture and crisp rains leak from the scattered puffs. I
slog through the slippery mud as it sucks at my boots, refusing to give way.
Eventually I spot the sagging residence hall and I slip inside to gain refuge
from the persistent downpour. As I shake the residual water from my limp hair
and saturated clothing, I shiver in the cool draft penetrating the cracked glass
door.

After rushing to my bedroom to change
into fresh clothing, I traverse the vacant hallway and secure a spot in the
study near the roaring fireplace. Within minutes, the heat of the writhing
flames refreshes me and I crack open my waterlogged textbook on human immunity.
Huddled on the stained sofa, I resolve to spend the remainder of my evening immersed
in study.

My hands are quivering slightly as I
twist, trying to pull the zipper resting halfway down my spine. After a moment
of pain as I jar my shoulder, I finally feel the zipper pull begin to slide
across the links and seal the back of the cocktail dress. Glancing in the
mirror, I evaluate my appearance: a sheer black frock with sequins mapping out
flowers across the trim, a soft leather motorcycle jacket, tapering gold
stilettos, and my hair done up in a tightly woven fishtail. Despite Certet’s renouncement
of placing value on physical characteristics or appearances, thousands of years
of sexual selection and evolution have left an indelible mark on humanity, and
I still feel the urge to impress with the humble resources I possess.
 

I check the ticking wind-up clock beside
my frumpy bed. Three o’clock. I still have plenty of time to make my final
adjustments and walk to the university statue.

Butterflies hover in my stomach as
uneasiness sweeps over me. A plethora of questions and insecurities begin
running through my mind: what if he doesn’t like my outfit? What if I say
something stupid? What if my faults ruin Rian’s future?

I quash these musings with strict
self-discipline and focus on the adventurous evening ahead. If Rian will vouch
for Cerebrus, he must be a catch but I am still skeptical. As the minutes pass
slowly by, I focus on constructing an inner tranquility and peace of mind that
will help me survive the endless wait before our date begins. Unable to sit
still any longer, I begin to pace across the dehydrated wooden planks
constituting the bedroom floor. As the clock chimes four o’clock, I leave the
stuffy old dormitory with trepidation and excitement blooming in my chest.

The rambling walk to the university tests
the limits of my fitness, especially in precariously high heels. Luckily the
brisk pace prevents me from dwelling on the frosty winds snaking up behind my
back. Over the course of the lengthy journey, I gather my thoughts and craft a
composed exterior so that when I finally encounter the sculpture at long last,
I am unaffected by the figure leaning against the far side.

A sliver of royal maroon cashmere peeks
out from behind the statue, and I can just make out a hint of sandy trousers.
Steeling myself, I clear my throat to indicate my presence. The man swivels in
the direction of my voice, stepping around the bulky statue to face me.

“Hello, I’m Cerebrus. You must be
Avelyn,” he murmurs in a sensual tone the consistency of rich syrup. He extends
his hand, firmly shaking my own in introduction. Eyes the exact hue of warm
honey imprison mine, holding them captive as he assesses me.

“Hi,” I squeak. “Rian has told me a lot
about you. I am excited for tonight. What do you have planned?” I babble.

“Easy there. One step at a time,” he
replies. “It’s all a surprise. Shall we?” Cerebrus presents his arm and we walk
together towards the more maintained part of campus – the tier one side.
 

“So Rian tells me you are a third year,
is that correct?”

“Yes,” I meekly respond. “And you are a
fourth year, right?”

“I am. I have been taking my tier one
classes and I am hoping to become a cabinet member in the near future. What are
your aspirations?” he inquires.

“Well, for now I am hoping to test into
tier two when I take my SMART’s in a few months. I may want to be a general
practitioner like my parents. Or maybe a specialist of some sort. I could
always be a farmer – I’m quite good with sairns.”

Cerebrus laughs at my obvious joke, and
we both relax a little into ourselves. As we continue strolling down the path
through the university, towering buildings cast slender shadows across the
aisle since the sun is beginning to set.

“What were the SMART’s like when you took
them?” I ask.

“They were no different from any other
examination I took at the university. The educational system grooms you to
succeed in their specifically programmed regimen, and the SMART’s are just the
last step in this natural progression. Well, the last step before you begin to
specialize. Honestly, a monkey could have taken that test. The hard part would
be teaching him to hold the pencil,” Cerebrus chuckles, and I ease into a wide grin
of amusement at the mental image.