NW2009 (007) - Dillon's accident
In the sixth row, Dillon sat in Meta-Cognition 101 and phased in and out of the lecture as his eyes drew toward the third row. Head bobbing in tandem with the teacher's wry humor, eyes focused on the drawing board, the back of the head seemed to draw attention to itself - not due to any particular frame of the hair, unattended whisps, or color, but more how the head leaned toward where the professor was walking. The head turned toward the left and a young lady seemed to vacillate between intense attentiveness and general boredom. As his attention drifted back to the lecture, he realized that his notes had taken a bit of a distracted turn and reaching into his bag, he failed to notice a curious face turn toward the sixth row, cock to one side, and turn back toward the front. As his eyes turned back to the same pair of heads, he noticed that the head he had been evaluating was no longer moving, but was leaned forward; the head's owner was scribbling notes and was no longer attentively engaged, but had instead migrated to a kind of detached note taker. Curious what would cause her to change the manner in which she was attentive, he failed to notice that the lecture had just ended, and as his peers slowly exited the room, he collected his belongings and looked up. Both of the women were gone.
As Dillon walked to his car, his thoughts went over the times he'd noticed the girl in MC 101. He'd not seen her friend anywhere else on campus, but she was in several of his other classes. He'd only noticed she was in Meta-Cognition 101 because she always seemed to know what the professor was going to speak on but never volunteered any information - as if she was afraid of standing out. Considering how she made him feel caused him to seek further information, perhaps an intentional interview over a spicy beverage, and as his thoughts went to planning such an endeavor, his feet took him to a well-used street. The squeal of tires caused him to look up when he noticed a familiar face driving the car. As he pitched backward, the open window revealed a face he knew well, a face he had stared at for many an hour - last semester's Japanese tutor. As the car slowed down and stopped, the driver interfaced with Dillon, asking after his health. He indicated he was well, though he'd decided to forgoe the trip to Japan after realizing he didn't really like Japanese. Disappointed and certain Dillon was fine, if a bit shaken, the driver offered to take Dillon to lunch by way of apology, but Dillon declined, hoping that this unnamed girl upon whom he'd been dwelling would be available. As the car drove off a bit more slowly, Dillon considered his life up to this moment. It had been mostly comprised of books, introspection, poetry, puzzles, and programming. Scholastics were easy and repetitive, and those classes that had actually challenged him were a challenge primarily due to a lack of translation on the part of the instructor - after the initial learning curve, the subjects were inevitably simple. But, the one subject that most fascinated him also most eluded him - fluid interaction with potential long-term companions. In his head, he referred to them by whatever acronym most reminded him of their name as well as the most obvious characteristic to which he attached meaning. In the Meta-Cognition attendee's case, it had been her frame - how she held her shoulders and the elegance of her neck. Apply a personal portmanteau to "long-term", "neck", "shoulders", and "elegance", he would mentally now refer to her as his LENS. Appreciating the irony of the nickname, he began planning an impromptu meeting.
From across the street, Marcy sat at a bench. Under the shade of a nearby tree, the bench was a favorite place to eat lunch, was a convenient distance from her Meta Cog class, and offered the only bench with a small table on the left side. In addition to having obvious incidental benefits, it also gave her the proper perspective to evaluate the young man who had been staring at her in class. She'd noticed him in every single one of her own classes, had discovered his name to be Dillon, his major to be a merge between archaeology and linguistics, and that he was a walking stereotype for distance learning. Occasional discussions with her professors had revealed that he was her scholastic rival at every point she cared to address and happened to be the only other person in any of her courses who happened to be left-handed. She had been passively noting him ever since the semester started and noted how the driver of the near-accident had stopped to see if he was okay but had left quickly in the fashion of someone of long acquaintance. Having recorded her make, model, and license plate with her free hand, she chewed thoughtfully from her tuna sandwich.
As Dillon considered the various ways to evaluate and interact with his new LENS, he continued walking, engaged in an internal debate between intentional accidental interaction and doing a bit more reconnaissance of the woman. It was clear she had sufficient depth to warrant at least a cursory evaluation of her evocative attributes. Setting his legs on auto-pilot, and leaving enough of his peripheral vision to note and respond to traffic, he crossed the road. Halfway towards the other side, cars from either side appeared a third of a mile away, coming from around various curves. Ignorant of the cars, Dillon continued on his path. As his steps carried him closer to the curb, the driver of the car in Dillon's lane honked and began to swerve. The car in the other lane slowed down as well and began to swerve out of the way of a small black swan that had landed in the road. Gently maneuvering to the other lane, he quickly passed the fowl and began to move back into his own lane. Marcy watched in horror as Dillon walked forward, oblivious to the cars that were almost upon him. As if on cue, Dillon stopped to pick up a quarter he noticed in the road, tripped, fell, and rolled to the side of the road, as the car in his lane changed to the other lane, the second car stayed in the wrong lane until he'd passed Dillon, and the swan squawked loudly as it was lightly grazed. Both drivers continued on their ways full of adrenaline because of the barely missed accident, the swan continued squawking loudly as it continued on its way home, and Dillon was pulled up by Marcy, eyes full of curiosity.
