The Speed of Dark

“You’re feeling all right?” he asks.

“Fine,” I say. “Thanks for coming all these times; I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you at first.”

He looks down; I can see tears in his eyes; he is embarrassed by them. “It’s not your fault, Lou.”

“No, but I know you worried,” I say. Lou-before might not have known that, but I do. I can see that Tom is a man who cares deeply about others; I can imagine how he felt when I didn’t know his face.

“Do you know what you’re going to do?” he asks.

“I wanted to ask you about signing up for night school,” I say. “I want to go back to college.”

“Good idea,” he says. “I can certainly help you with the admissions process. What are you going to study?”

“Astronomy,” I say. “Or astrophysics. I’m not sure which, but something like that. I’d like to go into space.”

Now he looks a little sad, and I can see he is forcing the smile that comes after. “I hope you get what you want,” he says. Then, as if he doesn’t want to be pushy, “Night school won’t give you much time for fencing,” he says.

“No,” I say. “I’ll just have to see how it works out. But I’ll come visit, if that’s okay.”

He looks relieved. “Of course, Lou. I don’t want to lose track of you.”

“I’ll be fine,” I say.

He cocks his head sideways, then shakes it once. “You know, I think you will. I really think you will.”

EPILOGUE

I can hardly believe it, even though everything I’ve done for the past seven years has been aimed at exactly this. I am sitting here at a desk entering my notes, and the desk is in a ship and the ship is in space, and space is full of light. Lou-before hugs the series to him, dancing inside me like a joyous child. I feign more sobriety, in my workaday coverall, though I can feel a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. We both hear the same music.

The identifier code on my ID gives my academic degree, my blood type, my security clearance… no mention there that I spent almost forty years of my life defined as a disabled person, an autist. Some people know, of course: the publicity surrounding the company’s unsuccessful attempt to market an attention-control treatment to employers brought us all more notoriety than we wanted. Bailey, in particular, made a juicy tidbit for the media. I didn’t know how badly it went for him until I saw the news archives; they never let us see him.

I miss Bailey. It wasn’t fair, what happened to him, and I used to feel guilty, even though it wasn’t my fault. I miss Linda and Chuy; I hoped they would take the treatment when they saw how it worked for me, but Linda didn’t until after I finished my doctorate last year. She is still in rehab. Chuy never did. The last time I saw him, he said he was still happy the way he was. I miss Tom and Lucia and Marjory and my other friends from fencing, who helped me so much in the early years of recovery. I know Lou-before loved Marjory, but nothing happened inside when I looked at her afterward. I had to choose, and — like Lou-before — I chose to go on, to risk success, to find new friends, to be who I am now.

Out there is the dark: the dark we don’t know about yet. It is always there waiting; it is, in that sense, always ahead of the light. It bothered Lou-before that the speed of dark was greater than the speed of light. Now I am glad of it, because it means I will never come to the end, chasing the light.

Now I get to ask the questions.