The J Variable Isn’t Genius

"I can hand write faster than someone typing on a typewriter,” said Ryan, with all the sincerity of a deluded person. He twirled his pen with one hand over his thumb and caught it in the ready-to-write position. Dermot rolled his eyes and rested his cheek on his fingers but said nothing. A couple of classmates nearby chuckled and went back to their work. Dermot thought he should keep a diary of Ryan’s pronouncements. So, when Dermot arrived home, that is exactly what he did.

Dermot and Ryan first met at the start of the intermediate school year. Dermot was trying not to laugh too loudly as he listened to Ryan telling jokes, mimicking television shows, and generally having a ball. Dermot swapped seats with his neighbour to be beside Ryan and laugh at his antics. The comedian and the spectator needed each other and formed a tight friendship. They would have fun hanging out and playing sports like tennis, cricket, and soccer. Ryan usually suggested they play sports; his tall stature gave him the edge over Dermot.

If Ryan won a game, he would insist that Dermot acknowledge the result. If Dermot happened to win, Ryan would give a bitter dissection on how badly Dermot had played. Dermot grew to be stressed by these daily put-downs. Initially, he would endure them stoically because the two boys often had a lot of fun together. Dermot tried to amuse himself by timing the length of Ryan’s tirades. After Ryan had finished, Dermot would make comments like, “Only seven minutes today,” to passively attack him. These time comments baffled Ryan. Eventually, Dermot phoned Ryan with his diary on hand to enlighten him about the reason for these cryptic comments. Ryan angrily denied that he said anything negative when he lost a game. Dermot wondered if it was worth telling him. Still, their fun playing sports together continued. They were like connected jigsaw pieces of dysfunction.

Each school day, they would ride their bicycles together. They would talk about school and their futures. The two boys agreed that they already knew everything about people and were only at school to learn more technical knowledge about stuff. At the weekends, they would go on bicycle riding expeditions. Dermot’s mother would say, “Be careful on the road, dear.” Ryan’s mother said something similar, as she took a photograph of them. The two boys discussed their mothers’ comments on their ride. They put the reason for these comments down to over-protection.

One day, Ryan announced that he was going to take his education more seriously and stopped goofing around. Whenever Dermot put up his hand and answered a question in class, Ryan would put up his hand and say the same thing using different words. Dermot topped the school in a mathematics aptitude test. A difficult thing for Ryan to replicate, so he circulated a rumour that Dermot cheated. Their teacher believed Ryan and would angrily demand to know from Dermot how he did it. Ryan put up his hand and suggested punishments for cheating. Other students started calling Dermot a cheat in the playground. Dermot fought back tears and complained to the principal. The principal asked the offenders for evidence, but they had nothing. Dermot refused to speak to Ryan for a week. Eventually, Ryan said sorry in a baby-like voice and offered a handshake. Dermot cogitated on this offering because they did have a lot of fun together. Maybe he could ignore Ryan’s bad behaviour and just enjoy the good things. When someone says sorry, it’s only right to forgive their one mistake. In some childlike way, Dermot put aside the offending behaviour and shook his hand. Ryan smiled out one side of his mouth.

After Christmas, Ryan regaled Dermot with his tales of fishing and sunshine on the coast. Dermot had taken a plane flight with his family and holidayed in Australia. Upon hearing this, Ryan sneered. “Urgh, I’d much rather stay here in New Zealand. Anyway, you should only go overseas if you’ve seen everything in your own country.” Dermot lowered his gaze and reminded himself that showing off is bad. A few minutes later, Ryan came up to Dermot and feebly enquired, “Did you really go to Australia?”

“Yeah.” Delighted at Ryan’s interest, Dermot drew breath to regale him with fascinating stories of unusual animals and adventure.

Ryan straightened his posture. “What a waste of money.” He spat the words out. Ryan started to walk away then turned around and said more quietly, “Did you really fly in a plane?”

Dermot was taken aback by Ryan’s erratic behaviour and didn’t reply immediately. An insightful girl standing nearby noticed Dermot’s struggles and said, “He’s jealous.” Yes, Dermot thought. That's it. He drew strength from this label. It ordered the situation in his mind. Dermot looked straight at Ryan and debated with himself as to whether it is reasonable to criticise a friend. Without waiting for a reply, Ryan walked away, his shoulders hunched and tears in his eyes.

