Noology (15 page)

“It’s just, I have a friend taking them
in a little over a month and he is really stressing out about it.” I cringe
subconsciously as I remember my last discussion with Tate and the lengths to
which he is willing to go to outcompete our fellows. “I am going to have to
start focusing on them soon myself.” Desperate to steer the conversation in
another direction, I begin, “ So you know about Rian, but do you have any
siblings? What does your family practice?”

“Well, my father was a tier one
neurosurgeon and my mother is a tier one geneticist. They met in the university
and got married just after graduation. My father became the best in his field
and was subsequently appointed to the cabinet as Chief Neurologist of Certet. I
hope to follow in his footsteps, but I have yet to determine what specialty I
desire to focus in. I also have an older brother, Pineaus. He just graduated as
a tier one neurosurgeon and is currently the executive doctor in charge of
managing and performing the procedure to arrest brain development in farmers.”

“Wow! That’s amazing! My parents are
humble tier two general practitioners, but I love them as if they were great
rulers.” Pineaus – that’s almost worse than Cerebrus. His parents named
him after the pineal gland, assumed to be the seat of the human soul during the
Renaissance. What sheer arrogance! And yet, Cerebrus seems to have avoided much
of the cockiness of his parents. He has been a perfect gentleman and not a
flicker of judgment has crossed his face this entire time despite my parents’
inferior station.

As we reach the outer limits of the tier
one district, Cerebrus steers me away from the dormitories and towards a wooded
thicket. I keep expecting him to explain where he is taking me, but he never
offers even a miniscule hint about his intricate plans. Uneasiness begins to
course through my veins as I realize that we are leaving the protection of
civilization. I trust Rian and his discretion, but in all honesty I know
nothing about Cerebrus. Can I really rely on this mysterious stranger? Visions
of horrific death at the hands of my companion begin to seep through the
boundary of reason in my mind and bloody images race through my head. Trying
not to panic, I focus entirely on slowing my frantic breathing.

“Are you okay?” he finally questions.
“You seem a little pale. And nervous.”

“I’m fine,” I choke out. “Where are we
going?”

“It’s only a minute longer. Just try to
relax and enjoy the clear night sky.”

This comment does little to steady my
throbbing heart as it flutters anxiously. Suddenly, I see it: a magnificent
greenhouse with green glass panels and wide ivy stalks weaving across the
entryway. Inside, a multitude of vivid flowers in all shapes and colors burst
with life, emitting sinful fragrances. Positioned in the center of the
spherical dome rests a demure table set with elegant silverware and flawless
stemware. A sea of small candles frames the setup, casting a radiant glow over
the entirety of the enclosure.

“It’s beautiful,” I murmur in sheer
disbelief. My brain can hardly process the exquisite scene with which it has
been presented.

“I am glad you like it,” Cerebrus
replies, pulling my chair out and gesturing for me to sit in one fluid motion.
He settles down on the other side of the circular table and rests his hands
politely in his lap before focusing his attention on me once again. Cerebrus
points to the covered steel platter before us, and proceeds to remove the lid
with a dramatic flourish to reveal an array of tantalizing fruits and tender
vegetables. I immediately latch onto the plump blueberries sliding across the
plate.

“Dinner is served,” he announces with a
broad smile. We each arrange a colorful spread on our individual place settings
before digging into the bountiful feast of succulent gems. The clanging of
shiny forks and knives on the fine bone china provides the accompaniment to our
meal as I savor the pristine fruits in silent reverie.

“How is the food? Is it okay?” Cerebrus inquires.

“Okay? It’s the most delicious thing I
have eaten in years, maybe ever! I don’t exactly get the privilege of tasting
high-grade produce on a regular basis. I am fortunate that my parents are
well-respected tier twos, but it’s a far cry from the life of a political
leader. How did you manage all of this?” I gesture at the splendid organic
wonderland enclosing us.

“Well, pretty much any tier one can use
the greenhouse. My father’s connections helped me to secure some of the finest
foods for our dinner. The rest just took an afternoon of planning and
execution.”

