Neither Here Nor There

by Nikki Harmon

  “Fine, you’ve expressed your opinion. Any advice for getting Jen home?”

  “Make a deal with her. Tell her you’ll go to MIT if she stays off the pole. She would keep her word if you kept yours.”

  “Very funny Kendra. Are you coming back to the city anytime soon?” I ask.

  “Yup. Coming back next week. If she’s still there, I’ll go and give her the hairy eyeball for you and an ass whipping from me.”

  “Ok, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” I hang up with her and go out to eat something. I grab Soul Kiss on my way out the door.

  ∆∆∆

  Since it’s going to be my last full day, I decide to go into Manhattan. I take the B train up to 81st Street and walk into Central Park. I grab a breakfast burrito from a truck and pretend I don’t know where I’m going as The Rose Center for Earth and Space looms ahead of me. I finish off my breakfast and go in. Along the Cosmic Pathways, I wend my way through bunches of color-coordinated school kids and find my way through the Scales of the Universe and into the Planetarium. The first show starts in 10 minutes. It’s just enough time for me to find the perfect seat, put on some vintage Esperanza Spalding, pop in my earbuds and look up. The lights dim and I sigh with satisfaction. The lights turn off and I am transported. I can hear the announcer walking the audience through the sights and sounds of the universe, fact and speculation alike. I listen with one ear but hear Esperanza’s heavenly lilt in the other. Vast and mysterious, the sky is like home to me. I search its corners and find my old friends, Leo and The Big Dipper constellations; I find the Swan Nebula, the planets Sirius and Vega, The Butterfly Nebula and the much-misunderstood Pluto (glad to have you back fella!). After the show, I stroll through the Halls of Planet Earth and the Universe. I sit and read the plaques on the wall. I watch as group after group of school kids listen to a lecture on the history of rockets. I think about my old dream and wonder when it became some unreachable goal. When did I let it go? The aging tour guide passes around a small meteor rock and most of the kids look bored but not one little boy. He holds it and strokes it and sees millions of years of travel in its shiny surface. I hang out there all day until they close at 7pm.

  As the sun is setting, the windows and cars on Columbus Avenue begin to reflect an orangey-pinkish glow. I am surprised that even this big dirty city can be washed in the magic light of sunset. Everybody I pass looks transformed. I stumble into the first decent restaurant I see and order a shrimp salad. As I stare out the windows at the passers-by, a beautiful mahogany skinned woman catches my eye and smiles right at me. I turn to watch her stroll down the street and fade into the distance, my tiny happy thoughts tumbling behind her. After dinner, I get on the C train and take it back to the little Mexican/Chinese café. I order tea and a churro, and read as I wait for the club to open.

  I steal into the club a few minutes after 10pm and take my seat in the back. My plan is to read until Jen comes out, but I catch myself watching the dancers over the pages of the book. I remember being intrigued by other women as a young girl but fear held me back from pursuing any answers. Fear of rejection from my mother and her new boyfriend, fear of losing friendships, and the fear of being different kept me silent. I distinctly remember taking that curiosity, balling it up and putting it away one Sunday morning when I was thirteen. But now here it was, everything I had been scared to look at, scared to contemplate for more than a few seconds. It was here and it wasn’t leaving. Desire. I find myself intoxicated by the fierce power of the pole dancer with the toffee-colored skin and mesmerized by the voluptuous curves of this blonde. I am not supposed to be looking at these women like this. I am supposed to be rescuing Jen from this life. But I can’t help myself. It’s wrong. It’s objectifying. It’s base and crass and exploitative. I know all these things but I find myself lustful just the same. Maybe it’s the hormones. Got to be the hormones.

  Jen comes on stage and that tamps down my desire. She’s like a sister to me and I only see the history of our long friendship when I look at her. We make eye contact and I can tell that she is not high. She is alert, maybe too alert. Her dancing is a little stiff and awkward. Her audience is a little restless. I smile at her and blow her a kiss. She laughs and loosens up a bit. She finishes, collects her money and steps off the stage to give me a hug.

