That Perfect Moment
Ava pressed Enter
on her keyboard and leaned back in her chair. She took a deep breath and read a
previous text from Zack. It had been a few weeks since their first date, and
she did admire him. She thought he was amiable; a favorite Jane Austen
reference which caused her to smile. Although her parents were affectionate
throughout her life, she was occasionally apprehensive about physical touch. She
peered at the ceiling for a mathematical solution. Her personal historical
record provided one conclusion: Zack was a gentleman, yet she wondered. She
wondered about her response as she peered down the hall from her lab – door
slightly cracked, as if she were a spy from the one her favorite 20th
century films. Upon increased examination, she saw her colleagues were
motionless. Even her lab assistant, Griffin, stood hunched over the drinking
fountain as if a wind had shaped him into position over centuries. But stranger
was the arc of the water – frozen in time. She waved her hand in front of his
eyes – no response. But her hand got wet when she passed it through the arc of
water. She quickly retracted her hand and walked backward and away from this eerie
phenomenon. It was unnerving enough as a high-functioning autistic woman to
experience a world unable to keep up with her mind – only the AIs of the mid-21st
century satisfied her neurological appetite. Now, every hall and office
contained motionless people and machines. Time had stopped, she surmised. Her
heart competed with her imagination in a new race of anxiety. She stumbled into
the cafeteria and nearly knocked over a colleague who was not affected like the
others. Zack moved. He moved in conjunction with the same agitation his face
portrayed. She was startled by his inquisition of her more so than his grip.
“What have you done?” He
shouted.
“Me?” She answered,
perplexed, as she reclaimed her arm.
“Life!” He scanned the
room with a wave of his arms.
“What about it?” She
asked.
“It moves too quickly,”
he nearly stammered, “You! You slowed it down, you—” he couldn’t complete his
sentence in his current frantic state.
They were colleagues
for years. She recalled a previous argument within that time. Now it seemed to
pick up where they left off, “The pace – the pace is too slow,” she exclaimed,
agitated.
He stopped to look
around in further detail but found no answers.
“Again, what did you do?” Zack sent darts into
her eyes yet retreated. It was his way. His thick hands seemed to search for
answers in his disheveled hair.
“Nothing. At least—”
“At least what?” He
interrupted.
She quickly analyzed
the situation and recalled the steps and calculations she took to engage her
machine. She held out her hands as if the answers were displayed in her
wriggling fingers. She slapped her hands to her side as a revelation struck her
like Death had risen from the floor.
“It didn’t work,” she muttered,
“My device didn’t work.”
By now Zack was near
the exit with Ava in tow. He pulled a small pad from his lab coat pocket and
swiftly turned back toward Ava. “I suppose this means you’ll decline my
invitation.”
“How can you think of—?”
Ava stopped herself from his attempt to divert her and returned to the problem
at hand.
After an awkward
silence Zack stood motionless.
“Stop that!” She
exclaimed.
“What?” He didn’t
understand what he’d done. So he slowly retreated down the hall with
calculations at the ready.
She collected herself,
smoothed out her lab coat and reassembled her brown hair into the previous neat
yet wavy pony tail. Dissatisfied, she returned to her lab to join all her
equipment. But even her sanctuary was inadequate to provide comfort. Machines
were a poor substitute for the pace she preferred. Nevertheless, she returned
to work to solve the problem. Hours and three cups of her favorite latte later,
she confirmed it was not her machine that caused the perception of time to
stop. She bolted out of her lab like the wind and suddenly stopped in her
tracks. She turned to notice Griffin had moved – subtly, but he moved – and the
water fountain was now topped with a half-arc of water. She added this variable
to the problem and continued her march into Zack’s lab downstairs. The stairs
were her only option since the elevator doors did not open.
Pad in hand, she
entered his lab, only to be greeted by a look of failure painted on Zack’s
face. She ignored his machines and his prized ink-boards filled with equations.
“What?” She asked to a silent result.
He appeared stunned.
She walked over to the
screen which had trapped his eyes. She saw equations which seemed familiar but
soon realized they were an inversion of her own. “This is you!” She blurted and
ignored her instinct to discover further mathematical answers in the ceiling.
