Lisa couldn't believe what was happening. Just four days after her meeting with Glausman and now look at her. She was in the living room, watching television!
With her arm and slouched shoulders leaning towards the couch's arm, Lisa contemplated how she arrived in this position. For the past few days, she had relegated herself to her bedroom, only leaving for meals and occasional trips to the lavatory down the hall.
Every part of her being had transfixed itself on the expansive collection of mathematical equations and endless literature on quantum mechanics. Even with her large-rimmed glasses, her eyes strained from staring at the tiny numbers. Her blackish-blue hands trembled even as they tried to relax on the upholstery. By now, the cushy couch comforted her back and legs like a cozy bed, trying to seduce her into a sweet slumber.
It was only after a marathon of work that she reluctantly agreed to a break. Lisa certainly wasn't being tricked into turning to TV; there were a select number of programs she enjoyed watching on occasion. Most of them were documentaries on the solar system or on the universe's expansion. But she also admitted to enjoying less enlightening programs, such as West Coast Rap music videos and the mutually beloved Dream Boat, which she indulged with the rest of her family. Lisa knew she could derive joy from television, but she preferred reading books and conducting legitimate scientific research. That's what she told herself this was. Once she revitalized her energy, she could return to her research with a clear mind. Such theories have been researched and confirmed for less intelligent subjects. So what made her any different?
But Dream Boat wasn't on during the afternoon and the only music channel she could find was playing country. The sole Congressional hearing on TV today was more preoccupied with adjusting tariffs on the sugar trade than on funding space travel. And at this point, she wasn't in the mood for documentaries. There were too many to pick from, each filled with whimsical music blasting over the paid commercial Scientist reading worn-out theories in painfully simple language. Most days she could tolerate such watered down research. But not now. Despite the abundance of channels, nothing carried the proper substance for the current context. Ultimately, she sighed in defeat. Who ever thought relaxation could be so draining?
Without a plan, Lisa sat like a lump on a log with the remote just outside her reach. Her eyes glazed over the screen, lazily accepting whatever images it produced. But it wasn't long before Lana huddled in and plopped down beside her.
"Hey Lis," she said cheerfully, "mind if I watch a little somethin'?"
Lisa wasn't in the mood to give long answers. Couldn't Lana tell she was bored out of her mind?
"Sure."
Within seconds, the channel flipped to an animated program. The clock read 5 pm Eastern Daylight Time, indicating that a new block had commenced. Lisa sank into her seat, tacitly accepting whatever content the television produced.
An anthropomorphic rabbit adorning an orange polo found himself sitting at a wooden desk, much like ones found in public schools. On top was a wooden placard reading "Harrison".
"Oh, hi everyone," he said, facing the camera and waving his paw, "today might finally be the first day where something doesn't go horribly wrong."
A wavering "wuh wuh" sound could be heard. Lisa hypothesized that it was a trombone with a mute plugged into the bell. The absence of other instruments seemed to suggest that the noise was diegetic rather than a sampling of background music. Indeed, Harrison's face had transformed from one of visual contentment's to one of absolute dread, as seen by his unreasonably enlarged eyes and frown.
"Oh no! You can't be serious!" He interjected.
The camera panned out to an empty desk on his right. A more diminutive rabbit with obnoxiously large spectacles bounced into the spot. She gently placed her own placard on her new desk. It read "Bernadette".
"Bernadette?!" Harrison exclaimed, "what are you doing here?"
"As the subject of your inquiry, I shall present my explanation regarding my presence in this public institution," she said, smugly reassuring her glasses, "You see, my biological parental units have long since observed an immense, superior, and enlarged prefrontal cortex, which has enabled me to pursue intellectual quandaries and inquiries. Under any other circumstances, I would have been enrolled in a university, however the laws of our animated universe have compelled me into this setting in order to produce humorous results for an external audience's enjoyment, dissatisfaction, and other activities."
Harrison stared blankly at the smaller creature, clearly an indication of ignorance. Lisa deduced that he was not the smartest fellow.
"At the present moment, I am here to perpetuate the universe's orders," Bernadette explained. She knelt down and pulled up a huge tome with thick red covers. As she plopped it on her desk, she stretched up and wiped the front cover clean of dust, "I took the liberty of memorizing the classroom's textbook and shall now recite it for the instructor and pupils."
But before she could approach the front, the trombone broke out again.
"What are you insinuating?" she asked.
