The Forgotten World

by R Gene Curtis

  “I, uh...” I shrug when nothing else comes out.

  My face burns and I wipe at my eyes, frustrated by the emotion. I want to crawl under her table and curl up in a ball. I choke down a sob and try again.

  “I was hoping you wouldn’t mind if I got cleaned up? I don’t want to be a bother or anything, but...I just need some help. Just for a minute.”

  I feel about as big as an ant.

  “Of course.” Maria does meet my eyes now, and she gives me another hug, getting blood on her swim suit and her shoulder. “You can use my shower. Clean up, and then will you come outside with me? It’s such a beautiful day! I’ve been out there wondering who I could share it with.”

  Fun isn’t the word I’d use to describe the awkwardness of the situation, but I agree. I’m putting Maria out, but if it’s fun for her I should stay for a bit. I’ve never worn a bikini and I can’t imagine that it will be comfortable. But nothing is comfortable about today.

  Maria takes me upstairs to her huge bedroom. Half of my Dad’s house would fit inside this one room, and that house isn’t small. Not only is the room huge, but it’s immaculately clean, with its own bathroom and shower. Maria pulls out a neon green bikini for me and tells me to take my time. I hope she doesn’t see me gawking at her room.

  I take the world’s fastest shower, careful not to look at myself in the mirror any more than I have to. My face is swollen, and my eyes are puffy. If I didn’t look like a Neanderthal yesterday, I do today.

  Maria’s smile keeps me from running back to my car as I step onto the deck, the remnants of my fight with Dad displayed all over my nearly naked body. This was such a dumb idea. I should have just hopped in my car and left, but then I would have had to say no, and I would have had to figure out what to wear.

  “I’m so glad you’re here,” Maria says.

  I don’t believe her, but I sit down anyway. I brought my old phone with me, and I grip it until my knuckles turn white.

  Maria and I have been on the soccer team together for three years, but I barely know her. We’re complete opposites, and really have nothing to talk about. Ever. Her blonde hair is always styled, her nails are always done, and the tanning salon must be her home away from home given how tan her skin is through the dreary Seattle winters.

  As for me, I don’t have money for make-up, and I’m lucky that my clothes fit me. I look different than anyone else in the school, and I’m definitely not pretty or stylish. I don’t have half as many friends as Maria. I don’t have any. And if even one boy looked at me for every date that Maria has, I’d call myself lucky.

  I settle into the lounge chair, grateful for the space heater, but awed by the view. The deck looks straight west. Lake Washington stretches out in front of us, turning into the Seattle skyline, and finally the sun as it beats on our skin.

  I stretch out my legs and try to soak in the entire view. It is a beautiful afternoon. My body aches, and I realize that by stretching out my legs, I’ve put them on display. My right thigh sports a huge bruise, and my shin on my left leg is badly scraped. I bring up my knees and hug them to my chest.

  “You know,” Maria says, and I brace myself for the questions. “You have the coolest tattoo I have ever seen. I don’t know why you always keep it hidden.”

  I’ve been so subconscious about my bruises that I forgot about the blue flower.

  “You think it’s a tattoo?” It’s just above my right breast, reaching up to my collarbone.

  “Where did you get it?”

  “It’s been there as long as I can remember.” The mark is more detailed and real looking than any tattoo.

  “It looks like you have a flower permanently glued onto your skin. No, not onto your skin, living in your skin.”

  Talking about this is only slightly more comfortable than talking about my bruises.

  Maria blows a bubble with her gum until it pops. She licks the gum off her face and starts chewing again. “Well, I can’t think of what else to call it besides a tattoo.”

  She sits up and leans over me, so she can see it better. I blush and pretend to see something interesting on the Seattle skyline that wasn’t there seconds ago. If I pull my legs any tighter, I’ll hit her in the head with my knees.

  “It’s so cool.”

  “Yeah.” The flower is a reminder that my parentage shouldn’t have been a shock. I should have figured this out a long time ago. Mom would have never gone to such great lengths to put a mark like that on me.