  “Hi Kim. I’m glad you came back. I was worried you wouldn’t,” she says.

  “You can’t scare me off that easy Jen. But I have to go back home tomorrow. I wish you were coming with me.”

  “I wish you would stay.”

  “Suddenly I’m feeling like we are in E.T.” We laugh. “So, I talked to Kendra,” I say.

  “Oh yeah, and what does Miss Kendra have to say?”

  “She thinks I should offer you a deal and I am considering it.”

  “A deal? What deal would that be?” she asks.

  “If I go back to being a scientist, you find another line of work.”

  “And why would I accept that deal?”

  “Because you really want to do something else, you’re just too scared to try.”

  “And you?” I hesitate.

  “Same, I guess.”

  “Would you stop teaching? Would you try to get back to NASA?”

  In that instant, I commit to the idea. “Yes, I would try to get back to NASA. Maybe I’d have to go for a Ph.D or something first.”

  “And you would do that?”

  “Yes, I will do that if you promise to find another line of work, too.” She takes a moment, giving me a hard, searching look. Her mouth twitches from side to side. I have a flashback to our long afternoons playing Uno as kids, then Spades as teens. She always took forever to decide which card to play.

  “OK, I accept the deal.”

  “You do! You promise?!?” I reach out to hug her, and she hugs me back hard. We are interrupted by loud throat clearing. We separate.

  Alonso says, “What the hell is going on here?”

  Jen says, “Just saying good-bye to an old friend, honey.” She stands up and leans into him.

  “You’re leaving? Good. Take care, Kim.”

  “Jen! Don’t forget to check the papers, ok?” She smiles at me. “Ok, Kim. I will. Good-bye.”

  “Bye.” And with that, Alonso steers her off to the bar and gives her two shots. She downs them and then turns to the man next to her and starts chatting. I tuck away my book and head to the bathroom. In high school, we had codes for passing notes and rumors. I knew she would remember. In the first stall, next to the toilet paper holder I write my phone number, bookended by my initials. Then I do my business and leave the Venus Flytrap feeling lighter and happier then I have in weeks. I splurge and take a cab back to Brooklyn as a light rain begins to fall. I think of that old movie Taxi Driver and peep my driver but he is an older Sikh and I feel pretty safe. I sit back and think about the promise I have just made. It brings a smile to my face and I fall asleep easily that night.

  The next morning, I shower, pack up my stuff, and have a cup of coffee while I count out $200 cash and write a thank you note. I put the money and note under Lacey’s pillow as we agreed and get ready to go. Just as I am walking to the door, I hear keys in the lock and a tall, chocolate brown woman in jeans and a red poncho walks in. Her long turquoise and silver earrings chime as she struggles through the door with her bags. She looks up and gives a little yelp to see me there. I apologize, as she stands frozen by the door. I quickly explain the situation and that I am just leaving. She relaxes and puts down her bags.

  I stick out my hand, “I’m Kim, by the way. Sorry we didn’t have a chance to talk but I enjoyed staying in your room. So thank you.”

  She shakes my hand and something electric passes between us. She lingers over the contact and looks at me but I, butterflies in the belly returning, let go and look away.

  “It was nice meeting you too, Kim. If you need a place to stay again, we could probably work something out. Just give us a call, ok?”

  “Ok”, I say as I shuf
fle past her and out the door. My heart beating fast and palms sweating, I shout, “good-bye” as I scoot out the door and it closes behind me. I can hear her soft laughter and the tinkle of her earrings. Whew.

