Scoped

Harry sat unmoving at his bench, staring at the petri dish containing his latest biology lab assignment. Everyone else busied themselves peering into microscopes, passing notes or asking questions.

Harry only appeared to be staring. Lost in a reverie, he could have been anywhere. His parents’ argument that morning replayed over and again.

Nothing new, their arguing was consistent and boring. A bad soundtrack to his life.

‘But the things they said… How can people talk like that? They even hear each other?’

Harry doubted it. He didn’t understand much, though most of the words were familiar. The tone said it all. Loud and clear. Divorce. They’d say ‘separation.’ But it sounded like divorce.

‘What about me?’

“Harry… You haven’t started. No day dreaming. Focus on the project.”

Startled into the present, he turned to see Ms. Griens, his biology teacher, standing over him. Other students called her ‘Ms. Grinch.’ Harry thought she was pretty, but stern.

Looking at his petri dish, Harry thought, ‘It looks curdled.’

He said, “Yeah… doing it now.”

“Complete your study sheets. Document the process,” Ms. Griens announced to the room.

Though clueless about his purpose, Harry acted busy. Ms. Griens shook her head.

She announced, “No credit on incomplete work, guys.” Glancing at the wall clock, “Those of you who have microscopes at home can complete the study sheets tonight. Take your projects with you. Do the work. Return them - due tomorrow.”

The bell rang and the students bolted from their seats.

Ms. Griens called out. “Listen up! These are not snacks. Don’t eat them. Lost or eaten projects will receive zero credit… And keep them refrigerated.”

Doubting anyone heard, she gave up. Harry collected his book bag and carried the petri dish as if it were toxic. To him it looked like someone sneezed into it. The idea of eating something out of a petri dish disgusted him.

He got a microscope for Christmas last year. ‘I’ll make sense out of this tonight.’

The corridor was jammed with students rushing this way and that.

His friend, Gus, slapped his back. “Harry! You going to tryouts after school?”

“Tryouts for?”

“Pickleball! Coach Chavez is starting a team. We can partner up.”

“Yeah… I wish… But not today… Need to finish this or my grade’ll go down the tubes.”

“But Pickleball, man! You don’t want to miss that…”

“See you later. Got class…”

‘I’d rather play Pickleball than suffer petri dishes and parents…’

Harry found his way to the boy’s restroom and took a moment. He was alone, but he didn’t feel like it. Standing in the gleaming white room, he felt like he was under the microscope.

‘Why would anyone want to watch me? I’m no one.’

While washing his hands, he scanned the room reflected behind him. Nothing suggested a camera.

He shook his head. ‘No one cares about that.’

Three sophomores entered, laughing, shouting and making a general commotion. They paid Harry no mind. He could have been invisible. Harry preferred invisible to getting spied upon.

His English class assignment was to describe a personal experience. He told his teacher, Mrs. Boyle, “My mind’s blank. I can’t think of anything.”

“There’s always something, Harry. Think of your family. A holiday… or a trip you took?”

Harry could write nonstop about his parents. But he didn’t want to burn the house down. He didn’t want to share anything about them. That would feel like betrayal.

Mrs. Boyle, smiled warmly at him.

‘Does she know?’

She said, “I’m not worried, Harry. You’ll think of something.”

He wished she were his mother.

Harry remembered once coming home to hear his parents yelling. Standing outside, he could hear their voices rattling the windows. He’d heard it all before. But knowing anyone could listen made him want to disappear.

‘Not nice to eavesdrop, even when the china’s rattling.’

Some people use the silent treatment and communicate volumes. Never silent, Harry’s parents also never heard. So much energy got spent shouting, were their messages ever received?

‘Did they yell like this before I was born?’

That time, he watched them through the picture window, holding his hands over his ears. He thought they would get his message. They never noticed him.

“You’ll never see him again!”

“What a joke. You can’t stand him. I’ll see him whenever…”

“Right… Like never.”

Harry wondered, ‘Can’t they see me? I’m right here…’

That had been a while ago. Nothing had changed. Harry was numb. He didn’t hear them anymore.

When he got home, his mother had the table set and dinner was ready. She’d made his favorite, homemade spaghetti. It smelled great. Serving his plate, she pointed to his chair.

“Wash up. Sit…”

‘What’s the occasion?’

“Smells great, Mom. It’s not my birthday…”

“I know. Wanted to treat you.”

He took his things to his room, washed up and came to the table. Pungent steam rose from the mound of noodles and sauce on his plate.

“Aren’t we waiting for Dad?”

“Just us, tonight. Your dad’s out. Staying with… a friend.”

Harry didn’t know if it was his imagination, or her delivery, but everything felt like code.

Harry made the leap. “He moved out?”

His mother’s look said, ‘Don’t dampen my mood, kid.’ She downed her wine and poured another glass.

Harry couldn’t believe it. “He’s gone? He just left? Not even good-bye?” Staring at his spaghetti he fought back tears.

