I heard squeaky footsteps and spun to see some big-ole senior with blond hair and a red face bustle around the corner. He swung a heavy wool coat up and slung his arms through it. Then, he slapped the pole lever on the side exit and dashed out.
Hesitant, I stood just to the side of Dydecky’s open door. The windows and ceiling grate lights struck it bright inside and made this hazy yellow light ooze out of the doorway and spread atop the shiny floor. And I’m thinking, What the fuck are you, some kinda a nerd or somethin’? Going to fucking Physics Club after school? But it was Ryan’s voice I heard in my head, and that recognition slid into my chest and stirred up bubbling, antagonistic knots—like, fuck it, quit being a fucking pussy. If it’s boring, you could just leave, go pass that dove sack off, and catch the bus home.
I took a deep breath and stepped in. There were nerds all around with big thick glasses, pocket protectors, ill-fitting clothing, and bad hairdos. Right in the center of the room, there’s like ten of ’em all bunched up on each other, straining on tip toes. They craned their necks to see over each other’s shoulders, hooting and hollering at something happening down low in the center of the mound of bodies. And I’m like, What the fuck! Are these dorks throwin’ dice up in here?! I step over and strain to see through and over a few of ’em. Finally, I see this frail little guy with his sleeves rolled-up way down in the middle of the deep shade cast by all the leering dweebs. He’s doing something with his quick, boney hands. There’s this whirling blur of colors: red, blue, yellow, green. These little squares twisted in chaotic vertical and longitudinal spirals in his gesticulating fingers. Then, suddenly: green—solid green.
A dopey kid with a red mop cut and a smear of bright-pink acne on his cheeks wipes his hair out of his face, looks up to the big circular clock at the head of the room, and says “Two minutes, fifty-three seconds!” in this screechy, whiney voice.
Half of ’em sigh and slump back towards their seats while the other half rejoice. The nerd-mound unfurls and spreads out, then, the little super-nerd stands tall and raises the multicolored Rubix Cube, smirking shyly. He’s got silver braces with white rubber bands strung in them. This fat Mexican kid with his dress shirt unbuttoned and his big bowling ball-shaped gut straining against his t-shirt is pounding his beefy paw on the little guy’s back. Then, Super-Nerd raises the Rubix Cube high with his narrow thumb and index finger on two opposing corners. He starts slowly spinning it with his other hand so it twists like a dice on edge, revealing all of its solid-colored perfection. He wasn’t exactly cocky, but showy enough to be entertaining.
“Joe, you came. Great!” I turned to see Dydecky crouched down on a knee. He was next to the slide projector—its side compartment was ajar—and he had a strange, little, oval-shaped light bulb pinched between his pinky and ring finger.
“Take a seat. I gotta get this thing fixed before Tompkins gets here,” Dydecky said, wiping his sweat-dotted forehead. “I’m glad you made it.” He arched up his eyebrows, then got back to work.
I sat down next to this fat Polish kid with a huge square head and a long, pointy nose. He hadn’t partaken in the Rubix Cube contest. He was clomping loudly on something, then dismissively flopped a deflated banana peel atop his desk and eased back into his creaky seat.
On the other side and behind me, this Jewish kid with a dark-brown afro and square, black-framed glasses hunched over a magazine—Modern Science, or something. “I told you Tompkins was in the August issue… Right beside lead physicist Peterson. He’s right here, it’s this one. Assistant Operations project Top Quark on the Tevatron collider!” he exclaimed.
“Julius, can-it. We all know he’s a big cheese,” this effeminate black kid sitting beside me said as he vigorously filed his fingernails. Then, he held them up, limp-wristed, before his face with his fingers spread. It was about then that I was sure I was in the wrong fucking room.
Tomkins finally stepped through the open door. He had well-kempt blond hair and a sprinkling of sandy stubble on his cheeks. He wore a fuzzy, green V-neck sweater, dark-blue corduroy pants, and some brown penny loafers. The nerds were instantly prone at attention in their seats. The silence resonated.
He strolled up to where Dydecky still crouched at the head of the class and said, “Hello, Bert. Good to see you.”
