࿔
| THE ONEIROI'S SUBJECT |
|---|
| CHAPTER ONE |
|---|
I don't know what that sound is, but I hear a shrill scream—the kind that conveys desperation—almost as if the person was saying no, but in a different language. There is scuffling and commotion as if multiple people are simultaneously moving in the same area. One person, I don't know which one, starts to complain about his leg—more scuffling and commotion. Car doors slamming. The engine starts, crescendos, and then fades as it speeds down the street.
I get out of bed and finally look out the window. The street is empty, except for a car speeding by on the road far in front of the house. A lonely street lamp sits adjacent to the other side of the road, illuminating a small portion of the center of the road just by the driveway. I stood there, mostly motionless, just staring at the circular shape that the street light produced on the road, and wondered if one could draw a distinct line between the darkness and the light. Could I find the edge of that circle at its last photon? It seemed to be a perfect circle. Better than a person could ever hope to manifest into the physical world. The trees are shaking back and forth from the wind's ebb and flow on the property's front half. Beyond that, everything around seems to be motionless. I turn around and notice that the digital clock at the other end of the room shows 3:17 am. A part of me wonders if I should call emergency services to let them know what I heard, but everything is silent again, and I would not know what to tell the operator anyway. I know I will need to be up and fully awake in three and a half hours. I take a deep breath and, on the inhale, close my eyes. Then, let it out slowly. I get back into bed
I notice the carpet under my feet. It's slightly worn but still has enough comfort to enjoy more than a hardwood floor can offer. The nagging feeling of needing to go back to sleep flows back into my mind. I rush into bed, hastily gathering the blankets over my body. All of the warmth that was there before the screaming incident is now gone. It takes a few minutes for the warm feeling to emanate under the blankets to replace the cold air. As the warm mingles with the cold and mixes, I realize I can't remember the last time I was in a quiet place. Void of light, input, sound, vibration, and the forward motion of time. I don't want to let this go yet. When these moments reveal themselves, I never want them to pass. This is the place that brings peace and an opportunity to mull over ideas that are revealed before the rush of the day. For now, though, sleep is probably best.
My alarm pings my brain at 6:15 am, and my body tells me it is not ready to get up. Outside, the weather is cold. My initial guess is that everything is frost-covered. The blankets are heavy and warm, but my neck feels like it's been in the same position for hours. I turn off my noise machine via voice command.
Silence.
I roll over and stare at the ceiling. It seems far away. Farther than normal. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and exhale for several seconds. The ceiling appears to slowly move away as I feel my body creep lower into the mattress. I do not want to get up. I know I will not have it again for the rest of the day. The room is dark, except for a greyish light coming through the wide window facing east. The combination of the fog and static grey clouds invokes melancholy, which makes me reluctant to leave. Days like these are for being alone, not for emails and answering people's questions.
Now that I have just thought about emails, I realize I most likely have at least a month's worth to sift through. I have an idea of the proportion of emails that are response-worthy and ones that are just informational. After being away from work for an extended period, I easily forget exactly what I am supposed to be doing. Longer absences in the past have rendered me inoperable for a few days after resuming work. I do not know if this is the case for others, but I can easily be immersed in another domain, which produces some amnesia in my real life. The hardest part is reintegration—especially the reluctant kind. Without a doubt, I am unwilling to leave this house to reintroduce myself to the mingling of minds, the proving of positions, and the cacophony of the corporate.
Time to get up.
