A.R.A.I #43
Grey clouds and foggy skies. That was the canvas above our heads. My brother and I would look through the little hole in our ceiling, and watch this canvas change.
“We’ll make it Aisle. A bright world. A better world. We’ll build it together,” he would say, pointing past the hole in our ceiling.
I’d been staring at the short hand of the clock for hours now. I’d memorized the rhythm, the grooves, the chipped off parts that nobody notices. The bare beige walls supporting the clock seemed to meld with the cheap black plastic that’d been cleaned so many times, the polish was stripping away. A thought crossed my mind, as the second hour passed…
Thought: time is the only constant unaffected by its own passage.
Conjecture: If there are any gods up there, the passage of time must be their ongoing punchline. Cruel. Indifferent. And completely out of our control.
At hour three, they said he had lost too much blood and that they were trying their best. At hour five, he was gone.
I woke up one day, and three years had passed. The world had moved on. And there I was, still stuck in that waiting room, staring at the short hand of the clock.
My mind had grown foggy. I was staring at his papers – something about thermodynamics and the absolute potential of heat. Our neighborhood wasn’t always the warmest in the winters.
“I’m close. I know I am. The answers are all here. And it’s all thanks to M. Amontons,” he’d laugh, “just imagine, being present at his time of progress.”
Time. There it was again. He’d often forget, people like us wouldn’t even be considered people back then. Regardless, time had marched on. Views had changed and Archie’s genius was on the precipice of recognition.
Amontons’ law states that, for a gas at constant volume, the pressure of the gas is directly proportional to its temperature. Archie believed the density of warm air could be changed enough to maintain its temperature and form a bubble large enough to keep our neighborhood nice and cozy. A localized heat bubble…an impossibility to begin with. The laws of physics don’t often bend to the antics of people.
A.R.A.I #21
Here. Right now. In this moment, I can tell you that heroes are real. Archie was one of them. In his search for change, for a better world, he was rewarded with a tiny column in the daily paper. An afterthought to an overworked intern’s already piling tasks of emails and work memos. And yet, I know he wouldn’t have cared.
“As long as the work is done, Aisle. That’s all that matters,” he’d say.
On this chilly afternoon, I heard a knock on the front door, and not a minute later, found myself in an interview with a rather towering agent. Black suit and tie, dark sunglasses, and a no-nonsense haircut. She definitely looked the part of secret service. Apparently, the intern’s little blurb left quite an impression with some powerful people.
I was asked to follow her, but somehow her tense jaw, and immutable demeanor didn’t make for very welcoming company. I bid my time, and made a run for it, the moment I saw an opening. I heard her voice slowly fade away as I ran to save my life.
Thought: I don’t think my life was ever in danger.
Conjecture: I wonder how fast I’d go if I were the size of an atom.
Three.
Remember when I told you that heroes are real?
Two.
Well, I think I’m on a collision course into the person who saved my life.
One.
I remember a loud crash… I definitely felt it. I looked back, my vision blurry, and head spinning. The agent was half a block away.
“How about we stay away from that terrifying giant, yes?” I heard a gentle voice behind me. I simply nodded, and tumbled into the back of a car. There was a young woman, staring at me, with a purple stuffed bear on her lap.
“Cute bear…” I said, before passing out.
The table, beside the lounging chair in the office where I woke up, was littered with articles on an ancient Indian physician, Sushruta. Regarded as the father of Indian surgery, he was known for his extensive contributions to the field of medicine. I flipped through a few pages…the research was quite extensive.
“Ah, so you’re up?” The gentle voice from earlier asked. I remembered thanking and apologizing at the same time. She laughed, and asked me to rest a while longer. I looked up just in time to see a silhouette of a person shuffle past the glass door to the office.
“Ever the busy bird,” the woman sighed, after a moment’s pause, looking in the silhouette’s direction.
“I never got your name,” she turned and smiled.
I told her my name. And she told me hers. Adaline Lace.
“Stay as long as you like,” she said, before standing up to leave, “…oh and take this.”
She handed me a business card – the name immediately visible in big bold letters.
The Vichaar-Lace Foundation
“Your brother’s work did not go unnoticed. Don’t hesitate to call if you ever need anything.”
And with that, she was off.
A.R.A.I #72
I flipped the card over in my hand, the letters all but faded, now. I’d wanted to dial the number so many times before, but it didn’t feel right. It never felt right. The V.L. Foundation was known throughout the world as a force for good. And here I was, with nothing more than a few tawdry inventions, trying to impress them.
“Are you just going to stand there?” a woman said from behind me. I turned around and noticed a purple bear seated snuggly in the straps of her backpack. A little worse for wear, but still quite recognizable.
She beckoned me to follow.
“Standing on the shoulders of giants doesn’t make you tall, you know?” she shrugged as the doors parted.
I wanted to ask her what she meant by that. Was she implying that I didn’t belong here? That I was just taking advantage of Archie’s hard work? That perhaps it should’ve been him, instead of me taking this meeting today?
I was about to give her a piece of my mind, but as soon as I opened my mouth, two things happened. I had an overwhelming urge to throw up, and she said we had arrived.
Thought: The speed of a projectile is directly proportional to the force applied to it.
Conjecture: If I apply enough force, I wonder if it goes back down…I really hope so.
I covered my mouth and swallowed hard.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, eyebrow raised. I shook my head violently and entered the room.
The nausea subsided, and I wiped the tears from my eyes. Issues of unopened comics, pristine boxed figures of famous scientists, and flamboyant plushies from days past, occupied the walls of the office.
Thought: Time seems to have stopped in this room.
Conjecture: If only we could go back…
“Have a seat,” the woman marched in, plopped her backpack on the couch, and sat on the other side of the table. “So, you want to join the company?” she inquired, placing the bear gently next to her. And thus, it began.
It was only after I left the room that I realized I had spoken to Xernia Lace, the sole heir to the V.L. Foundation. There was one other bit of décor that stuck out to me. A statuette of Nikola Tesla, that wasn’t boxed like all the other scientists.
His figure sat innocuously next to a lined family frame. When asked about it, her response wasn’t sharp, or immediate.
“It is my mother’s favorite piece,” she began. “Nikola Tesla, the scientist that could… what a world he would’ve built. A bright, beautiful world…”
Standing on the shoulders of giants doesn’t make you tall. I remember smiling at the thought. There was a painful truth there. About him… about Archie. Brilliant scientists who never got a chance to live up to their potential. I promised myself then, that I would carry on their light. Their thirst for knowledge. And their dream for a brighter, more beautiful world.
