Make It So

It was a simple enough proposition. Draw a curve whose end-points of birth and death stood for the only certainties in this crazy life, with whatever got thrown in between just random variables in probability space. Real world, it resembled a quivering tightrope strung between two platforms, those offering the only true vantage points from which to view the insanity of what lay ahead or behind.

Foley now turned and looked behind him and wondered if there had even been a tightrope, if he’d actually been walking on air the whole time. It appeared obvious he’d been talking to the air, with not one student having shown up for his mathematics lecture.

The young bearded man in tie and glasses scanned the room, twirling the piece of chalk like a baton, but with no one to cue. He had the rapt attention of every empty seat – every seat but the one down front, to the far left and occupied by the squat figure of the department head, Dr. Singh.

The woman in the teal-green pants suit with matching nails was certainly more intent on whatever her phone’s screen had to say than on what he’d been scribbling away at on the blackboard. Eventually, she would get around to telling Foley that he was being relieved of his duties as a faculty member, effective immediately. No one had signed up for his course on linear algebra. And this being the first day of the fall semester, his instant termination meant the comptroller had no more outlays to process for the remainder of his teaching schedule – being as there were no other classes assigned to him.

Thus, for Foley, life at the university was over. He’d be allowed to return to his desk to collect his lunch box, but the books and notes spread out there were property of the administration now. With empty box in hand, he waved to whomever was still in the faculty office and walked out. The sad thing was, no one even noticed him waving.

Following a quick glance through its doorway, Foley passed up the remedial math lab.

Werner leaned his head out the door. “Hey, man. Lunchin’ kinda early, aren’t ya?”

Foley stopped, turned and smiled. “Seems I have no choice today but to.”

“Sorry, man,” said Werner. “I was just, you know, trying to make a joke. Lighten things up. Hope you’re not still riled then.”

“Somewhat,” Foley responded. “But it happens. You know, life and everything in between. Let’s me catch up on a few things anyway.”

“Hey, go grab yourself a favorite snack and chow down. What I would do. No sense in getting drunk though. Just makes it feel worse.”

“Thanks. I think I’ll go grocery shopping and pick out something really fattening and expensive.”

“There ya go! Take it easy, man.”

The path to his car fronted the student union. He heard her again, the girl singing with the guitar. It was nearing the end of the lunch break for most of the campus, and she’d stayed on the corner trying to snag a few extra dollar bills in the hat at her feet. Foley, breaking his routine of pretending to ignore her, stopped and dug out his wallet. His budget said no, but he was flying now without a net, and the single ten he found was screaming to be jettisoned. Rather, something was screaming inside Foley to do any old crazy thing that would give a final note to his exit.

In the midst of a verse, she inserted with her speaking voice, “thank you and have a great daayyy!” returning then to the melody. Her eyes followed him, open lips spreading wide to leave him a complementary grin.

Foley was captivated by her waist-length dark hair. While some guys talked of T’s and A’s, without a substantial amount of hair, he felt, the rest played out as so many interconnected hyperbolic paraboloids – bare curvatures of a sculpture in space but with no fountain overflowing.

Foley stopped in at Cooper’s Supermarket with a mental list of what would stock his refrigerator for the remainder of the week. Scanning the freezers to determine what flavor of ice cream to binge on, he sensed someone floating toward him from down the aisle.

“I want to thank you so much for your generosity,” the girl, rather woman, spoke excitedly. None of his female students had ever enveloped him with such eyes, not even over grade improvements. “You don’t know how much that meant to me.”

Perhaps it was the store’s lighting which prevented Foley from seeing her as that performer from the sidewalk, the one he’d tipped with his last bill. Her hair color had seemed darker in the afternoon sun. With some reflection, it came back to him. “Oh, you’re quite welcome … Miss …?”

“Cassandra,” she said. “But everybody calls me Sandy. I’ve seen you walking passed everyday, caught up in your own business. But today, well … you made mine. Thank you.”

“You know, I like it,” Foley said. “Cassandra sounds kinda … I don’t know, like an exotic flower.”

“Really? Aw, that’s so sweet. And yours?”

“Foley. I teach … used to teach in the math department.”

“Foley, alright! Well anyway, I hope you’ll stop more often and give me a real listen. As a matter of fact, I’m playing Friday night at Wooster’s. You should come then.”

“Well, I don’t do the social scene much anymore.”

“Just bring a friend along, if you’re uncomfortable coming by yourself. I’d really like to see you there. You’re almost like my first real fan … I mean, outside of my boyfriend, that is. Say you’ll come.”

“Well … OK, I’ll try.”

“Great! Awesome! See you then.”

It wasn’t hard for Foley to narrow down his list of friends. Like the square root of negative-one, hard to fathom but easy to imagine. The way she’d bragged over him, he couldn’t let her down. So, the next day, on the pretense of forgetting something, he returned to the faculty office of the mathematics department.

