Robert J. Sawyer - WWW: wake

Wake
Robert J. Sawyer

Big breakthroughs seldom come quickly or easily--orin the form that might be expected.

* * * *

What a blind person needs is not a teacher butanother self.

--Helen Keller

* * * *

Not darkness,for that implies an understanding of light.

Not silence,for that suggests a familiarity with sound.

Notloneliness, for that requires knowledge of others.

But still,faintly, so tenuous that if it were any less it wouldn't exist at all: awareness.

Nothing more than that. Just awareness--a vague, ethereal sense of being.

Being... butnot becoming. No marking of time, no past or future--only an endless,featureless now, and, just barely there in thatboundless moment, inchoate and raw, the dawning of perception...

Caitlin hadkept a brave face throughout dinner, telling her parents that everything wasfine--just peachy--but, God, it had been a terrifying day, filled withother students jostling her in the busy corridors, teachers referring to thingson blackboards, and doubtless everyone looking at her. She'd never felt self-consciousat the TSB back in Austin, but she was on display now. Did the othergirls wear earrings, too? Had these corduroy pants been the right choice? Yes,she loved the feel of the fabric and the sound they made, but here everythingwas about appearances.

She wassitting at her bedroom desk, facing the open window. An evening breeze gentlymoved her shoulder-length hair, and she heard the outside world: a small dogbarking, someone kicking a stone down the quiet residential street, and, wayoff, one of those annoying car alarms.

She ran afinger over her watch: 7:49--seven and seven squared, the last time todaythere'd be a sequence like that. She swiveled to face her computer and openedLiveJournal.

"Subject" was easy:"First day at the new school." For "Current Location," the default was "Home."This strange house--hell, this strange country!--didn't feel like that, but shelet the proffered text stand.

For "Mood,"there was a drop-down list, but it took forever for JAWS, the screen-readingsoftware she used, to announce all the choices; she always just typed somethingin. After a moment's reflection, she settled on "Confident." She might bescared in real life, but online she was Calculass, and Calculass knew no fear.

As for"Current Music," she hadn't started an MP3 yet ... and so she let iTunes pick asong at random from her collection. She got it in three notes: Lee Amodeo,"Rocking My World."

Her indexfingers stroked the comforting bumps on the F and J keys--Braillefor the masses--while she thought about how to begin.

Okay, she typed, ask me if my new school is noisy and crowded. Go ahead, ask. Why, thank you: yes,it is noisy and crowded. Eighteen hundred students! And the building isthree stories tall. Actually, it's three storeys tall,this being Canada and all. Hey, how do you find a Canadian in a crowded room?Start stepping on people's feet and wait for someone to apologize to you.:)

Caitlin facedthe window again, and tried to imagine the setting sun. It creeped her out that people could look in at her. She'd have keptthe Venetian blinds down all the time, but Schrodinger liked to stretch out onthe sill.

First dayin grade ten began with the Mom dropping me off and BrownGirl4 (luv ya, babe!)meeting me at the entrance. I'd walked the empty corridors of the schoolseveral times last week, getting my bearings, but it's completely different nowthat the school is full of kids, so my folks are slipping BG4 a hundred bucks aweek to escort me to our classes. The school managed to work it so we're in allbut one together. No way I could be in the same French class as her--je suis une beginneur, after all!

Her computerchirped: new email. She issued the keyboard command to have JAWS read themessage's header.

"To: CaitlinD.," the computer announced. She only styled her name like that when posting tonewsgroups, so whoever had sent this had gotten her address from NHL PlayerStats Discuss or one of the other ones she frequented. "From: GusHastings." Nobody she knew. "Subject: Improving your score."

She touched akey and JAWS began to read the body of the message. "Are you sad about tinypenis? If so--"

Damn, her spamfilter should have intercepted that. She ran her index finger along therefreshable display. Ah: the magic word had been spelled "peeeniz." She deletedthe message and was about to go back to LiveJournal when her instant messengerbleeped. "BrownGirl4 is now available," announced the computer.

She usedalt-tab to switch to that window and typed, Hey, Bashira! Justupdating my LJ.

Although shehad JAWS configured to use a female voice, it didn't have Bashira's lovelyaccent: "Say nice things about me."

Course, Caitlin typed. She and Bashira hadbeen best friends for two months now, ever since Caitlin had moved here; shewas the same age as Caitlin--fifteen--and her father worked with Caitlin's dad atPI.

"Going tomention that Trevor was giving you the eye?"

Right! She went back to the bloggingwindow and typed: BG4 and I got desks beside each other in home room, andshe said this guy in the next row was totally checking me out. She paused,unsure how she felt about this, but then added, Go me!

She didn'twant to use Trevor's real name. Let's give him a codename, cuz I think hejust might figure in future blog entries. Hmmm, how 'bout ... the Hoser!That's Canadianslang, folks--google it! Anyway, BG4 says the Hoser is famous for hitting on newgirls in town, and I am, of course, tres exotique, although I'm not the onlyAmerican in that class. There's this chick from Boston named--friends, I kid younot!--poor thing's name is Sunshine! It is to puke. :P

Caitlindisliked emoticons. They didn't correspond to real facial expressions for her,and she'd had to memorize the sequences of punctuation marks as if they were acode. She moved back to the instant messenger. So whatchaup to?

"Not much. Helping one of my sisters with homework. Oh, she's callingme. BRB."

Caitlin didlike chat acronyms: Bashira would "be right back," meaning, knowing her, thatshe was probably gone for at least half an hour. The computer made thedoor-closing sound that indicated Bashira had logged off. Caitlin returned toLiveJournal.

Anyway,first period rocked because I am made out of awesome. Can you guess whichsubject it was? No points if you didn't answer "math." And, after only one day,I totally own that class. The teacher--let's call him Mr. H, shall we?--was amazed that Icould do things in my head the other kids need a calculator for.

Her computerchirped again. She touched a key and JAWS announced: "To: cddecter@..." Anemail address without her name attached; almost certainly spam. She hit deletebefore the screen reader got any further.

After math,it was English. We're doing a boring book about this angsty guy growing up onthe plains of Manitoba. It's got wheat in every scene. I asked the teacher--Mrs.Z, she is, and you could nothave picked a more Canadian name, cuz she's Mrs.Zed, not Mrs.Zee, see?--ifall Canadian literature was like this, and she laughed and said, "Not all ofit." Oh what a joy English class is going to be!

"BrownGirl4 isnow available," JAWS said.

Caitlin hitalt-tab to switch windows, then: That was fast.

"Yeah," saidthe synthesized voice. "You'd be proud of me. It was an algebra problem, and Ihad no trouble with it."