He remained stunned and
silent.
“And I thought—”
she stopped, “Does the Dean know?”
“I could ask you the
same. And correction to the point, the world just moves too fast.” He paced a
circle around the equipment-laden counter until he backed himself into a corner.
“Did you know that we are bombarded with nearly two hundred new pieces of
information a day? People of the 19th century only endured two—”
“What?” She interrupted
with greater irritation. “You’ve said that before.”
Zack quickly understood
this level of detail was irrelevant to her at the time and completed his
confession.
“I – I slowed the pace
of time.” He pointed to his holo-screen.
“At first I thought
time had stopped, but I realized differently when I saw the water—”
“Yes. It’s moving, yes,”
he paused to assess his screen and ink-boards further. “Perhaps you perceive
that time stopped, but in reality it only slowed – although, it slowed beyond what
I intended.”
Zack targeted his gaze
at her until his eyes glazed over. The calculations scrolled up his lenses as
his mind focused on a quick assessment. He stood frozen.
“I said, ‘stop that!’”
She yelled.
He left his computer-like
trance and reached out to her shoulders.
Ava backed away in
defense.
“Why are you not
affected?” He plunged his hands into his pockets. It was his surrender.
They stood in silence.
Each mind humming like the computers of old – reels spun.
“Perhaps,” she started
then retreated her answer.
“Wait! What have you
been working on?”
“That’s top-secret,”
she folded her arms.
He hummed a grunt, “You
said ‘the pace is too slow.’”
She turned away from
him.
“Ava! You have to tell
me.”
She peered down the
hallway at her colleagues “frozen,” and huffed, “I was working on a device that
would increase the pace or at least its perceived pace of time.”
“Did you initiate it?”
She nodded.
“At what time?”
“0945.”
“The second?”
She repeated, “0945.”
“Wait! That’s exactly
the time I initiated my device!” He nearly leaped.
Ava immediately
interjected, “Then somehow I was protected when I initiated my—”
“— your device,” he
finished for her. And I was at the epicenter.”
They both nodded in
agreement.
“Well, this is
unnerving,” she placed her hands on her hips.
“Can you reverse it?” She
implored. Ava rarely made eye contact; it was a social skill still in progress.
But this time her eyes fueled a glare which nearly blinded Zack.
“What do you think I’ve
been doing?” He exclaimed as they rushed down the hall toward his laboratory. As
they passed the still Griffin, he laughed, “Kidney stone.”
“What?” She slowed, “Oh
yeah, that’s why he drinks so much water.”
“I shouldn’t laugh
though. I’ve heard those things are quite painful.”
“Poor Griffin,” she
paused. Now, what will be more painful is if we cannot reverse this,” she frantically
waved her arms in one motion as she pointed up and down the hallways.
They entered Zack’s lab
and immediately went to work. He at one holo-screen. She, next to him at
another. Their fingers and hands flew over the holo-images like two movie
directors. At one point, an epiphany came over Zack only to be thwarted by
actors on the screen.
Ava was equally
flustered as her computer could not maintain her speed of thought.
Suddenly, Zack threw
his arms skyward in a single swoop which caused his holo-screen to clear. He stopped
quickly and said with a burst of courage, “I think I understand what you
experience every day,” he flung his arm into the air to reactivate the
holo-emitters.
She relaxed her stare
but maintained eye contact – reception versus exclusion. The latter was her
past, the former she disciplined herself to achieve. But she resigned to a sigh
in disagreement, “Think so?”
Silence. Thought. Time.
Ava took charge, “Move
aside,” she commanded, and relayed the same tone to his computer. She entered
calculations from memory and altered or refined Zack’s scribbles from his
ink-board.
“Yes, I tried that—”
“You don’t get to
speak,” she blurted; after a few seconds of awkward silence she apologized. In
light of her self-admitted insolence she witnessed an unexpected reaction: a
light in his eyes as if a star had newly formed.
“Please continue,” she
prompted politely.
Zack added further commands
into the computer formulated by his revelation. Each observed the spherical
device encased in a translucent cube. For nearly an hour they worked in unison
as if both minds were joined – though she entered formulas as an inversion of
her experiment. Both pushed their negative emotions aside. All four hands were in
control of the holo-screens in a digital ballet. Finally, they achieved a
solution. And the dance came to a dramatic climax matched by the silver glow of
his device.