Reaching out to rub a daffodil blossom
gingerly between my thumb and index finger, I relish the smooth buttery quality
of the petal. “Thank you very much for this. It is so thoughtful, and I really
appreciate the attention to detail.”

“It was my pleasure,” Cerebrus responds.
By this point, we have both finished our meals and I sit quietly, basking in
the ochre glow of the flickering candlelight as the warmth of a million woven
leaves that breathe in the shadows surrounds us.

“Come on,” Cerebrus implores. “Follow
me.” He reaches for my hand, and the contact feels alien and strange. The only
person outside of my family that I am physically demonstrative with is Tate,
but after the foreign feeling passes I actually enjoy the intimacy. We saunter
back across the complex towards the dormitories.

As we come closer to the domicile, I
wonder about Cerebrus’ intentions. Surely he is not taking me back to his
bedroom. I am unsure whether to confront him and disperse any notion of such
possibilities, or to continue to trail after him and trust that he will respect
my boundaries.

We come to a rickety wooden cart bearing
an array of fresh crops yoked to a sleepy sairn and being driven by a gruff
stranger. This must be one of the weekly suppliers of goods for the tier ones.
In a few days, the remaining produce will be paraded through the tier two compound
after the best pickings have been removed. I move to pass the morose farmer,
but Cerebrus halts abruptly before the man.

Turning to face me, he offers, “Go ahead.
Pick whatever you want to bring back with you.” The farmer hesitates and eyes
us with obvious skepticism; however, after Cerebrus flashes his personal
identification card the man becomes the picture of friendliness.

“Sorry sir. I wasn’t sure you were a
genuine tier one. And a cabinet member’s son at that!”

“No harm,” Cerebrus smiles. I scan the
vast display in disbelief. Never in my life have I had an opportunity like
this: to choose from the most vivid and perfect resources our city has to
offer. After an eternity spent in internal argument, I settle on two massive
ruby pomegranates and a bundle of slim celery stalks.

Glancing once again at the farmer, I see
a bold “8” tattooed onto his navy iris. He must have been one of the rebellious
youth that was stunted at such an early age. I wonder what it’s like to live
out your entire life with the immaturity of an 8-year-old. To be a middle-aged
or elderly man with the mental capacity of a pre-teen. I shiver in horror and
thank my stars that I avoided this imprisonment. Beaming at the cheerful farmer,
I carry my precious cargo in my cupped palms as we walk away from his lopsided
vehicle.

 
 
“Thank you,” I
profess, pouring distilled sincerity into my eyes as I meet Cerebrus’.

“Of course,” he replies with a small
grin. “What kind of date would I be if I let you leave without a parting gift?”
he smirks.

We wander back to Crusty Hall along the
winding dirt corridors carved through dense shrubbery. Finally reaching the
dilapidated concrete structure, we exchange pleasantries and depart our
separate ways.

“Thanks again for tonight. It was
perfect,” I disclose.

“My pleasure. I would love to do this
again,” Cerebrus responds as the moonlight reflects off his deep amber eyes.

“Me too. Keep in touch.” I reenter the
sallow dormitory halls, and stumble to my bedroom.

As I blow out the dull candle beside my bed,
I delight in reliving my magical evening. I can only imagine what plans
Cerebrus could have for a second date. My mind drifts into a deep and blissful
sleep as soon as the mildew-tinged pillow cradles my weary head within its
waiting arms.

The next few months pass rather
uneventfully as the days grow shorter and a permanent winter chill permeates
the air. Most of my time is spent wrapped up in studying for the multitude of
examinations that bombard my weary mind with relentless questions regarding the
chemical properties of an antihistamine or the proper surgical techniques
involved in repairing a punctured lung. I have begun focusing on revision for
my impending SMART’s. They are still three months away, but with the volume of
material I am expected to remember it is essential that I start reviewing now.
Cerebrus has been helping me with some useful study techniques that led him to
achieve an almost perfect score on his own tests.

Speaking of Cerebrus, we have gone on a
few more dates since that enchanted first evening, and he never fails to
impress with his romantic tastes and access to jaw-dropping resources.