  “Speaking of cool tattoos in sexy places.” Maria blows another bubble with her gum and then keeps talking as she licks it off her face. “I heard that Trent Smith is going to ask you to Prom. You should totally get a low-cut dress and show that baby off.”

  My face turns red. I’m not showing the tattoo off. Ever.

  Then, what she said fully registers. “Trent? Ask me?” Trent Smith is the most popular guy in school.

  “That’s the rumor. I guess there was a tiff with Hanna, and he’s looking for someone who will make her really jealous. He decided to find a soccer girl, and given your performance last night, he’s got his eyes on you.”

  I don’t want anyone’s eyes on me right now. “There’s no way I’d say yes.” Despite what Joana might think, I’m definitely not that desperate.

  “Seriously, Lydia, he’s gorgeous. It doesn’t matter what his reasons are.”

  Yes, it does. “Do you think that Trent has ever had one intelligent thought in his entire life?”

  “He’s really good at football.”

  “That’s not intelligence. Besides, so was my dad. I think he even played in college.” I don’t know why I brought up Dad. I shut my mouth and bite my lip to stop the tears.

  “I’m so excited for college,” Maria says. “It’s so awesome you made the team?”

  “For now.” I can barely keep my voice steady. I bite the side of my cheek to distract myself.

  “Yeah, I hear it’s pretty cut-throat. But getting a scholarship is awesome. You worked so hard for that!”

  “My mom played college ball. It was her dream that I would, too.” With the situation with my dad like it is, I wonder if I can afford to go to college, even with the scholarship.

  “That’s so totally cool. You’re so great, Lydia!”

  I swallow hard and change the subject. “What are you excited for? About college I mean.”

  Maria giggles. “Do you think it’s as fun as they say? Just think—all the beer, boys, and parties that you could ever want. Without parents!”

  I look away at the mention of beer. I’m not going to any parties with alcohol. And, I’d give just about anything for parents right now.

  “You’ll have to go to some parties with me.”

  I shake my head. College will be soccer, studying, and feeling sorry for myself. No parties, no boys. I’ll be just as much a loner there as I am here. Besides, I can’t fix my appearance, even if I didn’t mind the alcohol.

  “Come on, Lydia. Please?”

  “I don’t want to be by beer,” I say. “Ever.” The word comes out with more feeling that I intended.

  And then I start to cry. Pull yourself together girl.

  I can’t burden Maria with this. I stand, but Maria jumps up too and grabs my arm.

  “Did someone drunk beat you?”

  My sobs get harder. Words aren’t going to come back for a while.

  “Your dad?”

  She saw right through me.

  “Have you called the police?”

  I shake my head.

  “I’m calling right now. Do you have a place to stay?”

  I shake my head again, and finally manage to find words. “Don’t call them. I don’t mean to be a bother. I’ll go now.”

  “Sorry, but you need to stay here.” Maria doesn’t let go of me when I try to pull away. “All summer.”

  “I have somewhere to go,” I say.

  “Where?”

  I’m pathetic. Another sob escapes, and Maria takes me
into her arms. Tears fall on her bare shoulder. At least it isn’t blood this time. Cold wind blows the heat from the space heater away and we both shiver.

  “You’re staying here,” Maria says again. “The first thing we’ll do is call the police.”

  Dad will kill me if I call the police, but do I really ever see myself going back?

  “It’s the right thing to do. Stay here where you’re safe. You’ll be welcome all summer.”

  I nod dumbly. I don’t have much of a choice, but it feels awkward to accept the offer. “How could I ever repay you?” I ask.

  Maria gets a glint in her eye. Then it breaks into a full smile. “Actually, this is perfect! You should stay here the summer of course, but the way to make it up to me is if you’ll room with me in college next year.”

  “Room with you?” Why would Maria want to room with me?