Narrative on this post
As Dillon walked to his car, his thoughts went over the times he'd noticed the girl in MC 101. He'd not seen her friend anywhere else on campus, but she was in several of his other classes. He'd only noticed she was in Meta-Cognition 101 because she always seemed to know what the professor was going to speak on but never volunteered any information - as if she was afraid of standing out. Considering how she made him feel caused him to seek further information, perhaps an intentional interview over a spicy beverage, and as his thoughts went to planning such an endeavor, his feet took him to a well-used street. The squeal of tires caused him to look up when he noticed a familiar face driving the car. As he pitched backward, the open window revealed a face he knew well, a face he had stared at for many an hour - last semester's Japanese tutor. As the car slowed down and stopped, the driver interfaced with Dillon, asking after his health. He indicated he was well, though he'd decided to forgoe the trip to Japan after realizing he didn't really like Japanese. Disappointed and certain Dillon was fine, if a bit shaken, the driver offered to take Dillon to lunch by way of apology, but Dillon declined, hoping that this unnamed girl upon whom he'd been dwelling would be available. As the car drove off a bit more slowly, Dillon considered his life up to this moment. It had been mostly comprised of books, introspection, poetry, puzzles, and programming. Scholastics were easy and repetitive, and those classes that had actually challenged him were a challenge primarily due to a lack of translation on the part of the instructor - after the initial learning curve, the subjects were inevitably simple. But, the one subject that most fascinated him also most eluded him - fluid interaction with potential long-term companions. In his head, he referred to them by whatever acronym most reminded him of their name as well as the most obvious characteristic to which he attached meaning. In the Meta-Cognition attendee's case, it had been her frame - how she held her shoulders and the elegance of her neck. Apply a personal portmanteau to "long-term", "neck", "shoulders", and "elegance", he would mentally now refer to her as his LENS. Appreciating the irony of the nickname, he began planning an impromptu meeting.
From across the street, Marcy sat at a bench. Under the shade of a nearby tree, the bench was a favorite place to eat lunch, was a convenient distance from her Meta Cog class, and offered the only bench with a small table on the left side. In addition to having obvious incidental benefits, it also gave her the proper perspective to evaluate the young man who had been staring at her in class. She'd noticed him in every single one of her own classes, had discovered his name to be Dillon, his major to be a merge between archaeology and linguistics, and that he was a walking stereotype for distance learning. Occasional discussions with her professors had revealed that he was her scholastic rival at every point she cared to address and happened to be the only other person in any of her courses who happened to be left-handed. She had been passively noting him ever since the semester started and noted how the driver of the near-accident had stopped to see if he was okay but had left quickly in the fashion of someone of long acquaintance. Having recorded her make, model, and license plate with her free hand, she chewed thoughtfully from her tuna sandwich.
As Dillon considered the various ways to evaluate and interact with his new LENS, he continued walking, engaged in an internal debate between intentional accidental interaction and doing a bit more reconnaissance of the woman. It was clear she had sufficient depth to warrant at least a cursory evaluation of her evocative attributes. Setting his legs on auto-pilot, and leaving enough of his peripheral vision to note and respond to traffic, he crossed the road. Halfway towards the other side, cars from either side appeared a third of a mile away, coming from around various curves. Ignorant of the cars, Dillon continued on his path. As his steps carried him closer to the curb, the driver of the car in Dillon's lane honked and began to swerve. The car in the other lane slowed down as well and began to swerve out of the way of a small black swan that had landed in the road. Gently maneuvering to the other lane, he quickly passed the fowl and began to move back into his own lane. Marcy watched in horror as Dillon walked forward, oblivious to the cars that were almost upon him. As if on cue, Dillon stopped to pick up a quarter he noticed in the road, tripped, fell, and rolled to the side of the road, as the car in his lane changed to the other lane, the second car stayed in the wrong lane until he'd passed Dillon, and the swan squawked loudly as it was lightly grazed. Both drivers continued on their ways full of adrenaline because of the barely missed accident, the swan continued squawking loudly as it continued on its way home, and Dillon was pulled up by Marcy, eyes full of curiosity.
Narrative on this post
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