More noise could be heard, but little Bernadette barely flinched. Rather, it was Harrison who's jaw dropped while the trombone kept playing. A cacophony Of complaints broke out. Pencils, wads of paper, and rotten tomatoes rained down on poor Harrison.
"Hey! It wasn't me! Stop it!" Harrison cried as he covered his head.
"I cannot comprehend why the pupils in this facility would not appreciate the raising of instructor expectations," Bernadette said to herself. After a moment of observing Harrison suffering, she readjusted her glasses, "On the contrary, it does not appear to be my problem."
Harrison groaned as more waste rained down on him.
Lisa sifted in her seat. This was just boring. Far too simple, depending on people's vices and sloth to derive comedy. Needless to say, Lisa concluded that this entertainment only appealed to young children, such as Lana.
Here she was, sitting before her old friend. The incomplete equations, the half-baked notes, and the dreaded calculator.
Tapping the pen against the desk, Lisa pondered how to proceed.
Alas, this monotonous rhythm defined her afternoon. Aside from a few minor scribbles, Lisa had yet to find anything new. And now that she thought about it, yesterday followed a similar beat. And sadly, the day before that was little different. Thinking about it threatened to discourage her. What difference would today make? She was just wasting her time.
Lisa shook her head. This thought exercise was simply unacceptable. She prided herself as an achiever, a professional that confronts any challenge despite improbable odds. And to her knowledge, few have accomplished anything of note from the pit of pessimism.
With this refresher, Lisa turned back to the paper. She used her fingers to rub the skin on her forehead as her eyes narrowed on what had been written.
She could solve yet another derivative to find a point of maximum rate of change. But that wouldn't have done much considering she had done that just five steps before. She could run off numbers in the Fibonacci sequence. Sure it was unconventional, but it was worth an attempt.
"0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8,"
Lisa subconsciously grinned. This had to be the start of something magnificent.
"13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, 233, 377,..."
Just like that, the momentum was halted. Lisa knew she could have (and must have) been able to compute at least 165 Fibonacci numbers with nothing more than her own brain. She took pride in reciting each digit with impenetrable efficiency. Even Professor Glausman had to pick up the calculator after 15 digits.
Instinctively, her eyes turned to that device. There it was, just sitting there. At this point, could she even pretend the calculator embargo still existed? What started off as one number crunch several days earlier had become several more the next day and several more the day after that. Just yesterday, she depended on that tool to learn the product of 23 and 89! And now, after repeatedly vowing to lock it up for good, it was still sitting on her desk.
It was moments like these where she questioned why she still had one of those things. Of course she knew the answer. That very calculator was a gift from Professor Glausman. She didn't ask for one, but the old professional figured it was only best for an aspiring physicist to have one. How could she reject a token of his appreciation, let alone dispose of it? For the longest time, she pretended it was a composite between a desk ornament and a therapy toy.
But even as her mind told her otherwise, her tiny hand was already grabbing to add 233 and 377. What was she doing, she asked herself. This wasn't what Lisa Loud did. She already had enough freebies. Putting it down became the new objective. Her eyes bored holes into that empty wooden space where the calculator belonged. No. Her fingers didn't need the exercise; the stroke of a pen was the most motion any of those appendages needed.
"610"
Her free hand fell. How shameful was that?! What happened to that laser sharp focus or dogmatic discipline in which she operated? All of these traits were jettisoned in a swift, self-defeating impulse.
As Lisa shifted her glasses up her nose, she thought of her fellow colleagues. Even by his standards, Professor Glausman didn't use a calculator to add two numbers as simple as 233 and 377. They formed a ten! What would he think of her now?
She wanted to act like she could have found it out on her own. Yes, she tried affirming. The calculator was little more than a second observer, intended to reinforce what her mind already deduced. But just as quickly, that fantasy was shot down. She remembered how she felt in that tight moment. It was all too easy to retroactively apply current knowledge and attitudes in starkly incompatible contexts.
Lisa sighed. Analyzing the numbers, she couldn't find any use for them. Fibonacci numbers? What did those have to do with molecular physics? Lisa shuddered, realizing that she was no closer to a definitive conclusion than before. Maybe she would need a second opinion on these matters.
And her eyes fell to the calculator in her hands. And as much as wanted to deny it, perhaps a third would be needed as well.
Lisa sighed. She loathed coloring more than any other activity. So simple. So bland. So tedious. Such was the fate of kids crammed into kindergarten class.