  “Yes,” she says. “Last night my dad threw down the gauntlet. He said I have to live at home this year. But, this is perfect. If you need someone to room with, and if you’re not going to parties, Dad will have to change his mind. This is so perfect, Lydia. You work harder than anyone on the team, and you’re really nice.”

  I can’t think of one positive thing about the situation. “I’m not always like this. I grew up in a stable house, with a good mom. Then I got this strange email saying I was a registered adoptee. That’s what started all of this. If I hadn’t been curious...” I’m blabbering.

  “Lydia, listen to me. This isn’t your fault. You’re safe now. You’ll stay with us and living on campus will be so awesome! You have to do it.”

  “I can’t afford the dorms...”

  “My dad has contacts, and we can help you get a great job for the summer. Not a problem. You’ve worked too hard to get on that team.” Maria grabs her phone and calls 911.

  When she puts the phone down, I’m still sniffling. “Do you have clothes I can change into before they get here?”

  All she has are jeans. Apparently, Maria thinks stretchy pants are out of style. Still, jeans are better than a bikini I put them on and wait for the police.

  The last time I talked to police was the night Mom died. I clutch my phone. The screams, the silence. The endless ticking of the clock as I sat by the window watching the rain fall. Then the police arrived.

  I don’t sit by the window this time.

  Maria squeezes my hand. “It will be okay. We’ll get your Dad thrown in jail, and we’ll find out where you came from. And we’ll make sure you play soccer for U-dub.”

  I force a smile and nod, but my eyes go down to my feet. I don’t want Dad in jail, and I don’t want other parents. I just want Mom back. I want her to see my play college ball and know that all the time she spent with me on the soccer field was worth it.

  4 Research

  Karl

  I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. I take a deep breath, but my nerves don’t relax. I mean, would a fly caught in a spider’s web relax while it waited for the spider to show up? No. When things are about to get messy, things get uptight.

  And things are about to get messy.

  Through the doorway, Sam towers over Rahul. Sam’s voice gets louder with each word as he goes on and on about what Rahul should do next. I’ve been sitting here long enough to know he wants Rahul to throw away the last eighteen months of work and start over.

  Figures. Advisors always want their students to start over. They don’t care if any of them ever get out of school. When an advisor looks at a graduate student, prestigious publications and continued funding flash before their eyes. Especially if it’s a good student. Funding sources, big publications, ideas coming to fruition. And graduation is the enemy.

  I rub my temples. Waiting outside Sam’s office to get yelled at, is almost as bad as being in the hot seat. I stare blankly at the brand-new Gates Center floor. I’m almost a mile away from my office at the old Mellon Institute, so it’s not like I can rush back to my office and grab my computer and work until he’s ready. And I don’t foresee a day when I lug that huge machine all the way up to keep me busy when Sam doesn’t keep my appointment.

  And I’m the one who waiting to get yelled at for not making progress.

  Sam will finish eventually, and I’ll lumber out of my seat and take my growing body into the torture chamber. What kind of facial expression should I assume today? Scared? Determined? Maybe I should make a joke about how much weight I’ve gained this month and see if that lightens the mood.

  The floor doesn’t offer any advice. It starts to click, though, as tanned legs, high heels, and a short skirt meander until they stop in front of me.

  “Mr. Stapp, aren’t you looking lovely today?” the owner of the legs says in an English accent.

  I didn’t know we had anyone in the program from England. I thought everyone was from China or California.

  I take my eyes off the floor. The girl is pretty. Really pretty. Eventually I recognize her as a first year from my program.

  A first year. The recognition sends my eyes back to the floor. Even though I wouldn’t mind looking at her face for a while, on principle I don’t fraternize with first year students. During graduate school, you make and learn from mistakes. I made the particular mistake of befriending a first year during last year’s retreat, and I ended up losing a lot of the fall semester helping him with assignments. Not this year.

  I keep my eyes locked on her toes and wait for her to leave. Someday she’ll understand.

  She giggles and sits next to me, crossing her legs. “You waiting for Sam?” she asks.