His mother rolled her eyes. “It’s not like he died, Hare.” Dabbing her mouth, she suppressed a smile and leaned forward a little. “Really… not that easy…”

Harry didn’t get the joke.

She got serious. “Harry, do you know how resilient kids are? I could tell you stories…” She held her hand up so Harry wouldn’t speak. “You’ll have fun. Imagine, you’ll have two homes...”

The rest of the meal passed in relative silence. Harry was speechless. His mother was in no mood for debates or questions.

Her wine bottle went empty, leaving a meager, half glass. The skimpy choices in the wine fridge spawned fresh epithets aimed at Harry’s father.

With his biology project waiting, Harry finished his dinner and excused himself.

“Lot of homework tonight, Mom. Can the dishes wait?”

She smiled without humor. “Do your work. I’ll cleanup.”

Relieved, Harry retreated to his room, set up the microscope and unfolded his study sheet. Placing the petri dish under the lens, he realized he forgot to refrigerate it.

“Oh, well…” He couldn’t believe Ms. Griens said not to eat it. ‘Gross…’

He peered through the scope. It still looked curdled, but something had changed. He tried making sense of it. His study sheet didn’t help.

Harry was startled when he returned to the eyepiece. The substance in the petri dish appeared to have come alive. He felt as if he was looking, not through a microscope, but a telescope. No longer a colorless, shapeless blob, he now saw what appeared to be an alien landscape of hills and fields.

“What’s going on?” The study sheet procedural questions offered no clarity.

Looking again, he pulled back. “Wait… What?”

His subject had morphed into a face of sorts. And it looked back at him, as relaxed as if it were sitting opposite him at a table in the school cafeteria.

Looking like no human ever seen, he would have expected it to be grotesque. But it was not scary. It appeared intelligent and friendly.

‘Is it smiling? At me? What’s it saying?’

It wanted to communicate. Words were not an option. But how could he make sense of anything? Staring through the microscope, they were inches apart. But Harry felt this creature looked at him from a vast distance.

Watching through the microscope, Harry sensed the changes he saw mirrored his own emotions.

‘But how?’

His new ‘friend’s’ appearance had changed from curdled to peaceful and joyful. The original greys and browns now had highlights of rose, amber and turquoise.

But when his parents crossed his mind, the colors rapidly sank into shadows. This creature communicated with light.

Harry tried something that he would have scoffed at hours before.

“I can’t talk to anyone… but you… Pete.” He shared his feelings with the creature in his petri dish.

“To be honest, it sucks,” he began. “I’m a kid. Can’t do anything. Gus is playing Pickleball and I’m under a mountain of… work. I need to shut my door so my parent’s emotional sewage doesn’t seep in.”

As Harry spoke, Pete’s colors shifted. Some darkened, but other’s emerged, unexpectedly rich and vibrant. He made notes on the patterns he observed, but not on his study sheet.

“I want to be happy. To be noticed. Seen. Like you see me. Is that too much? To be more than a human appendix thrown out with the trash? Why can’t I have a family?”

He asked a series of questions.

“Do you live in this petri dish?” By the color shift, Harry sensed a negative.

“Are you on earth?” Another negative.

“Are you real?” A combination of blues and greens appeared.

“Do you play Pickleball?” Things got swirly but looked negative.

Some questions combined complex or even conflicting emotions. Pete’s reactions were a revelation.

Harry remembered his favorite graphic novel. In it, the hero, Quanto, used his quantum superpowers to bypass space and time. He traveled the universe having adventures and solving problems.

That story triggered his interest in quantum physics. The idea that some particles, light years apart, were somehow connected, fascinated him. That they shared equal reactions to stimuli applied to only one of them was astounding.

His conversation with Pete reminded Harry of ‘observer bias.’ That’s when the presence or absence of an observer affects the outcome of an event.

Harry told Pete about what he’d learned about quantum physics. Pete’s colors shifted and glowed like a star being born.

Harry wondered, ‘Where in the universe is this thing? How does he know about me?’

Then he wondered, ‘Am I the one observing? Or am I observed?’

As if switching off and on, Pete shifted colors, back and forth.

Harry said, “Both…”

Pete dissolved into a fireworks display before morphing back into his happy visage. They talked like this for hours.

Eventually, Harry completed his study sheet in a manner he hoped would be acceptable to Ms. Griens.

‘I doubt she knows about Pete…’

Harry told Pete, “This is great. But I need to sleep. I hope we can talk again.”

Pete responded by imitating a glorious sunset with colors never seen before. It slowly reduced to a narrow, vermilion horizon line.

“See you… later, I hope…” Harry felt a void where before had only been emptiness. Whatever Pete was, and wherever, Harry felt seen. He wasn’t alone.

He turned off his microscope, got into bed and scrolled through his social media. It was boring after his adventure with Pete. His alarm clock read 2:00am. Energized and wide awake, Harry felt alive. He looked at his microscope standing on the desk.

Harry returned to his desk, grabbed a pen and began his personal experience essay for Mrs. Boyle’s English class.