Gifted by Danielle Froment

Number 51 does not belong. There is one reason it is here.

He was being spiteful.

She looks up from her paper and watches Professor Hawley extend his arm toward her. She sees it stretch impossibly over five rows of desks, where she sits alone in the back and does not speak. She feels the sharp of his nail poke her between the eyes.

Spiteful.

She does not need words to know what spiteful is. It is small and prickly; a poke. It is cactus needles, and allergy tests, and her grandmother scratching the leftover glue from the electrodes off her scalp, and elbows to her ribs.

She does not care for words. She only uses them occasionally, and out of necessity. She does not think in words. They are imprecise. They can be misinterpreted. They can make people spiteful. Or laugh at you. They can be wrong, even when they are right. Like Alley.  

She prefers images, sensations and, best of all, numbers.

The room fills with noxious gas, sweeping over the desks, and Alley holds her breath as her classmates fall.

Spiteful is sacrificing eleven other students to prevent Alley from getting 100% on her final. To ruin her record.

Question 51 involves floating-point numbers in binary language.

Imprecision.

She screamed. And said bad words.

She closes her eyes and thinks of Pi. Pi is slippery. Pi cannot be contained in any language. Even the bowl where he swims on Alley’s dresser cannot contain him, because who he is cannot be limited by a bowl any more than π can be chopped off by some stupid binary language. There is a 3 and a decimal point –

second star to the right and straight on ’til morning!

Forever.

Alley got her betta fish at the beginning of the school year, shortly after she started at the university. After the incident, when Professor Hawley had been spoken to about antagonizing her, when she screamed. And said bad words. Alley’s father, Evan, took her to the pet store to apologize to his daughter for not taking her side.

She’s only fourteen for Christ’s sake, Evan.

She’s still in a university setting. You’re her mother, to you she’s a fourteen-year-old girl. To Hawley, she’s like every other student.

Bullshit! He was being spiteful.

Pi’s fins flow and flutter beautifully on his tail and on one side. On the other side his fin is stunted or broken.When Alley saw that broken fin, she would have no other.

“What do you think?” her father asked, “Captain Hook?”

There, in the aisle, she set her chin on the shelf and watched her fish swim in circles with his broken fin.

“Pi,” she said.

Bubbles tickled her insides starting at her toes. Her mouth opened wide, lips askew, frozen in asymmetry. She laughed a horsey-sounding guffaw. A bubble from her mouth lifted to the rafters and burst, raining glitter, and streamers, and clouds of purple cotton candy, and rainbow pom-poms with googly eyes. Alley stared up and smiled.

She looked to her father, who was halfway to the register with all of Pi’s supplies. Alley wrapped her arms around Pi, humming to him, and race-walked to catch up with her father, cautious of the water sloshing up the sides of the bowl.

My friend, Pi.

He helped her accept floating-point numbers in binary language, not Professor Hawley.

Pi taught her to float.

Alley watched him for hours, swimming in circles and ellipses around his castle, through it, over it. His swimming was random and chaotic, but he seemed calm.

If someone watched long enough, recorded Pi’s trails, the path of his circles and ellipses would fall into a pattern. There would come order in the end. There is always precision and comfort to be found, though sometimes it takes every second of forever.

The binary system stopped watching, but π would still be ticking 3.1415926535897932384626433…. on and on, because it cannot be limited by a bowl or a manufactured language.

She screamed. And said bad words.

Alley flattens her hands on the cool surface of the desk. She sends her insides from the classroom, across town, into her bedroom, to Pi. She raises him from the bowl and feels him in her hand.

My friend, Pi.

 The numbers bob and float, and instead of trying to find them she lets them wash over her.

Finished.

51 questions.

The last of which was spiteful.

She waves the poisonous gas away and walks to the professor’s desk. She sets her test down in –

5, 4, 3, 2 –

The paper sends up a shaft of blazing light.

“One hundred percent.” she says words, pressing her thumb straight down onto the paper. She turns her back on Professor Hawley, leaves the black and white room and re-enters the world of color.

The bus pulls up and lets her on, and it is not yellow anymore, because it is a city bus, but it is still her submarine. There are no Blue Meanies, and there is a rainbow flying past the windows, and she is Lucy. They are full speed ahead, Mr. Boatswain!