“Mister Jameson,” said Dr. Singh upon seeing him. “Was there something else I could help you with?”

“No ma’am. I just … needed to give Werner back his pen. I borrowed it when mine ran out and forgot to return it.”

“I believe he has a class right now. If you leave it with me, I’ll be sure he gets it.”

“You know what?” Foley said, patting his pockets, “I think I left it in the car. I’ll be right back.”

Foley peeked into each classroom he passed. He met Werner coming out of the men’s restroom. “Werner.”

“Hey, man, what’s up? They call you back?”

“Listen, I … step over here a moment. You don’t have plans for Friday night, do you?”

Each having paid his own cover charge, the waitress led them to a table near the back wall. Werner ordered drinks, while Foley tried steadying his nerves.

“So,” Werner began, “you’ve heard her sing before. Is she good?”

“I’m not really a good judge of music. I guess she’s pretty good.”

“Uh-huh. Pretty as in ‘I’d really like to date her, but I’m just a nerd without a gig,’ or something like that.”

“She has a boyfriend already. And I’m not that much of a nerd. Am I?”

“Got it written all over your face, man. You’ve got the hots for her, admit it.”

“I mean, she’s pretty and all, and I like her name. But I don’t want to step on some guy’s toes, especially if he’s the jealous type.”

“Well, I guess you’re about to find out. Here they come.”

Sandy stepped up onto the small stage with her guitar. A guy, seemingly the boyfriend, got her a stool, placed the mic, then whispered something in her ear before quickly settling in a chair off to the side.

“Thanks guys,” she began. “This is my debut, so I hope ya’ll enjoy it.”

The boyfriend whistled and clapped solo.

“Alright! Let’s get this started.”

She played and sang for about half an hour, during which Foley’s eyes never left her. In the two years they’d worked together, Werner had never seen his former colleague so wrapped up in anything beyond explaining solutions to polynomials and linear equations.

The crowd was profuse with accolades of applause and hoots and whistles.

“I guess we can go now,” Foley said. “I’ll get the tab.”

“Don’t you want to go meet her?” Werner said, shoving his shoulder. “Go on! I’ve got this one, man.”

There were a number of people ahead of him in the back hallway. The boyfriend was talking with another guy in a corner. Foley was about to leave.

“Hey! Foley!” Sandy shouted over the throng. “Come here!” She waved him over. “So good you came. Means a lot to me.”

“I really liked your songs,” he said.

“Well, most are not mine. I ended with one I recently wrote.”

Some of the women said to her, “Sandy, you really need to try the Fairfield. You’ll get a bigger crowd. We’ll tell everybody.”

“Sandy, come here.” That was the boyfriend. “Someone wants to talk with you.”

“Sorry, guys,” she said. “Duty calls. Bye, Foley!”

The crowd of people filled up the space between Foley and the departing Sandy. He turned and went in search of Werner.

The following Monday, Foley sat in front of the student union. He waited till after 1:00, but Sandy never showed up to sing and play.

In fact, he would not see her face again for another two years. He’d gotten a job working the sales floor of an electronics dealer. All the big screens were playing the same midday newscast. There was video of her performing before a packed stadium, with hair neck-length and tomato-red. The caption displayed her stage-name, Sienna Dare. Foley had no idea who he was watching and went back to stocking phone covers. It then cut to the scene of a slick roadway crowded with emergency crews. Next came a shot of a bus in a ravine, its front-end smashed in by an eighteen-wheeler still jack-knifed on the roadway.

Two days later, he met Werner coming out of a Stop-n-Go.

“Foley?” Werner called.

Foley turned and squinted, then took his hand. “Well, I’ll be.”

“I hardly knew you without your beard and all. How’ve you been, man?”

“Not too bad. How’s the math world?”

“I’ve been bucking for associate professor, but Singh’s got her favorite already in the pipeline. Actually, I wanted to give you a call, see if you were alright and all.”

Foley shrugged. “Like I said, I’ve been doing OK.”

“I mean, it must’ve tore you up.”

“What did?”

“You’ve heard about that singer Sienna Dare, haven’t you?”

“There was something in the news, yeah.”

“That’s your girl Sandy. Didn’t you know?”

To her millions of fans online and off, she’d been Sienna Dare, reaching two billion streams with her latest single, “Make It So”, selling out the Superdome in New Orleans in one day, being nominated for a Grammy for Best New Artist, and finalizing plans for a world-wide tour.

To Foley, she’d been the girl with the guitar, the long dark hair and the prettiest name, Cassandra. After questioning Werner, researching news sites, querying a map app, and getting off work at 6:30, he drove in the dark and the endless rain the ninety miles to the hospital they’d transported her to after two hours in surgery. The woman at the front desk could not authorize visitation without his giving her full name. All he knew was Cassandra. On top of which, visiting hours for ICU would end in the next thirty minutes. She advised him to try again in the morning.