Every day when she was subjected to such childish activities, her thoughts often turned to the more exciting work at the University. Giving presentations to undergraduates, running tests with the pressure reactor, sharing papers with distinguished colleagues. Unfortunately, that was strictly reserved for Saturdays and Thursday afternoons. For now, Monday mornings were made for coloring.
So much for "social development", as Mom explained to her. If she had it her way, the days separating her trips to the University would have been spent reading up on the latest developments in physics, interspersed with light reading of textbooks she had checked out of the library. But despite holding her doctorate in physics, her parents insisted on enrolling her in public school due to deficits in non-intellectual areas. Not that she disagreed with her parents and not that she hadn't found some elements to enjoy, but the tradeoff was marred with hour after hour of pointless games.
Like this. By now, Lisa had internalized the Ms. Shrinivas's instructions to color within the black printed margins. She certainly understood its purpose; indeed, pupils around her age needed to learn about patience, concentration, and restraint. But even cognizant of this fact, Lisa couldn't help but slouch in her chair. Why did she need to learn about these characteristics when she has already been practicing all three in academia?
"Hi, Lisa."
She lifted her head and the mood shifted. Darcy took her seat beside her with her stuffed giraffe in one hand and her trademark smile on her face. Repeated exposure has established a strong, direct correlation between Darcy's presence and Lisa's oxytocin levels. Immediately, all her irritation melted away, the tension in her body let off, and her internal processes restored to a calm equilibrium.
"Good morning Darcy," Lisa said gently. She took another moment to examine that wonderful face. Regardless of her efforts to remain objective, Lisa felt flustered. Those bright brown eyes, gently groomed black hair, and superbly shaped smile absorbed her in a state of euphoria. She couldn't so much as speak without admiring her friend's overflowing charm, "How have you been?"
Just when she thought it couldn't get any cuter, Darcy cuddled up beside her giraffe.
"Me and Rafo played hide and seek," she said joyfully, "He tried to hide under the bed, but I knew he was there. I put him there!"
Lisa nodded.
"I appreciate how you and Rafo enjoy each other's company. Alas, I am usually too busy to partake in sport or play when I'm home," Lisa responded. It was when she was near Darcy that such a fact morphed into a regrettable reality. In that warm presence, Lisa occasionally wished that it didn't have to be that way. Out of context, that sounded absurd to her, however Darcy always had her means of persuasion (even if she wasn't aware of them).
"Oh. Well do you wanna color with me?" Darcy asked.
Funny how she would ask that. Lisa peered down at her own coloring. Just moments ago, the task depleted her energy in repetitive, simplistic movements. And certainly, neither the print-out outlines of elephants nor the small sticky crayons gave much dignity to such work. But how could she say no to someone like Darcy? Realizing the futility of such a prospect, she nodded.
"A little artistic recreation couldn't hurt," Lisa answered.
Darcy gleamed and turned to her open backpack, sitting on the plastic chair's leg. Her arms dig into it, exploring its contents. Despite her inclinations to work, Lisa watched her friend every second of the way, hoping some sort of answer would materialize. After several seconds, she pulled out a large turquoise rectangular box and plopped it on the table. Darcy's smile widened as she clicked open the cover.
"I got lots and lots of colors," she said cheerfully, showing off the open container. Indeed, it was filled to the brim with crayons, one neatly stacked against the other. Scarcely any space wasn't filled with the wax instruments, "Here! Take some!"
The box nudged to Lisa's side, pushing the paper along with it. Lisa looked down on the rainbow of colors lying before her. It presented an interesting paradox.
Here, she had a vast spectrum to choose from. There were even subtle shades of similar colors, each equipped with its own purpose for representing the visual universe. A creative individual could engineer a masterful tapestry. Perhaps she could create a reimagining A Sunday Afternoon on the Isle Of La Grand Jatte, utilizing every crayon in the box to create a similar pointillist effect. Or maybe she could meld violet, maroon, and cerulean to blend a frighteningly stunning drawing of a nebula. Merit must be granted to creators of such majestic and intellectually-stimulating stimuli.
But these were crayons. And while visual art was certainly a treasure trove of applications of frequency waves and light travel, the mere act of skating the edge of the utensil across a blank sheet of paper contained little educational value other than character development. Whatever coloring could have taught her about concentration was taken up from other, more challenging pursuits. She should have been using her schooling to further these goals, to achieve similar benefits from it that average students receive (the rigor of the content notwithstanding).