As I open the door, a rush of slightly cooler air flows around me, through the doorway, and into my bedroom. The rest of the house is mostly dark and filled with that familiar grey morning light. I strain to see the detail of the objects in the large open room before me. My house is empty so I don't know who or what I am looking for. It has maintained the same number of occupants for almost a year. I turn and look at the bay window through the dining room on the other end of the house. As I walk in that direction the opposite shoreline of the lake reveals itself in the window. The sky and its reflection in the water make it seem like one body, floating a short distance from the backyard. - This house is a midcentury-looking structure sitting by itself on two acres of land. It's situated on the back half of the plot closer to the lake, as all of the houses around here are. My initial attraction to it was the enlarged windows that looked to be added sometime after the house was built. Whoever designed it put a lot of thought into the house's main space, while the connected rooms are fairly standard except for very high ceilings that run with the angle of the roof above. Most of the space is an open floor plan so that you can see the end of the backyard that meets the lake if you walk through the front door. The outer wall textures are mostly wood and stone to reflect the outside of the house while the interior walls are all wood paneling. Two rooms on either side of the main living area are identical in shape and size and have wall-to-wall windows that reveal a partial look at the lake at differing angles. The stairs to the two rooms above have no railing and are metal slats that pierce into the stone wall descending upwards with even spacing. I always wonder if these will fall out while I am not paying attention. The kitchen is the best representation of the architect's sentiment for this structure, which has two parallel stone walls slicing through the open living space, feeling detached from the rest of the house at a harsh angle, similar to designs by Frank Lloyd Wright. Despite being surrounded by stone, this space gives off the greatest warmth out of any room in the house. Bronze accents pepper the kitchen to compliment the dark green painted cabinets and the pièce de résistance, a large bronze gas stove, which holds more potential than what I can provide based on my minimal daily use. At the end of this unusually angled corridor is the entrance into the dining room which opens up back into the living space.
Whoever had this house before us made an effort to modernize a fair amount of the interior so it looked new, but still reflected the decade it was built. For the most part, I did not care about the way it looked or didn't look, but I did appreciate that it wasn't plain. I had wanted to move, but the thought of figuring out what to take and what to sell seemed daunting. I do not need this much space, but I liked its open and inviting concept.
This place still has a good feeling even though it contains some memories of a specific time in my life that I am trying to forget. This does not mean that these memories are negative, but they do bring pain that I have no energy to bear. Especially now that it's time for me to place myself back into real life.
There is a heaviness that I now feel knowing that it's time to go back to the massive weight of expectations. They are substantial, burdensome, and considerably constant. Consistent pressure to perform. This type of performance is quite subjective as it is in the domain of ideas. Some ideas will get you into trouble. Some people don't like some ideas because they have strong moral boundaries. It's not an issue to have a dedicated set of morals, but I think one has to be open to changing perspectives. Especially ones that were implanted early in life.
After what seems like 10 minutes, I realize I'm standing in the middle of my house, lost in thought, staring out of the back window at the lake. Since I started living alone this became a regular occurrence. I walk to the kitchen in a hurry because I don't know what time it is, but don't care to look. My main goal after waking up is to get the percolator on the stove. I find it in an unassembled state on a towel next to the sink, remnants of the previous night's attempt to prepare myself for the next day. Lately, I have been unsuccessful at this by wandering through my house in a half trance completing menial tasks and only getting halfway done. I quickly assemble the pot, except the lid, fill it with water and coffee grounds, start the stove, and place it over the blue flames. I usually like to watch the percolator until I see the water begin to rise through the tube, but I am in a rush. This is the first day back. I already know what they are going to say.
~
The corner of the fluorescent light where it meets the drop ceiling is increasingly becoming stained and turning a yellowish brown. As time has progressed, the stain has moved along the white metal boundary of the light. I wonder when someone will come to address it. I pulled the bulbs out of this light two years ago, even though we were told not to do it ourselves. I close my eyes. Silence. Except for the low-frequency hum of the building, an extremely low sensory vibration. Even though my neck hurts because the back of my office chair is digging into my spine, I don't move. If I move, I know that means it's time to start checking emails. I'm not ready yet.
There's a knock at the door and in a split second my door is open and Malik is standing in the doorway. I know because I can hear his breathing. Not that it is particularly loud, but I recognize it from working in the same room with him for several years. He is, or was, my best friend. I don't look at him but continue to stare at the ceiling with my head back on the chair, slouching, and my feet on the desk in front of me.
"Uhhh, you're back?", he says. Wide-eyed and leaning into the doorway. He adjusts his stance so that he isn't a freeze-frame of someone falling forward into a doorway and leans on the door hinge.
"Yes, I am", I mumble. "I'm back. What else am I supposed to do?"
There was a long pause. I am still looking at the ceiling because I know that if I look at him he is going to want to ask me a series of questions about where I have been, what I've been doing, and if I am ok. I do not want to answer those questions right now.
"They are still talking about it. They still want to cut the program and are using the same tactic to bury us. I don't know what to tell them", he says in a pressing tone.