She is in the sky. With Diamonds.

Her breath fogs the glass.

#

Valerie unlocks the side door, one arm wrapped tightly around the cake. She steps into the kitchen, drops her purse on the counter, hangs her keys on the hook and puts the cake in the refrigerator.

She had to get the cake. Not to get the cake is to be a martyr, and Valerie is already too damn close. Besides, if Alley remembers she’ll be inconsolable with no cake, and she can’t be expected to get one on her own.

If Alley forgets, Valerie will just pretend it’s to celebrate the end of Alley’s first semester. That’s the outcome Val’s hoping for. That’s why there’s no writing on the cake.

Valerie turns forty today.

It isn’t the forty. It’s that time went forward and she went backward. She’s breaking out on her chin, for Christ’s sake. And so afraid.

Her first birthday as a single woman after seventeen years was likely to be a bust, she figures.

This is all the kindness she offers herself.

She should get up from the table and make herself comfortable. Change out of her work clothes, scrub the make-up from her face and throw on her sweatpants. She should, but she’s sitting at the kitchen table waiting for Alley.

Val hates that Alley rides the city bus now, although Alley clearly loves it. She memorized the route, including intersections with traffic lights, before she rode it. She’s been coming home light-hearted. A little less so on the days she has Hawley’s class. Thank goodness she was through with him after today.

He was being spiteful.

Hawley was a well-followed child prodigy, back when. Almost as well-followed as Alley. His classes were by invite only, but the university made the call for him in her case. He didn’t like Alley before he ever met her, because she already knows everything he can teach her.

With the school year just beginning, Hawley hadn’t had time to dig his claws into Alley’s classmates, and their social consciences still outweighed their desire to ingratiate themselves. A few of them spoke to the dean in private about the incident. Thank goodness.

Alley can’t tell her story.

Hawley goaded her.

He began the first class by asking everyone to introduce themselves, share their credentials, and explain why they chose to dedicate their lives to math.

Alley said her name and was asked to speak up.

“Name and credentials.”

She repeated her name and said, “Hamilton Middle School.”

“And why math?” Hawley asked.

“Math is Perfect.” Alley sat still and reverent, her eyes uncomfortably wide, her gaze fixed out the window, “Math is Everything That Is. Math is God.”

. “That theory operates under the assumption that God is perfect, which is a whole lot of if P then Q, and a few bones I’d like to pick, in another time and place.” Hawley said. “You’re talking about math like it’s an entity instead of a tool.”

“It is.” she grabbed the sides of her desk, elbows out, surrounding it like a gorilla.

“It exists, yes, but it can be manipulated and used. Like binary language. Like floating-point numbers in binary language.”

He pushed Alley’s buttons until –

She screamed. And said bad words.

 The university tried to resolve the matter by having an informal chat with the professor, but Valerie wasn’t having it. This professor cost her more than he knew. More than Val knew at the time.

He stole her hope. The hope that her daughter could fit in, just a little, with some fellow math lovers. Hope that the kinds of jobs the school had talked to Val about, with think tanks, and at places like NASA, where Alley would be treasured and assisted, could be trusted and, maybe someday, Alley could have the kind of life that would allow her mother to have one again too.

Shame welled in Valerie at the thought for her own future. It filled her to bursting, dropped to her gut, sizzled, and caught fire. She was so angry. “You were told she has social and verbal skill issues. You pushed her to the point of breaking. That’s abuse! It’s reprehensible!”

Evan sat in complete silence. As they left the dean’s office and shook hands he said, “So sorry.” to Professor Hawley.

Valerie waited until Alley was safely in her bedroom.

“She’s only fourteen for Christ’s sake, Evan.”

“She’s still in a university setting. You’re her mother, to you she’s a fourteen-year-old girl. To Hawley, she’s like every other student.”

“Bullshit! He was being spiteful. Can you just be on her side for once?”

“Jesus Christ! It’s never enough! What the hell do you want me to do, Val?”

“I don’t know! Buy her a goddamned kitten!”

They came home with Pi.

Valerie stretched her arms out as the door swung open, “Hey, Sweetheart, let’s see who we’ve got!”

Alley set the bowl on the kitchen table and let her mother peek under the plastic lid.