The two boys remained on friendly terms throughout the rest of their schooling. Towards the end of high school, they had almost stopped playing sports together and were increasingly silent as they walked to school. They were usually in different classes in high school. Dermot wanted to become a physicist, and Ryan wanted to become a biologist.

Ryan’s mathematics teacher offered a prize for the first person to solve a difficult mathematics proof problem. After class, Dermot, Ryan, and a few others were talking. Dermot noticed that Ryan kept glancing at him. After the others left, Ryan enthusiastically slipped a piece of paper in front of Dermot, “Do you know how to do this proof?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Really,” said Ryan gleefully. Then he lowered his voice. “Oh, it’s not important really, just something I’m working on.” Ryan’s efforts to seem casual sounded deceptive. Dermot was suspicious of Ryan’s motive, but he quickly wrote out a proof. Ryan snatched the finished proof off Dermot and then paused for a moment. “Why did you make the unknown a ‘j’ variable rather than an ‘x’ variable?”

“The ‘j’ variable stands for jealous.”

“Oh right.” Ryan nodded knowingly. Then he looked up at Dermot. “Is ‘jealous’ a maths term?”

“No, Ryan,” Dermot spoke with a hint of condescension.

Ryan scratched his head and furrowed his brow. “You’re jealous of me?” He smiled out the side of his mouth making a weird expression.

Dermot resisted the urge to laugh at Ryan’s puzzled expression. Then slowly shook his head, half closed his eyes and sighed. Savouring the experience.

Ryan’s facial expression dropped dramatically. “Me jealous?”

Dermot couldn’t suppress a small laugh breaking through at Ryan’s dramatic change of expression. “I think you understand now,” said Dermot.

Ryan’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but no sound came out. “Why do people keep saying I’m . . .” Then he glared at Dermot and defiantly said, “I have the proof.”

He dashed away and claimed the prize. One teacher described the proof that Ryan produced as, "Genius." Ryan boasted to people that he had solved the mathematics proof problem and won a prize. Dermot was standing beside Ryan and gave him the stare of death. As other students went to their next class, Dermot privately asked Ryan, “Why did you falsely claim that you had solved the maths proof.” Ryan pretended he didn’t hear and started to walk away. Dermot put two fingers down the back of Ryan’s collar and halted him. The thread Broke on the top button of Ryan’s shirt.

“I didn’t say you could go.” Dermot enunciated the words with no emotion. Ryan’s eyes widened and his tanned face went pale. “So, you won a prize for my work?” Dermot glared.

“I did come up with the solution,” said Ryan, forcing a smug smile on one side of his mouth.

“My solution,” Dermot spoke slowly through gritted teeth. Ryan’s face flushed red. Dermot waited a moment to see if Ryan offered to confess or even share the prize. Maybe Ryan could have attempted to salvage their friendship. There was nothing but an uncomfortable silence.

“Can I go now?” Ryan asked timidly.

“Get out of here,” Dermot said scornfully.

The next day, Ryan wasn’t waiting at the usual meeting place. Dermot walked to school alone for the first time in years. When Dermot arrived at school for the final exam, he saw Ryan standing across the yard. Ryan stood with his feet stance a little wider than usual, and his head held high while he glared at Dermot. Dermot did not attempt to go any closer.

Twenty years later, the two men met again at a school reunion. Ryan’s formerly blonde hair now looked grey. Dermot spoke to Ryan in a voice showing no emotion. Dermot asked what he had done since high school. Out of curiosity, not friendship. Ryan had studied biology at university and was in his second marriage. He had recently started a new job after some dispute with his old work colleagues. He said something vague about how work colleagues had been stealing each other’s research, but when he did it, he got fired.

A female attendee told Dermot that Ryan kept leering at her. Dermot was silent for a moment then looked up and warned her that Ryan was in his second marriage. She asked if Ryan was a womaniser. Dermot said it appears so.

During the reunion dinner, a drunk Ryan pulled out a faded photograph. “Do you remember this?” It showed the two young boys on their bicycles before a riding expedition. “Those were the days,” Ryan said fondly.

“We thought we knew it all back then,” said Dermot.

“Yeah, we did,” replied Ryan. That familiar smile crept over one side of his mouth.