"Well, let them talk. Let them argue back and forth until they are blue in the face", I say, increasing the anger in my tone as I complete each sentence. At this point, I remove my feet from the desk, sit up in my chair and look at him. When I see his face I feel a rush of sadness, then pity.
I try to make an effort to soften my tone and say, "I am not cutting this project".
He sighs, crinkles his mouth in frustration, and says, "Ok. I hear you. But, if that's the case, then you know what's next."
"Yes Malik, I know. You know that I know".
"Well, I'm just bringing it up, because I know you have been out of it for almost a year", he says.
"They have already started their 'investigation' and are saying that I misused research funds, but haven't come up with any concrete examples of it happening. We all know who started this and maybe even why. My guess is that they won't have to come up with examples, but they will be able to use their authority to cut the program anyway."
"But, you don't know that it's going to end like that. You don't", he blurts.
"Well, if I know one of them like I think I do, it will. So fuck it. I don't care. They will use their positions on the board to keep projects they deem necessary, but we all know they keep the ones who play the best game."
"Ok, it's your choice. You know I will back you in whatever direction you decide to go I'm just making sure that you are in the right mind to push this."
"Honestly, I don't think I am in the right mind for anything. What else do I have though?"
After 13 years of research, time, and effort, it's all I have. There is no other part of my life, only this. The other things I did have are gone now. I chose a path and I pursued it. With vigor, persistence, and even obsession. My life was singular for a considerable amount of my adult life. That effort towards something singular, that motion, forward, a seemingly infinite tunnel. Nothing else mattered. Not the people closest to me, my parents, colleagues, friends, or lovers. I eschewed the possibility of future connections. It was probably on purpose. I knew nothing else, or more so, chose it. It was easier than figuring out how to mesh with other people. It was easier than fixing myself. It was easier than becoming someone suitable for someone else. So it seemed.
Malik knows I'm right. I can see it on his face. He knows he can't say anything in return that will refute the fact that this is all I have. He just nods.
"Well, I stand by you. I'm still here for a reason. I believe in what we are doing," he says, with an honest tone.
"I know...I know", I say, in a descending, concrete, but sincere manner.
We have been through a lot together. The meaning and weight of the last "I know" can only be felt after a decade of friendship and heartache. This type of connection borders on the unconditional. Our lives have seemed to be parallel to one another. One is not moving faster than the other. There is no spoken understanding of maintaining the same speed through time, nor the type of transportation. We have almost mirrored each other's path, and so, when one of us fails or the hardships of life crash over us, we share that pain. I have known, for a very long time, that we are bound by something we cannot describe.
"I understand that our research is not life-changing or groundbreaking in the transitional scientific sense. It's niche. I get it, but we've proven practical applications that would immensely affect and improve modern consumer materials. This is the start of something that will echo and grow into the future. I can feel it. This is not just an aesthetic project."
Malik gave me a slight smirk, "I agree with you. Oh, there is something else. Fei wants to see you. She is a bit worried about you but is afraid that you are not ready to see anyone, but is also still mad at you. I told her I wouldn't tell you that she felt that way, but I thought you should know. At least go let her know you are alive. She can show you what she has been working on while you were out. I think you will be happy with what she has been testing."
"Oh...oh, yeah, ok. I will go see her", I say, trying to mask the fact that I had completely forgotten about the project I asked Fei to start before I left. It's been 4 months and It seemed like I was living in another universe. I have always been surprised at my ability to compartmentalize and separate.
As much as I am wary to see faces and communicate, I have to go see her. We have also been through a lot together.
~
Nervousness sets in. My breaths are shallow and short. Once I enter the room I am now walking towards, the inevitable will begin. There is no dreadful feeling, but a deep reluctance to reacquaint myself with her and everything else fills my chest. When it starts, the pressure will bear its weight upon me again. Do I want this? Do I want to keep going? Is it worth it? In the past, it has taken many things from me but also brought about things that I would never have dreamed.
I must convey to Fei that I am all in on this new endeavor. She has sacrificed a lot to work with us. She gave up her postdoc position to be a part of this. I do not have to fake my feelings, but I have to at least give her a sense of participation on my part. I owe her that much.