  Chapter 20

  Two months later, on a warm and sunny morning in June, I have a meeting at Temple University with the new alumni advisor, Professor Willis. As I enter the science building, a group of seven students is walking towards me. Unlike most college students, they are subdued and walking in an uncertain line. I look in their faces as each one passes by and their expressions range from confused to worried to frightened. I’m trying to figure out if they are on academic probation, or maybe some kind of hazing line when an older man trots up to accompany them. He takes the lead and looks to be suppressing excitement. He is also the only one smiling. He looks up and nods at me, arms behind his back. When our eyes meet, the name “Patel” comes unbidden to my mind and a jolt of fear thrums through my body and my vision blurs. I stop walking, but they continue and I turn around to watch them exit the building and cross the campus green. One of the students turns back and catches my eye. She mouths a word. “Help?” But she keeps walking. My head is buzzing with alarm; goosebumps raise all over my body. I watch as they move away unsure of what to do, something is wrong, very wrong, but what?

  I turn to start down the hallway and pass a room marked ‘Professor Patel’ and I stop and stare at the sign. Was that the same man I just passed? How did I know his name? I continue on down the hall looking for Room #135. I pass a series of labs, dark except for the plant lights shining on sweet potato vines. One, two, … six, seven labs. The hallway is dark and quiet except for my footsteps. I turn the corner and see a group of students at the end of the hall. I hear music and see open doors and the vibe has done a 180-degree turn. I examine the signs beside the doors and come upon #135. The door is ajar but I knock as a courtesy.

  “Professor Willis?”

  “Yes? Oh, come in, come in.”

  “Hi, I’m Kim Thornton-Brooks… we have a 5:30pm meeting?

  He stands up and grasps my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Kim. Have a seat. What can I do for you again?”

  “I graduated two years ago with a dual major in biology and education. Now I’d like to go to graduate school for biomedical engineering. I need a recommendation from you to do so.”

  “Right!” he says and starts rifling through folders on his desk. After a 20-minute conversation about my time at Temple and my future plans, he agrees to write my recommendation.

  I stand up, extend my hand and say, “Thank you, Professor Willis. Thank you very much. You won’t regret it.”

  “You’re very welcome, Ms. Thornton-Brooks. I hope you enjoy MIT and knock their socks off! And please let me know if there is anything else I can do for you.”

  I start to turn to leave but I remember the students from earlier. “I have a question. As I was coming in, I saw Professor Patel, I think, with a group of students. It seemed very odd to me. Does he have a science club or a study group or something?”

  “Oh, that must have been his work-study students. He has his own system of choosing them for his experiments, and they usually stick around for their whole four years. They get to be a pretty close-knit group, I hear.”

  “Hmmm… interesting. And what kind of research does he do?”

  “Mostly botanical. They measure the physical and chemical reactions plants have to insect and environmental stimuli.”

  “Oh, ok, I was just curious. Thanks again, Professor Willis.”

  “No problem. Have a great day, Kim.”

  I am careful to control my reaction in the office (I need that recommendation letter) but once I get outside, I start to tremble. Patel, plant reactions, work-study, it all feels so familiar but I have no idea why. I retrace my steps back down the hallways to the exit. I stop at Lab #19 and stand there. It means something to me but I don’t know what. I look in at the plant. Somewhere in my brain, a voice says, “Mabel”. I don’t know how long I stand there, but after a while, I shake myself out of my reverie and go home.

  ∆∆∆

  Jackson greets me with roasted chicken, potatoes and asparagus for dinner. He is playing the Isley Brothers and has already set the table. I kiss him hello and tell him my good news about Willis. Applying to graduate school is still a point of contention between us. He assumed I was done with that NASA business and liked being a teacher. I told him I wanted more. The problem would be the upending of our comfortable life and the logistics of how it would or could work. I had to concede that point. However, I plan to be a rocket scientist so I should be able to figure that out, right?

  We sit down to eat, my belly starting to rest in my lap.

  “I did see something weird today,” I say between bites of chicken. “I saw a bunch of students with a professor, but they seemed like they were hazing or something. But they were science students, and who hazes science students?”

  He looks thoughtful, “Maybe it’s some kind of secret society or honors program.”

  “Willis said they were all work-study students. I don’t know, something about the way they were so quiet, it was just weird.”

  “Hmm … why don’t you just ask one of them or ask the professor, he probably knows. But Kim, what difference does it make? You’ve graduated, you just need the recommendation, right?”