“John, come on in. Welcome,” Dydecky replied as he stood and swung the side compartment closed. “Everybody, this is Mr. Tompkins of the Fermi Lab Top Quark endeavor.” Some of the geeks actually clapped. “Mr. Tomkins, this is the Gordon Tech Physics Club.”
Tompkins puffed his chest out and grinned condescendingly, like a man who enjoyed his title and position as a lackey on a big project. The Jewish kid with the magazine went to wave, and I glanced over and saw he was actually giving Tompkins the Vulcan salute. Tompkins didn’t notice, thankfully, because if he’d a given it back, I woulda leapt up and tore right the hell outta there.
I’d read about the particle accelerator in an old National Geographic magazine—we had a few crusty stacks of ’em in the basement next to the furnace that went back decades. I’d also come across Fermi Lab in a few of Da’s books in the chapters on quantum physics. I was initially intrigued by the macro: the Universe and its destiny and history. My discarding of religion opened a great, wide void of eternity to explore, and my instincts drew me to find symmetry somewhere out there in all those theories. I had this impulse that existence must be fluid, constant, though ever-changing and exploding in bright, big bangs. Then, it would recede slowly until all matter had compressed and focused to one point of smoldering near non-existence. Then, the explosion again—a cyclical state, you could say. Most of the contemporary math back then pointed to an ever expanding, open universe, so that all the stars would just continue to drift away and slowly fizzle out. But, of course, the math had been wrong many times before throughout history, constantly proven false by new discoveries like dark matter and new math that was just waiting to swell up and encompass it.
But there was something equally intriguing about the micro: the fundamental parts of matter. If we are all made of energy and matter—and if the sparks in our brains, our memories, and what make up our identities and souls are primarily energy—then the law of the conservation of energy would allow us insights into where we go when our bodies go kaput. Even if it is just to return to the source of all energy—that big ball of everchanging fire; existence, the universe itself.
This idea of colliding electrons and positrons and having them convert into energy and splintering them even further into theoretical particles was incredibly interesting to me. An attempt to find the foundation of matter, and I guess, in the end, it was about finding something out about death in a pure and methodical way without any of the horrific and chaotic emotions tied to human death. It was a safe haven to explore inside of, I guess.
I hated Tompkins right off the bat. He had an aura of answers when he was really in a field of questions. I guess he gave the visitor’s tour at Fermi Lab or something—he had a whole spiel.
Dydecky finally got the projector working, so he wheeled it into position in the center of the room and cut the lights.
An image flashed on the pull down screen—an aerial view of plush, green fields, a few patches of dark-green woods, and two immense white concrete loops; the larger loop nearly intersected with the smaller one. Tompkins started his rehearsed spiel. He stood at the head of the class with the wired slide remote in his hand. The late autumn afternoon light seeped in and struck him in a cloudy, gray haze. The sharp, trembling image on the screen splayed across his shoulder and arm. The next slide was of a bison, a buffalo, and a calf.
“There’s a lot of real morons out there who think we have the buffalo herd in order to detect hazardous radiation levels, but, of course, that is erroneous,” he said, shifting. His pompous grin flickered in the side of the vibrating image. I had a flush of annoyance rush to my palms, and the words just shot right out of my mouth.
“It don’t seem that stupid to me,” I said.
“What? What? Who said that?” Tompkins asked, squinting in my direction.
I raised my hand.
“Antimatter annihilation is like a hundred times more powerful than nuclear fusion, right?” I asked.
“Well, yes, but….”
“And there’s gamma rays present in this annihilation, right? And ain’t that what makes living cells mutate when they hit ’em? Gives ’em cancer and makes ’em die and all that?”
“Yes, well, yes, I suppose, but we’re talking about finite levels encased in concrete.”
“OK, but aren’t you trying to find new fundamental particles? Why couldn’t there be new energies, too, even more dangerous than gamma rays?”
Tompkins glanced sternly at Dydecky, who lounged atop a desk in the front row by the door. Dydecky just shrugged at him, then looked at me and popped his eyebrows up twice.