Malik and I wanted to get her involved after we caught wind of her research on molecular bioelectricity. Specifically, we were interested in a topic she explored that was of secondary importance to her, which was new biologically based materials. The connection, she said, was what she called "ecologically integrated materials." This caught our attention. It tapped directly into what we were thinking but had not yet applied. We had done our initial work in bioelectricity but believed there was a more applied way to explore this area. Academically, we were evolutionary biologists but got swept up (like everyone else) by AI, and the biological computation space opened up for us. Also, I had always been interested in material science so the addition of Fei seemed apt. Malik and I wanted to research how to integrate biology into modern materials. It seemed like the nexus between two worlds, which was now mediated by an AI system. The purpose was not to create a variant of 'eco-materials' but groundbreaking, deeply ecological materials that could withstand its long-term environment. We began the project with a focus on computation chemically and biologically, then started to brainstorm ideas on how to combine them to create a bespoke living material. We were still in the beginning stages of research when I tasked Fei with making an initial model of what we might work on soon. I knew this was just busy work, which was probably insulting. In any case, we had to start somewhere and needed visual proof for the board.
I walk out of my office, along the raised second-story path, through the half-domed atrium, and a set of double doors. There is a long corridor before me that feels similar to a hospital. Rooms staggered on both sides of the hallway. Expansive glass windows give a clear view into each room as I pass them. All are dark and empty except desks, chairs, and computers. The hallway is dark and only lit by the red exit sign at the end of the hallway. I hear some chattering from a room down and to the left. The door is open, and fluorescent light spills into the hallway in a distinct geometric shape. As I pass by, I glance over to see who is in the room. It's another research group, but I do not recall seeing them here. They do not notice as I walk by. I am relieved that I do not have to make introductions. Maybe another time. I keep walking and look for the last room on the right near the exit door. The door is closed, and the room is dark. I can see the light from Fei's lamp and half of her face as she stares intensely at the four monitors in front of her. She has headphones on and doesn't hear me as I walk in.
I walk a few paces into the room and stop.
"Fei," I say, in an even tone.
She turns her head while still typing, and then her fingers stop. She slowly pulls off the headphones, and they slip around her neck, getting lost in her long jet-black hair. She smiles. Her eyes show relief, a slight tenderness, and acceptance but with an underlying sadness. She does not know everything that has happened, but what she does know, she can relate to. I can tell she wants to ask me the same questions Malik would ask. I do not want to answer questions right now. She opens her mouth to say something or to ask a question but takes a breath instead. Then, she lets out a long exhale through her nose. She chooses another avenue of approach.
"How are you?" she says in a caring tone. "I didn't know when you would be back."
She's now looking at me with a penetrating, curious, and slightly angry look. I can feel it shooting right through me. I sense the judgment of my actions and the stress I have put on her the past few months. She takes the headphones off her neck and sets them down slowly on the desk as she turns toward me.
"Honestly, I did not know either. I almost didn't...", I paused, looking at the ground, "but I know I couldn't just leave you and Malik to sweep up my mess and continue the work."
"You're right", she says, "we have a lot of good work ahead of us. If we play it right".
"You mean if we play the game?", I said sharply.
"Essentially, yes. We don't have much of a choice. You know I'm right. If we want research funding, we have to play by a certain set of rules. Unfortunately, we still need them. They cut the checks".
I sigh long, look away, and focus on the large TV screen on the wall before us. "You're right," I say. "This is why I want to go private, but I know we have absolutely nothing to show to prove that sort of jump."
She is usually right about things like this. She has this ability to be practical in the midst of turmoil and chaos. I haven't told her everything, but she understands what I've been through. She might even know what I've been thinking. We have been friends for many years but have always had this distance, possibly due to our independent personalities. This distance suited me fine, and I never felt she had a problem with it. We are together now, in the same room, after almost four months, and there is a tension in the air. I assume I caused it, but try to play it off.
Fei smiles and gives me a nod, "Just sit down, you have a lot to tell me."
"Oh...ok. Yeah, you're right. I do."
She leans back in her chair, rests her head on her hand, and looks at me. For a moment, she pauses and says, "Where have you been?" This was said not in a curious tone but in an interrogative one. "...and don't say 'you know where I've been.'"
I laugh under my breath and give her a smirk. There is no change on her face. Her piercing eyes are looking for an answer.
"It's not funny," she says.