  “Right.”

  ∆∆∆

  A day later and I cannot stop thinking about the girl. I replay it over and over again and I’m sure she looked directly at me and asked for my help. During my prep time, I decide to do some research on Professor Patel. I look him up on Temple’s website and as soon as his face pops up, I have a hard time catching my breath. I sit back in my chair and try to relax. I read his biography, which I find to be quite interesting. He’s a biology professor but majored in physics at Harvard and worked for the Johns Hopkins Applied Physics Laboratory in Maryland. He left there after 5 years and got a Ph.D in biomechanics at Princeton. Then he went straight to Temple University to teach. Interesting. I decide to scroll through his list of publications. It is a very extensive list, but I found the gap during his years at APL curious. Maybe his work there was considered their property and not his work. I am just about to open up their site when the bell rings for the next period to begin.

  I teach my lesson on cell structure but I am not even listening to myself. In the back of my mind, I am running over Patel’s biography. During breaks in the discussion, I relive the memory of the girl and “help” coming from the oval of her mouth. Somehow, I am able to carry on with the lesson, to say the words, to teach the concepts and to keep up the actions of the “teacher”. The day ends, and before I’m done saying goodbye to the last of my seventh graders, I sit down at my laptop. As I start to go back to my page on Patel, I get a great idea and log into the Temple portal as an alum. I go to the student portal and select directory, turn on photographic view, filter for science majors and voilà ... ten pages of students, their pictures, names, class and major information appear. I increase the screen size and scroll through. I find the girl halfway down the first page. Amy Archeletta. She’s smiling in the picture, carefree and eager looking, with her brown hair waving around her face. Her freckles are visible even in the black and white photo. I switch tabs and go to Temple’s email portal. I send her a quick cryptic email.

  Dear Amy,

  We saw each other on Tuesday. I was going in and you were going out of the Science Building. I am an alumna and would like to learn more about what the Science Department is doing lately. Let’s meet for coffee so we can talk.

  Best,

  K. Thornton-Brooks

  I hit “send” and cross my fingers. There was no immediate reply so I log off of everything and pack up for the day. My car ride home is a blur as I rack my brain thinking about Patel and what that group could have been up to. Jackson is not home from work when I get there so I sit down at the dining room table and try to mark papers. I get halfway thro
ugh my second class when I notice I have a message in my Temple email account. My heart starts to beat faster. I click the window open.

  Dear Kim,

  If I remember correctly, you had your hair in a bun and wore glasses. I almost didn’t recognize you. If that is you, I’d love to have coffee and tell you all about the Science Department. How about 10:00pm tomorrow night? I have a place in mind. Here is my phone number, text me at 9:30pm and I will send you the address.

  Amy

  215-555-2358

  I reply.

  Amy,

  Thanks for your reply. That was me with the bun and glasses. I’ll text you tomorrow at 9:30pm. My number is 215-555-1321.

  K.

  Thursday night? Ugh. At first, all I can think about is how tired I will be Friday morning. I re-read the message. Two things. How does she know my name? What does she mean “recognize me”? Just then Jackson comes through the door with two bags of Indian food from Tiffin. I shut my laptop and jump up to help him. The smell of curry makes my stomach growl and we both laugh. I kiss him hello but I tell him nothing.

  Chapter 21

  At 9pm on Thursday night, I lie to Jackson.

  “Oh babe, I just got a text from Kendra. She’s in town and wants to talk about Jen. I’m going to meet her downtown, ok?” Jackson sits up from the couch where he has been groaning over the Sixers game.

  “Now? It’s nine o’clock at night! Why doesn’t she just come over here?” he asks.

  “Oh you know Kendra, she likes to be fancy. She’s at some kind of tapas bar or something. I won’t be long. You know I’m already tired.”

  “Ok,” he responds, eyes drifting back to the game. “Do you want me to drive you?”

  “No.” I blurt out but he’s watching free throws so he doesn’t notice. I hurry on my coat and kiss him good-bye. “Good-luck with the Sixers.”