Tompkins sighed and soldiered on. I had these warm little needles and pops spiraling up and radiating out of my chest and into my shoulders. I fought back a smile and was glad the lights were off ’cause I was sure my cheeks were burning bright pink. He continued his spiel, basically reiterating everything I’d read already. It was exciting though, nonetheless, to hear it spoken and to see the physical instruments. To think that humankind was achieving near light speed with these particles— it was awe inspiring. Not just on the conceptual level, but the ingenuity in putting it all into physical practice.
When the lights came up, the afro-headed Vulcan Jew kid immediately started slurping balls. He even got Tompkins to sign his copy of Modern Science. Tompkins masturbated just a little bit more, then said he had to leave.
Everybody clapped as Tompkins packed up his slides and took off in a hurry like he had some really important tour to give back at headquarters. The nerds started chittering excitedly as Dydecky walked Tompkins out, but I just sat there. The rush of ideas and excitement erased all of my hesitancy to be seen there. Then suddenly, Super-Nerd leans against the desk next to mine, reaches out his narrow hand to me, and says, “Scott.”
I shake it and say, “Joe. Good to meet you,” hoping this ain’t some kinda ’Beam me up, Scottie’ joke.
“Interesting stuff, huh?” he said.
“Yeah… Pretty cool.”
“You ever hear of dark matter?”
“Yeah, it’s that invisible stuff that changes the orbits of stars and galaxies.”
“Ever think about it in terms of antimatter?”
“What, like dark matter’s made up of antimatter?”
“I don’t know, maybe, though—that’d explain a lot, wouldn’t it?”
“But, wouldn’t there be more collisions and annihilations happening out there in the Universe on a big level?”
“Yeah, maybe there are and we just haven’t observed it yet? Maybe, that’s what a supernova is? Or a type of supernova, anyway?”
“Shit, that’s trippy, man. Like, what if there’s a big-ole ball of antimatter headed straight for us right now?”
Scott looked upward towards the sun and flicked his hands above his face and said, “pshhhhhhhhhhh!!!” and I found myself giggling.
“If that’s how this little dot goes, I’m gonna be pissed as hell,” Scott chuckled as Dydecky walked back in, grinning at us.
“Alright, fellas, that’s it,” he said, “Wrap it up, I gotta get the projector back to Mr. Hollander’s room before they lock it for the night.”
As Dydecky wheeled the projector past, he whispered, “Good comments, Joe.” One bushy eyebrow rose way up along his forehead. This ball of pride expanded in my chest, same as when I made an open-field tackle and the coach slapped my helmet when I got back to the sidelines, or when Mickey brought up that fight outside of Senn.
“It was good meeting ya,” I said to Scott as I got up.
“Come back again. Dydecky’s always bringing in big shots like that guy.”
“Maybe I will,” I said and stepped out the door.
On my way to the north exit, I ran into Antwon’s fat ass as he was plodding outta the Detention Hall and dragging his pick through his messy afro, and I got on the bus twenty bucks the richer. Then, I was sitting there watching the red-bricked world slowly slide past on the packed Addison bus, lost in thoughts about particle physics and the destiny of the frickin’ Universe itself. Imagine that.
CHAPTER 25
LOVEBIRD
IT WAS A SLOW MONDAY AFTERNOON, and we all bullshitted down at the sills, hoping for custies, but nobody was really about smoking on a Monday. If anything, they’d toke on resin from the weekend. The breeze blew the winter in hard, stirring up the leaves into these spiraling clusters along the gray sidewalk.
“So you’re taking Hyacinth to her homecoming this weekend?” Angel asked.
“Yeah,” I said, nodding.
“What about you, Ryan? You gonna go to our homecoming?” Angel said, grinning at me as I winced.
“I ain’t goin to no dance,” Ryan said, then spit on the sidewalk slab. “Dances’re for lames.”
“Fuck dat,” Angel said, his huge teeth beaming. “You just can’t get no bitch to go with you.”
“Fuck you, motherfucker,” Ryan said, glaring at him. “What bitch you goin’ wit’?”
