Tangerine

Most people have a spark, something that compels them to do the extraordinary. At least, that’s what my professors tell me when I come to them with yet another problem with my midterm project. All this nonsense about “finding a muse” and hey Jordan, have you tried taking a breather and stepping away from the computer for a while? As if any of that advice will help run my game. 

“Buy one get one free, Tangerines! Ripe in season!” The voice makes itself known among the myriad of other local farmers trying to sell their produce on this hot, Sunday morning.

I walk over to buy some of their tangerines, wondering if my professor might care for one when I walk down to his office hours today. I was aware that he was making an exception for me by allowing me to stop by on a Sunday: Why did I have to wait until the very last day to see professor Simons? 

I grip two tangerines and stroll past the busy intersection that the farmers market has made on my college campus, today it seemed to be a conglomerate of planetary science majors and local moms who weren’t able to find a nearby Whole Foods. 

Despite the heat, the tangerines were cool to the touch and made me think of my own mom. Like when mom used to pack away zip lock bags of tangerine slices for my baseball games. 

Those were fond memories, and I like to think that I remember them best by the sweet, citrus flavor that would burst in my mouth before every game. Even when going up to bat early in the game, the fresh taste of tangerine would still be lingering if I were to lick my lips while walking upon that plate. 

Walking up to the building, I notice the dance team practicing to some tango music, each male dancer gripping the waist of their partners as they do steep bends and swoops. I’m guessing it’s to get ready for their next performance, a musical adaptation of the book Tangerine by Edward Bloor. One of my friends told me that I could easily audition for the main character, said that I got the “look.” I felt good for the rest of that day until I went home and looked up how the main character was known as “bug-eye” for the whole novel. 

I creak the door to see an empty lecture hall with Professor Simons and a TA standing, making idle conversation. The TA seems to be bent over a laptop as Simons is looking over their shoulder, scratching his chin like a movie character. I gently close the door behind me and awkwardly walk up to the front, scanning the drab colors of the chairs that used to be unnoticeable when filled with students and the ceiling lights that made it hard to initially adjust your eyes when coming in. There’s also a strong odor of Clorox wipes that make the place smell like a hospital, but I guess you could hypothetically say that my midterm project will be on the operating table. Overall, this is the last place I want to be on a sunny, Sunday morning.

The TA seems to notice me first and as they look up towards me, Professor Simons does the same and gives me a wave down as if to tell me to join a Christmas party. 

“Ah Jordan, come over!” Very chipper for a man working overtime at the moment.

I walk up the stage where there is now even harsher lighting, making both the TA’s and Professor Simon’s faces look much sharper under an ugly yellow light that has splotched their skin of the same color. I figure I look the same, and I pull over my hoodie. 

I’m now able to register the TA’s computer screen as it seems they are also working on some code. However, it seems like pretty juvenile code and I start to question if they really are a TA or someone that also needed some help. It almost looks like coding for a simple puzzle game or maybe-

“I’ve got to say, I was surprised when I read your email. You, Jordan, seem to always be working by yourself during the classroom activities. Of course, your grades are well off enough where I didn’t think it was necessary to talk to you about, but I’m sure glad to see that you reached out. Although, an earlier date that wasn’t the day before the projects are presented would have been much better..”

“Yeah, I’m sorry.” I give an awkward chuckle to acknowledge the loner comment. “I just like to do that stuff alone, I guess, uhm-”

“Well, I called over my TA Alex to help you this morning with your project since I have a lot of things to grade today. And if you or Alex need any assistance, just knock on my door.” 

And as quickly as his introduction, he disappears into a dark hallway behind the stage that would presumably be his office. I realize that there are a lot of small things I haven’t noticed in this lecture hall despite the fact I’ve been going here for a semester. I look down and notice the converse that Alex is wearing. Despite the polo that reads Computer Game Design Society that looks sharp and polished almost as if it was ironed, their black converse are quite messy— typical with any college student, I suppose. If I could, I would say they were the most college-student-converse I’ve ever seen in my life— soles coming off, a dirty black with remnants of dirt and grass probably from crossing the Lorton lawn one too many times, shoelaces untied-

“Hi, I’m Alex.”

I look up.

“..I’m Jordan. I have some problems with my code, it seems that the game won’t run.”

Alex takes a look from behind, and I can catch a whiff of their hair conditioner’s citrus smell, possibly mango, from the morning,

“Oh, I forgot to let Professor Simons know, but I bought these tangerines to share. Maybe I should-”

“Simons doesn’t usually like eating in his office, says it keeps him distracted.”

Just my luck. As fast as I took the tangerines out, I slide them back in my pocket but not until Alex adds,

“I’ll take the other one if you don’t mind.”

I nod like a chump and have my palm face up with the tangerine which is when Alex takes it, their fingertips brushing my calluses. For some reason, I become very embarrassed at the gesture and quickly pull back, abruptly enough to make Alex slightly jolt their hand backwards.

We start to discuss the code while eating the tangerines, reminding me of how this memory will probably be added into the pile of many other memories with the only connection being the citrus flavor embedded in them. While figuring out the code, we make small conversation and I discover many interesting similarities between Alex and I. 

We both come from the same home town Orange County, California and grew up with two brothers, similar in age. We share stories of our childhoods and how Orange County’s quirks made us the people we are today, mostly the good quirks since we just knew of each other’s existence a couple of hours before.