  Obviously. People say the dumbest things to start conversations. I nod, and this time I struggle to get my eyes back on the floor. The girl has a slender frame, short red hair, and a shorter black skirt. I like the way her hair brings out her green eyes, which light up when she smiles.

  The first year who befriended me last year was tall and lanky and waved his arms around when he talked. Not nearly as nice to look at. Maybe I should reconsider my principles.

  “Do you have an advisor yet?” If she has a good advisor, I can justify spending a little time getting to know her.

  “Yes.” She blushes and extends her hand. “I’m Tara.”

  Totally not helpful. “I’m...”

  “Karl Stapp, of course.” The girl, Tara apparently, laughs. “Everyone in the program knows who you are. Everyone with half a brain, anyway.”

  Gossip travels fast! I knew Sam was upset with me, but I didn’t realize that the rumor mill was already churning.

  Tara’s smiles fades. “You look concerned. I only mean it in the best way. Everyone knows how brilliant you are, and how you’ve flown through all the classes.”

  Only a first year would care about coursework. I’ve worked as hard as I could for the last three and a half years, and still I’m sitting here waiting for Sam to give me an ultimatum. I need to pick a strong thesis project, or he’s done with me. Success in the classroom doesn’t matter. Neither do conference publications.

  Funding sources and journal publications are what count, and I don’t have either.

  Rahul comes out of the office looking like a wounded animal. I don’t think he even sees us as he scurries by. He must be really riled up—I would have noticed Tara on my worst days. I take one last look at her. One doesn’t see many women this beautiful in graduate school. Or anywhere, actually, except maybe TV. And graduate students never have time for TV.

  I’ll have to try and sit by her at a program retreat sometime.

  Tara stands as I do. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  I watch her walk toward the restrooms like she’s a movie star or something. She does have a great figure.

  Just before she rounds the corner, she turns and winks at me.

  My face gets hot.

  “Karl?” Sam’s voice brings me back to reality.

  Most people would probably say the most terrifying place on earth is their father’s den. Those people have never had a graduate school advisor.
r />   Sam waits for me behind his desk, scribbling furiously in his notebook. As usual. Poor Rahul. He really is a good student. His latest machine learning model did have some holes in it, that was obvious last group meeting. But, at least his ideas were decent. The group had some good suggestions for him, too.

  I sit down and wait for Sam to finish his notes.

  Sam isn’t scribbling as fast anymore. His hands move over the paper like the ink suddenly turned magnetic and is pulling the pen onto the paper. Sam is a fast-paced guy. He does everything at double-speed. Slow writing isn’t in his playbook.

  I shift uncomfortably in my seat and clear my throat. Sam glances up at me, and his head moves in slow motion.

  I clear my throat again. “Are you feeling okay?” I ask.

  Sam shakes his head, slowly, but keeps writing. When he finishes, he blinks a few times before glaring at me.

  “Did you pick your thesis topic?”

  No reason to beat around the bush. “Not yet.” I didn’t like any of his ideas. I didn’t come to graduate school to spend the rest of my life here. I would spend the rest of my life here before I could finish even the simplest idea he had. There has to be a way to apply some of the models he’s proposing to real world problems instead of always trying to figure out the next theoretical extension.

  Sam takes a deep breath. Too deep. Is he trying to show me how frustrated he is? I shift in my seat. Something is not right with Sam. Not that it’s going to make the beating any less severe.

  Sam’s mouth opens, and I know what he’s going to say. That I’ve been in the program for nearly four years now. That I need to pick a thesis topic now, or he won’t keep funding me. That it doesn’t matter if I’ve published four papers at different conferences, I need real results on impactful problems. That even though I could probably graduate with the work I’ve done so far, he will fight me every step of the way until I have something real I can show him.

  I brace myself as he leans forward. His face darkens, contorts into a scowl, and then he falls out of his chair. I watch in disbelief as his head slams against the desk with a loud crack. It bounces off the desk and then his body slumps and collapses onto the floor.