For our second meeting, he brought me to
a peaceful meadow on the outskirts of the tier one compound. Winding green ivy
ensnared the elegant pines as they dwarfed fragrant tangles of cheery tulips
and pastel pansies. We swapped delicious ripe fruits across our checkered
picnic blanket as flocks of tittering finches soared overhead. A lone
hummingbird even decided to crash our lunch, hovering just above the vibrant
blossoms dripping with saccharine nectar that bordered our spread. It was
blissfully quiet, and I felt entirely safe cradled within the bosom of Mother
Nature. Our conversation flowed with an easy rhythm as we overcame our initial
prejudices and offered momentary glimpses into our true personalities. Cerebrus
is gifted and proud, yet there is a warm compassion underpinning his actions. We
both delight in sarcasm, making for humorous yet potentially volatile exchanges.

After getting more acquainted with one
another, we joined Rian and Amy for a double date in the dining facility for
the tier ones. We traded witty remarks and ear-splitting grins over a bed of
crisp leafy greens. Much of the time, Rian and Cerebrus discussed the
coursework that had to be completed in the upcoming months. That left Amy and
me in uncomfortable silence interspersed with periods of forced socialization.
My attempts at good-natured humor were met with stoicism and propriety. She
questioned me about my revision for the SMART’s, a topic that brought dread
into my heart and substantially darkened the mood of the meal. By the end of
the night, I was ready to retire to my room and never attempt this arrangement
again.

Cerebrus is eager to take the next step
in our relationship: meeting his parents. This is a perfectly logical course of
action, but frankly his parents intimidate the living daylights out of me. I am
trying to put off this inevitable introduction for as long as humanly possible
or at least until I can convince myself that I am worthy of spending time in
their company.

I saw Tate on campus a few days ago. We
still hadn’t spoken more than a few words to one another since that fateful day
over break. I took the opportunity to try and bridge the ever-widening rift developing
between us and rectify some of the damage done during the holiday.

“Hey!” I yelled, running to catch up to
Tate as he dashed across the quad outside the regal university library. He
paused for a moment, his eyes tinged with suspicion.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“I wanted to ask how your SMART’s went,”
I replied. Tate had finally taken the exams last week, and I was anxious to
hear how he did.

“I just got my results yesterday. I am a
tier two, which is what I expected and wanted to hear. It’s a big relief.” He
delivered this amazing news with a lack of feeling and I could still sense the tangible
barrier between us.

“That’s great! I am beginning to study
for mine now. Do you have any tips?”

“Just do your best, Avelyn. You will be
fine.”

“Okay, thanks,” I responded awkwardly. We
both stood for a spell without saying anything out loud.

“Listen, I’ve got to go. I am starting my
specialized tier two classes now and I can’t be late. It was good seeing you,”
Tate mumbled with his hands firmly jammed into his pockets.

“Yeah, it was nice seeing you too,” I said,
crestfallen. Why couldn’t I just wave a magic wand and restore our friendship?

“Later,” Tate shouted as he walked away.
I watched him striding away from me, and I couldn’t help but feel as if part of
me was missing. Broken. I needed him back in my life, and yet I couldn’t bring
myself to apologize for the horrible things I accused him of.

Even now, I can remember the outline of
his back as he left me at the foot of the library stairs. The aching longing
that consumed me as I fought the urge to scream out for forgiveness. Somehow,
someday I must make things right between us once again.

Bright sunlight assaults my tired eyes,
and I squint involuntarily against the temporary pain and blindness resulting
from these reflected beams as they bounce off the bleached concrete. Nirvana
releases a reflexive yelp of discomfort as she too steps out into the radiant
midday sun. We just concluded our daily set of lectures and are heading to the
library for a much needed revision session. As we traverse the small exposed
plaza connecting the two buildings, the gurgling of a nearby fountain stained
green with dense algae blooms is barely audible over the howling winds. We dash
into the grand structure, seeking immediate refuge from the relentless swirling
gales as they threaten to saturate the city with cold and gloomy showers.