As he’d done before, Foley turned and looked behind and wondered if he’d only imagined a tightrope and had actually been walking on air. Had it simply been her voice, her hair and her name he’d been in love with from the start? Who was Cassandra? Before the world, she’d donned a mask, changed her name and played a part. Now, that one’s career lay totalled at the bottom of a ravine.

Foley couldn’t help noticing the crowd gathered up and down the lobby area, mostly young and female sitting or sleeping on the floor, with press people interviewing fans who’d traveled hundreds of miles further than he had. If half had shown up for his lecture two years earlier, he might’ve made full professor by now, had an office of his own and a pack of graduate assistants.

The elevator dinged and its doors rumbled open. Out came a man with a bruised face and his lower leg in a cast, being pushed in a wheelchair. Press people swarmed him, bringing up cameras and lighting and aiming microphones.

Amid a flurry of questions, the man raised a hand and quickly won their silence. “It’s too soon to say,” he said. “They’ve done as much as they could. I want to thank everyone on Cee’s behalf for all your wonderful prayers and support. I’m sure she’s picking up the vibe quite well. It’s the best medicine right now. Thank you. Let’s go.”

When the man had emerged and moved near the door to await a car’s arrival, Foley recognized him as the boyfriend from the bar. He walked over and said, “Excuse me, sir. How is Cassandra?”

“Who?” he responded. “I don’t know anyone by that name. Sorry, buddy, you must have me confused with somebody else.” He returned to staring through the glass doors at the outer darkness. A car pulled under the canopy, and he was whisked out and helped in.

Foley had backed away with apologies and wandered down the front hallway past more people sitting on the carpet and talking near the tall windows. He ascended the stairs leading up to the second-floor landing and sat down in the empty waiting area. The cushioned seat seemed comfortable enough, since he had no plans but to stay the night and wait for news in the morning. He picked up an entertainment magazine, her image on its front cover – rather, the image of someone named Sienna Dare, with short spiky red hair, bare shoulders protruding from a leather jacket, laughing. Nothing but the eyes were recognizable, those eyes which had enveloped him with gratitude that day in the grocery store.

A young short woman in a hooded raincoat appeared from the stairway, spotted him and walked over, smiling. “Hello. I hope you don’t mind, but I heard you asking about Cassandra earlier. Do you know her?”

“Not that well,” said Foley. “I taught math at Durham, and often saw her performing on campus. She told me her name once, but …” He stared down at the magazine cover. “I guess I really didn’t know her that well.”

“I’m Gail,” the woman said, seating herself. “I’m her sister. Do you mind if I ask your name?”

“Foley. Foley Jameson.” He took her extended hand, squeezing it. Gail squeezed back and kept holding onto his. She had wavy auburn hair and smelled like the rain.

“I feel like I know you from somewhere,” she said. “Didn’t you used to have a beard?”

“Back when I was teaching, yes.”

“I believe I took a class with you one time. Calculus, I think it was. It was probably the funnest class I had all semester. You made it so interesting. You seemed to have a passion for the stuff.”

“I liked teaching calculus. It’s all about understanding changes in motion, which is perhaps what life is about. Nothing ever stays in the same place or direction for long. There’s always something else, or something intrinsic steering things into new paths.”

“That is so beautiful! That’s what I so liked about how you taught it. You see, I was an art major. After taking your course, I started looking at things in a different way, catching the subtle changes even in how plants took their shapes from the light. People, too, their faces and hands etched with experiences. You made me see how one thing can affect the course of another, even in the most minute way.”

Foley noticed how she had not let go of his hand, emphasizing each expression with a squeeze. They talked into the night, about Cassandra, about nature, about the mutual influences of science and art.

Around two-thirty in the morning, there was a stirring downstairs. One of the reporters had heard from a nurse how Sienna Dare’s vitals had plummeted and she’d been placed on life support. The young men and women lining the walls were hugging and crying. One girl came up and told Gail. Foley placed an arm across her shoulders, and she took his hand in both of hers.

Foley woke up first and turned his face toward the growing light through the windows. His stirring woke Gail, and both decided to go somewhere for breakfast. They didn’t talk much while eating, but Gail seemed insistent that Foley stay with her. He’d mentioned having to get back to go to work, so she pulled out her phone and started showing him photos of her and Cassandra, their mother, Cassandra’s baby boy.

They returned to the hospital and were approaching the entrance where numerous people were gathered. A reporter stood nearby talking into a camera with the news of Sienna Dare’s succumbing to heart failure. Gail sunk into Foley’s chest, bawling.

For Foley, what had begun with dropping a ten dollar bill into a hat ended with one student showing up late for his lecture and turning it into a standing discourse on life and love.

He couldn’t recall the instant it occurred, but the blueness of the sky had never before made him want to go swim in it.