“What do you think?”
Zack asked.
After a second examination she replied, “I believe – this will work.” She turned to smile as she forgot the seed of her grudge. They worked to engage operational aspects of their calculations and within an hour they were ready. It only took a few seconds. Now the courage to cross the threshold of his lab to observe if they were successful in repairing negative effects on the world. It was like waiting for the results of a final exam. They both peered out of Zack’s lab. Their colleagues moved about as if nothing had happened. They walked about the hallways. They visited Ava’s floor – Griffin was also back to normal, as was the rest of the world. Or was it?
~
The day was nearly at
an end. Neither got any more work done. They both sat in their respective labs
and stared. After work they happened to approach the same commuter vehicle.
Before boarding Zack reminded Ava of his invitation for a second date with a
nonverbal cue, as he pointed at his phone to remind her of his text. Ava took
him aside out of eavesdropping distance. “Did you delete your calculations and
dismantle—?"
“Yes,” he replied
emphatically, “But, I wouldn’t want to destroy what we—” First he couldn’t
finish but regained his courage, “— what I thought was a beginning.”
Ava took a step back,
“After today, I’m not sure.”
The AI piloting the
commuter announced its departure. Ava was about to board when Zack invited her for
a walk. They remained on campus. After a silent stroll they sat at a planter-bench
overlooking a series of archways and a fountain which spilled into a
surrounding pond. Zack broke the silence and after he cleared his throat he
said, “I am sorry.”
Acknowledgement and
understanding was clear on her face. They each had a need. His experiment failed
to meet his. She still felt the same about the pace of reality. After a nod of
forgiveness, she asked, “What now?”
“Perhaps we can help
each other – without technology,” he suggested in all sincerity. He reached out
his hand toward her but resigned to rest it against the bench between them.
They were still on campus and conscious of eyes and cameras. “Ignore the tech,”
he added, as he looked into her distracted eyes.
She thought for a moment and repeated his last statement. Slowly she found the courage to return his gaze. It seemed like one second and eternity simultaneously. She felt as if they were caught in the vacuum of space. Outside her field of vision she saw the fountain blur – the sparkle of sunset-light beamed and magnified into their space. She felt at peace for the first time, then looked at Zack with embarrassment. Confession was on her lips, but fear gripped her. Finally, she blurted as if to put aside all sense, “Did you see it too?”
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| "And is it another fountain?" by Adam Solomon is licensed under CC BY-ND 2.0. |
“See what?”
“Never mind,” her
self-conscious took over.
“No what?” He asked in
all sincerity.
She wanted to stay in
the moment but soon it faded when the earth’s revolution caused the sun to dip
below the horizon and the fountain no longer glistened. Resigned, she said, “I
recall a story my uncle told me,” She paused with a reminiscent expression.
“What’s that?”
“It seems silly.”
“I want to hear.”
Ava looked down at the
pond and the fountain, “One time when he was with my aunt, when he proposed to
her, they both felt – a perfect moment.”
“Like that scene in a
Star Trek movie.”
“Yes! With Picard and
Anij,” Ava added, “But not quite.”
Zack’s face said tell
me more.
“He said that
everything around them blurred – the other people, tables and the room – went
out of focus. Only his new fiancé was clear.”
His simple smile
relayed an acceptance of her experience. He allowed some time to pass before
his next suggestion, “I have that movie. Door-dash and a double-feature?” He
suggested.
“And the other movie?”
“To a time when people
received less information per day, Sense and Sensibility.”
She appreciated his
memory and humor with a mischievous yet playful smile and suggested an
alternative. “I was thinking of something with a faster pace,” she said, as
they both stood to walk back toward the commuter depot.
“What do you have in
mind?” He asked.
“The Matrix,”
she laughed.
He laughed with her.
As they walked their
fingers touched. Ava smiled.
Without eye-contact, he smiled with her – for one second, then an eternity.
~
[NOTE: This story is a rewrite of a short story entitled "Make Time Stop," with expanded and edited scenes.]
