Temporal Exploring 101 - First Transit

I.9 Weird music and no pajamas

'I am Natalie. Or Nat. Or Natty. Whatever', she had said.

Could this be considered evidence that my roommate was in fact none other than Natty Fogg, author of the Red Notebook, the mysterious person whose extraordinary intuition enabled her to arrive at a set of mathematical equations that would result in the development of temporal transit, centuries later?

I studied the books sitting on the shelves above her bed. To be sure, there were lots of physics and math textbooks, quite a few of them at an advanced level. But also biology and chemistry and English and history textbooks. As well as lots of pocketbooks, science fiction mostly: Isaac Asimov's Foundation trilogy, as well as assorted works by Ray Bradbury, Robert Heinlein and Arthur C. Clarke. There was Tolkien's 'Lord of the Rings', too – but that one was the only fantasy novel I could identify.

"You've got a lot of physics and math textbooks up there," I prompted.

Natalie shrugged. "You know that this school specializes in the sciences. They pride themselves on offering advanced classes on the level of undergraduate university courses."

I nodded, though nobody had seen fit to tell me about this at the Institute. Perhaps they had not been aware of it. As Sara had pointed out: so much data had been lost in the Cataclysm.

"What's that?" I pointed to an odd device sitting on the lowest board of the shelves. I had never seen anything quite like it before.

Natalie's face lit up. "That's my record player. Would you like to listen to some Dylan?"

"Sure, why not?" I had no idea who or what a Dylan was, but I was curious to find out what kind of music she liked.

The device was sort of an advanced version of the gramophone. Sound data were stored via a modulated spiral groove on vinyl records. You may not believe this, but it took a circular record several inches in diameter to store one single song.

Natalie proceeded to play a few of her favorite records for me. She started out with some 'early Dylan'. Listening to that was a strange and somewhat disconcerting experience for me. I had never heard anything like it before. At first, I thought the problem was that this Dylan person simply could not sing. But as I continued to listen to the words and the voice and music, I found poetry and an oddly compelling magic in those songs.

Natalie, who was watching me closely, told me that Bob Dylan was a famous songwriter. She was surprised that I had never heard of him. But then, maybe Nebraska was a backwards sort of place? I nodded, silently apologizing to the State of Nebraska. Natalie proceeded to play songs by other people I had never heard about – Folk singers, for the most part, people like Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger, Joan Baez or Judy Collins, to name just a few.

St. Albert's had an ancient bell tower, complete with a huge bell that actually told the hours. When the clock struck one, I accompanied Natalie to the school's dining hall where we had lunch together. A lithe, curly-haired girl named Nancy joined us at our table. Natalie introduced me as her new roommate, at which point Nancy raised her eyebrows, but made no further comment. Perhaps she was thinking about poor Mallory who, I imagined, had been driven away by Natalie's favorite music.

Back in room 31d, Natalie and I talked a bit about the school and the subjects that were taught in the Upper Fifth. In addition to the obligatory basic-level classes, there were three advanced math classes – labeled Algebra, Geometry and Analysis – and several advanced physics, chemistry and biology classes. As she told me, Natalie herself particularly enjoyed the advanced math and physics courses.

Late in the evening, when it was time to get ready for bed, I found  out that nobody had thought to pack anything in the way of pajamas for me. I had never before shared a room with another girl, and I found the lack of privacy a bit disconcerting. Feeling a bit self-conscious, I undressed and slipped naked under the covers.

Natalie watched me, smiling.

"Nice boobs," she observed.

Slightly puzzled, I glanced at her.

"Just saying," she added, with a wry smile.

"Yeah. Right."

"Would you like to listen to some more music?" she asked.

"Sure."

I fell asleep to the sounds of Bob Dylan performing a song called 'Mr. Tambourine Man'.

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A / N : So things are getting clearer now, or are they?

As always, I'd love to read about your thoughts and impressions at this point, so do not hesitate to add them.

Also, thanks or taking the time to read this, it means a lot to me.