“I gotta take her, man,” I said, cutting through the pettiness. “You know how dat shit goes.” I took a pull of my Marlboro Light. “It’d break her heart if we didn’t go to that thing.”
“I hear you,“ Ryan said, relaxing his shoulders. His Bulls jersey slumped.
Some of the Good Girls approached the sills: Monica, Hyacinth, and some other one I’d only seen a couple times. Hyacinth wore a white cardigan. She walked fast and kind of led the other two, who were flared out at her sides. Monica had one arm folded over her belly, holding the other elbow like it was broken or something. She had a guilty look on her face, and her bottom jaw hung open a little, showing the blue and red rubber bands in her braces. As Hyacinth got close, her face changed, and suddenly I realized she was furious. Her eyes were all puffy from crying, but now her mouth was pursed. She walked right up to me with her arms forced straight down at her sides. I stood up and suddenly knew. Somebody’d told her. Somebody’d told her everything. I took a deep breath and looked down at the tips of my Nikes.
“How could you?” she hissed disgustedly as I scrambled for what to say. I thought of how to tell her it was a lie. The seconds ticked past. The truth oozed out of my pores and leapt from my defeated, slumped shoulders. Then, she turned, and I thought it was to walk away. I reached out for her hand, then I felt a pop to the side of my face. My head reeled backward. A sharp sting sizzled across my cheek. I just sat back down on my sill. I didn’t know how to tell her it was the worst mistake I’d ever made. How I didn’t like Gabby—I didn’t give a damn about her. How it was like, peer pressure or something. How it was out of my control. I just sat there and watched her stomp away in the same direction she’d come from. The one girl followed her, but Monica sulked at me. Her doe eyes pierced my heart before she turned and caught up with Hyacinth. No one said a word until they were gone. The only sound was my heart beat banging.
“I guess none of us is going to the dance now, huh,” Angel sighed.
“Fuck you,” I said, my cheeks glowing hot.
I tried calling her, but she didn’t want to talk to me. The next night, I tapped on her window, but she just sat up and flicked me off with her thin middle finger. Then, she flopped back down on her bed out of sight, flicking me off the whole way.
•
THE NIGHT OF THE DANCE, I was sitting on my front porch keeping an eye on Hyacinth’s house and thinking maybe she’d go with some of her girlfriends, or maybe TeeTee’d take her. But I knew deep down in my gut that she probably had a bunch of dudes from her brother high school ask her and some motherfucker was taking my girl to the dance
instead of me. Some motherfucker was taking my girl to the dance instead of me.
A new Nissan pulled up on the corner about 7:30, and some dude in a suit got out of the passenger seat clutching a plastic box. I found myself walking down the block to get a better look. They were inside for a few minutes. I posted up across the street behind a tree. He came out first—a skinny Filipino kid with round cheeks and straight teeth. He smiled and cupped his ear, listening as he waited for her just outside the door.
That chink motherfucker better never come around here again! Stab dat motherfucker in the face!
Then, I saw her. She stepped down her front stairs. Her hair was pulled up in a bun that exploded into a cascade of twirls like the frosting along the edges of a wedding cake. Her cheeks swelled in a smile. Her teeth beamed white and straight without the braces. All the rage evaporated from my chest and dropped into a heavy brick that hung low in my belly. I hid behind the tree and peeked out at her. Her rose-colored dress was elaborately pleated and puffy at the shoulders. It was low-cut at the chest, and the curves of her breasts pushed close. There was a white flower on her wrist. She didn’t wear a necklace—my nameplate was in some drawer or trash bin. I wasn’t angry. I felt myself whispering, ’I love you, Hyacinth. I love you, Hyacinth. I love you, Hyacinth.’ As she reached the bottom of the stairs, she glanced my way. Her dark, still eyes penetrated me and told me all in one instant that it should have been me taking her hand and helping her into the car. It should have been me in the suit. Should have been me to dance with her, to kiss her out there amongst all the slow-swaying bodies below the corny gym decorations. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t, and that was all. She bit her lip and got in, and the car was gone with her.
The Old Neighborhood Page 29