"I know, I know. I...just missed being around you."
"Yeah...I...same here," she says, with a slight smile.
"I've been at home, trying to live. I haven't gone anywhere else in four months. It feels like I'm in Bardo. My mind is disconnected from my body, and I experience every day in another world."
"I know where you've been physically. I'm asking mentally."
"Oh, well, I haven't been here, that's for sure. I walk around my house looking for something to do. I'll feed Cora, water the plants, and tidy up. After that, I sit on the balcony over the water, and before I know it, hours have passed by. My mind transported me somewhere else. It's been like that since she left. I've been better about walking, but that's only recent."
Fei continues to stare at me as if she is waiting for me to say more.
"Uhh...so...yeah, I have been going through the daily motions and doing the minimum to keep myself alive. Cora has been my only tie back to reality. She has to eat. At the beginning of this, I tried to maintain both home and work, but without realizing it, I completely let go of everything up here. I'm not sure exactly when, but there was a day when I woke up and realized that I had completely left you all in the dark. Basically, I left without saying a word."
Fei still looks at me with her piercing gaze and says, "I know."
"I'm sorry."
"I know," she says
"I'm not sure how I could ever make it up to you. I was not a good friend for the past few months. I was going through a lot, but I shut everyone out. That wasn't the right thing to do."
"I'll be honest. We were completely understanding at the beginning—even a month in. At a certain point, we wondered if you would tell us what was happening and if we needed to pause these projects. Malik was very reluctant to reach out to you. Of course, you know me. I was ready to reach out the minute Malik and I talked about what was happening."
I smile because I know it's true. There is not an ounce of hesitation in her body, ever.
She continues, "I thought about it for a while, then realized I was selfish. It's hard to set your life's work aside. I know you can understand that."
"I absolutely understand that."
She looks at me, and for a moment, that constant intensity turns into care. Rarely do we see this side of her.
"Ben, I'm sorry you had to go through all that. I wish I had known her better. What I did know of her, she was a great person."
Again, I looked away at the monitor on the wall. "She was better than anyone I've ever known—immensely better than me. "
"At this point, I don't see a reason to compare yourself to her. She's gone, and I think remembering the good things about her would be best for you. Living life would be the best way to honor her memory."
I look back at Fei, pull a chair out from under the desk, and sit. "As frustrating as that sounds, you are right. I'm just so angry about it all, so being okay feels unreachable."
She looks at me as if to say something heartfelt or meaningful. I can see it in her eyes. She almost takes a breath to say something, stops, looks away at the large monitor on the wall, and says, "I think this might be a good time to get obsessed with research again."
I know what she means and that this is her way of helping, but I feel a twinge of sadness in my chest. I can't help but think that I'm leaving Aria behind.
"It's hard to imagine being in that mode again," I say.
"For your sake, you have to find a way. To be honest, what else do you have?"
I laugh and say, "Damn, well, I guess you're right about that. I don't have anything else."
"I'm not saying to forget about everything, but we have work to do. We have to get out of this hole for the sake of the rest of the team."
This meant I had to confront the looming investigation, which, according to the board, was 'probable misuse of research funds'. I believe this was an excuse for Jensen Maris, the Director of the Ethics and Safety Board, to get back at me for something that may have happened years ago. According to his telling of the story, when we started the private lab, we were looking for funding, and in one of the meetings, I commented on him not being a hard scientist but more of a leader who can find the right people. I meant it as a compliment. He took it as an insult, and from that day on, unbeknown to me, he was making plans to bury me. He couldn't do it with research projects, but he could do it with the heavy hammer of administration. This is my best guess at his vendetta, and I cannot recall any other instances in which I may have offended him. This was all a significant distraction. It was politics, and I despised it.
"Well, in that case, I have things to deal with. I will get a project update from you later."
Fei looks up at me as I stand up, leans back, and crosses her arms. "That sounds good. We'll talk later."
As I walk out, I notice the wall adjacent to the door is covered in a collage of colored sticky notes, all filled with illegible scribbles. There seem to be layers of sticky notes, but a pattern emerges from the paper-covered wall. The conglomeration of notes resembles a colored map, with each territory distinctly separated by border and color. I wonder how long she has been working on this. I realize this may have started well before my crisis, and I didn't notice.