“This is a really interesting concept for a game Jordan, I mean, a time-traveling cat that has to make its way back home to its junkyard? Sounds like a Pixar movie.”

I bashfully smile and cup my hooded neck with my palm, not knowing what to say. 

“I’m just going to have to figure out what I’m going to name the cat.”

“You could name it after mine, Fuzzball”

“Yeah, I don’t know.. this is a sphinx cat after all”

Alex grins at my comment and scrolls up to look at the earlier code. Progress was coming along quite nicely, and we had been here for about 3 hours now. I wonder what will happen once I leave the lecture room with my code finished, will I see Alex again? I’m enjoying exchanging stories like childhood friends, maybe in another life where I moved into Alex’s neighborhood or vice versa, this really would be a re-kindling friendship. Sadly, life doesn’t always work out like a teen movie. 

No, after this, Alex and I will probably go our separate ways with me going up to my dorm and Alex going wherever they need to go. Because all of life is dependent on faith, faith being all about luck, and me being the unluckiest person in the world. But if Alex and I did know each other in high school, would we have been friends? Are we only talking because Alex is being forced to help me out and this is their way of passing the time or are we connecting as well as I think we are? So much for hypotheticals, god, I should just name the cat after me, Jordan. That way, I could live out in its fantasy world where I’m able to control every aspect of my life to the T. With whatever courage and added curiosity I had mustered up, I ask,

“How would you rate your high school experience?” That was such a weird way to phrase that question.

“I think, a fat 2. My high school was pretty mean back then. And to the ones that weren’t mean, they were always worrying about something else to ever be that fun..”

Just like that, the conversation continued and continued more with a fluidity that the last one didn’t have. Before, we had talked about recess and what our moms packed us in our school lunches, but there always seemed to be an unspoken barrier between our elementary school days and high school days. From the corner of my eye, I noticed my computer screen dimming to sleep. I didn’t care enough to tell Alex.

—————

My morning alarm sounds, and I’m instantly hit with a groggy cloud that has now enveloped my entire consciousness. Just 4 hours before, I was hunched over my computer desk trying to debug the errors in my code I wasn’t able to do yesterday. 

We had been in that lecture hall till late afternoon which is when Professor Simons came out, doing a double-take as he saw both Alex and I still standing right where we were 6 hours ago. Professor Simons jokes that if he knew it would take this long for a couple of error command lines, he would have let me off the hook. But if he were to look more closely, he would have noticed my computer pushed to the side of the desk with the lock screensaver on. 

Getting up from my bed and changing into suitable presentation mode Jordan attire, I think back to my project. We had finished all aspects of the game within the story building (the scenery looks nice, the map doesn’t glitch anymore when the cat moves around the borders, subtitles now follow the dialogue) and the player movement (the special combo moves work, the animation is not lagging anymore, weapons fire at the right touch buttons). However, most of that was done by me when I got back home with the helpful tips that Alex garnered for me. And to think, we spend a total of 6 hours together, and I didn’t even have the guts to ask for their phone number after. I slammed my head into my desk many times for that mistake. Sigh. 

————

I walk into the hustling and bustling classroom that is filled with excited chatter. Weird reaction to have on the midterm day, but then again most of these guys are geeks like me that probably never went outside, to begin with. Suddenly, the cloud evaporates as I hear a familiar voice call my name. Turning to see, it’s Alex sitting by the window sill. I can’t help myself as I give Alex one of those techie grins and a thumbs up. I promise myself that I will make an attempt to talk to Alex after the presentation, just not right now or I’d really lose it. Before I’m able to have a second thought, I hear my name from Professor Simons. He asks if I’m ready and judging from him already taking his leave off the podium, a “not yet” would probably not suffice.

I make my way to the front, wondering how many of these students knew my name before Professor Simons announced it. Why couldn’t we do this over a video call or something, some way where I wouldn’t have the chance of falling over my two left feet? I trek one foot over the other to the podium where Professor Simons once stood, and I take a breath looking to the audience. It’s only about 20 other students in the room and judging from the leg shaking and fondling of pencil erasers, they seem to think everyone else’s presentation will be a waste of time until they are able to go. Typical computer science students.

Now, this is the moment that changed the way I viewed my midterm project, my game, my creation. Obviously, the game is about a sewer cat making its way back to its junkyard house. I picked this story because although it’s simple to orchestrate, I knew that this is what my classmates would wanna see. Because after these midterm projects are finished presenting and we have our last class for the semester, we get to go home. And most don’t realize that this is something college teaches you: while you can get sick of the family dinners or that one aunt at your family reunions or sharing a bathroom with your sister, you fail to never feel nostalgic about it. Whether you have a family yacht vacation or nothing, waiting for you back at home, it doesn’t matter because you know that you wouldn’t want it any differently. My home comes from the citrus of tangerines. Your home comes from your mom’s sunflowers in the front yard, or the rusty beach chair you guys always bring to the beach. Maybe when you drive back, it’s a close neighbor or a dented STOP sign that reminds you that you are home. When you smell burnt firewood, does that take you to your family’s summer log cabin? Does a sunhat with a lilac purple ribbon remind you of your mom?

And it was with this thought and a quick glimpse at Alex, I knew the answer to what Professor Simons would ask me.

“Jordan, what’s the name of your project?”

“Tangerine.”