“It’s beautiful Alley! The best fish I’ve ever seen. You like him?”

Alley nodded, picked up the bowl and made a bee-line for her bedroom.

Valerie smiled at Evan.

He sighed.

“Can we stop the bullshit for today, please?It wears me out.” he said.

Valerie’s body rocked with each beat of her heart.

“What?”

“It’s not the best fish you’ve ever seen.” he leaned back on the counter and crossed his arms. “It’s a fucked-up fish because our daughter will never want a kitten. She’ll always want a fucked-up fish.”

“I know it’s a fucked-up fish.” Val said, “If she’s happy with the fish, so am I. I’m not delusional! I know who Alley is.”

“Then stop acting like she gives a shit! Does she even give a shit, Val? You have to keep up this image of your beloved little girl-”

“Don’t you dare say she isn’t beloved! She is! She is my beloved daughter.”

“I’m not saying I don’t love her. In the way I can love her. In the same way she probably loves me.”

All of Evan’s sighs at Alley’s pediatrician appointments, her specialists, her therapists, rushed at Valerie. Every meeting at Alley’s schools, when Evan stared at the floor. Every disappointed look and embarrassed apology Evan spoke on behalf of his family. Reel after reel of moments Valerie noticed, ignored, and filed away.

“She is beloved.” Her breath rattled. Her body shook. “Get out.”

Now, Valerie sits at her kitchen table and waits for Alley.

Alley hasn’t said anything about her father. Valerie explained that it’s not Alley’s fault, and she believes Alley understands. Val thought maybe her daughter would exercise her ability to talk, all things considered. It’s as though Alley doesn’t notice her father is gone.

Does she even give a shit, Val?

“Please. Show me something.” Valerie speaks to the sky.

#

Alley’s house is just up the street, wrapped in its bubble. Only she, her mother, and whoever they say, may pass through the bubble. There are no Blue Meanies here.

And there is weather. Before the incident, Alley could never predict the weather, but now there is always sunshine. In any color she says.

She comes through the door, into the kitchen, where Valerie sits at the table.

“Hi, Sweetheart.” Her mother’s voice spins pink ribbons, and even when there are too many words, they only tickle.

Alley runs up to her room, stomps around, and runs back down.

She thrusts a picture frame at Valerie.

It holds a plain piece of white paper, with a math problem at the top, crossed out, with another written underneath.

It’s not the best fish you’ve ever seen.

“What is it?” Valerie asks.

“51.” Alley’s eyes light, “Math.”

Her mouth opens wide, lips askew.

There is no ceiling. She is in the sky. She is Lucy. Her mother is Wendy. They are holding hands and flying.

Alley shows her mother the inside of a cloud, and a rainbow. She shows her mother the moon, and planets that look like layered sand-in-a-bottle, and comets, and stars, and nebula. She shows her the whole galaxy, and the next, and the universe, and the next, and Everything That Is.

Alley will follow the numbers every second of forever and she will find the way. Hand in hand, she will show her mother God-

second star to the right and straight on ’til morning!

Forever.

Alley’s eyes come back to the room and she looks at her mother.

“I have to feed Pi. Here.” she shoves a folded piece of computer paper at her mother, and leaves the room.

A card.

Valerie fans herself with the card, and looks at her present. She can’t decide if it is better than nothing.

She lays the card on the table. Alley has folded a piece of plain white paper in half and written 40 on the front, in black marker.

She will have signed it From. She always has. And Alley. Her name was Ali until she was four years old. Valerie had explained, “Yes, honey. Alley is the word. But this is your name. Allison. Ali. See? I picked it out special for you because that was your great-grandmother’s name.”

It made no difference.

Valerie doesn’t know where Alley got From.

The computer paper is so thin Valerie sees the message inside the card right through the front.

Her mouth opens wide, lips askew.

She opens the card.

Valerie sees the inside of a cloud, and a rainbow. She sees the moon, and planets that look like layered sand-in-a-bottle, and comets, and stars, and nebula. She sees the whole galaxy, and the next, and the universe, and the next, and she cries for all the love, and the pain, and the beauty, in Everything That Is.

To:

Mom

Happy Birthday

From:

Beloved

Danielle Cole

Image by Jazella from Pixabay – Goldfish in a bowl with a little castle and some weed.