Lisa was forced into a state of inaction, unable to decide which course was best. She eyed the crayons, wondering what to do. The longer she just sat here, the less time she would have to be with Darcy, but that knowledge only complicated the issue. Lisa turned to Darcy, gazing at that beautiful face. How could she say no to it? Without further thought, she snatched a verdant crayon.
"So, uh, Darcy," Lisa said, fiddling with the instrument, focusing on it, "what do you prefer to color?"
"All kinds of things," she answered, "puppies, Cookie Monster, hearts. I even draw Rafo next to me!"
Curious, Lisa peered over at Darcy's paper. Already with five crayons by her side, she was well on her way to her next creation. There was nothing sophisticated about any of it, whether in content or style. A purple puppy was just a purple puppy for Darcy. But even with that, she moved on without a care in the world.
Even with everything on her mind, Lisa pondered how she herself could approach the activity just like Darcy. Well, just from observation, Lisa noted the lack of tension in her friend's arms and hands. The facial muscles responsible for smiling appeared to have a stretched default state. The fluids and muscles that maintain the eyes are in regular function. From this, Lisa concluded that Darcy was relaxing.
Now, it was her turn to mirror this reflection. Lisa tried clearing her mind. She was now one with the room, her hand melded into the utensil, and the world centered on that blank sheet. Her ears filled with the sound of her classmates playing and objects shifting en masse. Somehow, that was all she could experience. At last, her mind was clear.
"Excellent," Lisa thought to herself, "This must be how Einstein developed-"
But then it hit her. She wasn't supposed to think. Now, her head was filled with recollections on relativity and acknowledgement of what she was perceiving. This wasn't how Darcy went through life. She was supposed to just let things happen. But how? It was impossible to not think.
Her eyes turned to her friend.
"How is the artistic recreation exercise going, Darcy?" Lisa asked.
Darcy's face lit up as she proudly held up her drawing. By then, she had made more than just a purple puppy in the bottom right corner. Opposite to it was a yellow recreation of Rafo. Pink and blue streamers ran along the side margins and across the top. And right in the middle were two humanoid blobs. The one on the left used a turquoise crayon, the same shade as Darcy's shirt while the one of the right used a dark, mossy green. The large round spectacles on the latter revealed Darcy's intention.
"I made us holding hands!" Darcy said cheerfully.
Lisa couldn't help but smile. So this was what coloring could produce. All she needed to do was tap into what she felt rather than what she thought.
There was much to be said on that front. Lisa felt frustration, confusion, disappointment. She took a breath. She then remembered she also felt tranquility and bliss. Lisa knew she was more than a one-operation machine, but a human being. And while humans were flawed creatures, such an existence was also filled with unexpected pleasures, Darcy being one of them.
Taking the crayon, she began scribbling something down. The crayon left a green trace across the blank white paper, filling up with whatever creative whim came from her heart.
Whoever thought feeling could be such a good thing? After all this time of thinking, of worrying about failure, something as basic as joy could suppress all of it and create something spontaneous.
Now wasn't the time to think about anything. All thinking would do is big her down, force her into an endless cycle of beratement and anger. Lisa needed another break and she was going to get it.
Eventually, she put down the utensil and gazed at what she created. A sloppy, crude drawing of her and Darcy. It wasn't much. Her glasses looked more like ink splits than a tool for optical enhancement. Her attempt to draw fingers on their hands produced incomprehensible Turkey-like things. Even with most of the body parts out of proportion, Lisa told herself not to complain too much. She was on a break. She needed to relax.
"Aww," she heard Darcy said.
Turning over, she saw Darcy appreciating her work. What did Lisa do to deserve a smile that precious?
"Come here, you," Darcy added.
Before she knew it, Lisa was enveloped in a tender lock. She felt her heart flutter like she seldom felt it before. Only her family and Darcy were capable of eliciting such strong feelings out of her. The deep, hot feeling seared at her interior, nearly frightening her. Yet despite the overwhelming force such love inflicted on her, Lisa never stayed mad at the person causing it.
In a strange way, it felt nice to be cared for. It had the power to erase those long, bitter episodes of uncertainty and weakness. For the first time in a week, Lisa felt alive. She wished that feeling would never go away, leaving her defenseless in the endless sea of calculations and inconclusive findings.
Now empowered, Lisa wrapped her own arms around Darcy and tightened her own hug. Even if such moments were fleeting, she told herself that the pursuit could wait.
