Mind the Gap | ✔️

February 25 @ 9:33 A.M.: Evan

The morning had come with a headache spawned by too much beer and restless sleep. Even my second coffee hadn't cheered me up. Now, it lurked—half-drunk, lukewarm, and bitter—in the paper cup between my feet on the train's floor.

But the discomfort of my headache greatly paled beside yesterday's encounter with my ex.

Well, it hadn't been an encounter in the proper sense of the word. Rather, I had been "stalking" her from the line at the Matheria, our department's cafeteria. Helen had sat by the window at a small table. Across from her, the chancellor's double chin had wobbled as he had been blabbering. The greasy skin of his too-high forehead had gleamed in the light of the courtyard behind him.

No doubt the dandruff from his messy, shoulder-length hair adorned his dark blue sweater, as usual. Fortunately, I had been too far from them to take in such ghastly detail.

Yet the smile on her heart-shaped face had widened with each one of his words as if he had been Einstein himself, explaining relativity theory to the ignorant masses.

And, probably somewhere around E-equals-m-c-squared, she had grasped his hand, wrapping it into hers.

The end of our marriage had been signed, sealed, and delivered just three months ago. It had been an overdue step taken for valid, solid reasons—that was what Helen kept saying, and she was probably right. Some relationships were simply not built to last, and ours seemed to be one of them.

But I still could not help but wonder. Why did precisely that man have to be the one to replace me? A guy of smooth talk, greed, and superficial charm. All form and no substance.

I did not have to watch this. Did not want to watch this. And yesterday night, after I had finally run out of cans of beer, I had firmly made up my mind. It was high time I left the university. High time I lost sight of the chancellor and of his dreamy-eyed, shapely-legged assistant.

That thought was what had kept me awake all night long. 

First, I had considered turning app programming into my job. But Warriors of Math, the app I had worked on for months now, was nothing but a weird hobby, and it wouldn't keep me fed and funded.

Hence, I had called up mathjobs.org on my faithful tablet this rainy morning. A fine mathematician's skills were in quite a demand, after all. Jobs galore would be waiting for me, all vying for my undivided attention.

At least that's what I had thought.

mathjobs.org begged to differ.

The website listed only one job in academia. It was at South Tilleewaulkee University in Somewhere close to Nowhere. The place was looking for an assistant professor in mathematics.

I quickly checked the flight connections. It would take me four hours to get to South Tilleewaulkee from here.

Four hours from Janice. My daughter.

A daughter who might forget her father if he weren't around. Replace his memory for the false affection of a dandruff-haired university chancellor.

Okay, that may have been unfair on the man. But still, the job I took had to be close to Boston. No other place would do.

So, what I did was narrow the search, now deliberately adding Boston: Massachusetts to the previously selected criteria.

Seven hits.

Six of those were in high school teaching.

The remaining one, at an insurance company in downtown Boston.

I scanned the list of skills required for the latter.

Applied stats, risk calculus, one of them had said. I had written my Ph.D. on multivariate probability analysis. We had a good fit there, that job and I.

A team player with an acute sense for business. Hmm. That requirement made me frown. What would it involve? Having a skill for knotting ties and wearing an array of smart-looking suits? While I did, as a matter of fact, own a tie—I had worn it for my graduation and my consecutive Ph.D. celebration—I lacked a suit that would fit that particular criterion.

Scratching my itchy hair, I gazed out of the window. A vaguely familiar pink-haired woman looked back at me from the parallel train on the next track. Strands of wet hair clung to her cheeks, bleeding a shade of coral into them.

She smiled at me, displaying a full set of braces.

Her.

Hadn't her shaggy mane been marshmallow blue the last time I had seen her, a month ago? And dry?

As she sat there, her face drenched and gloomy despite her warm smile, she reminded me of Breakfast at Tiffany's, the scene when Holly looks for a Nameless Cat in a littered, rainy alley. Both of them had looked as miserable as only a good rainfall can make you.

In need of a hug.

Holly had had Paul Varjak to take care of the hugging. What about that woman over there? Did she have someone to hug her? To comfort her? To protect her from the wild elements, to keep her sheltered and warm?

Apparently, she did not even have an umbrella.

I groped for mine, holding it aloft for her to see. Showing the pink-haired train lady that I'd gladly share it with her.

Her smile broadened, almost managing to obliterate her frown.

Encouraged by her reaction, I dared take this little game a step further. There was indeed more to my folded umbrella than met the eye. I opened it, careful to keep it from touching the other passengers. I actually adored its pattern—the black fabric was dotted with big, yellow smilies. Some of them were just grinning while others held big, fat LOLs.

I held it against the window for her to see them.

She rewarded me with a muted burst of laughter.

"Mommy, what's that man doing?" The question came from a gap-toothed little boy sitting on his mother's lap. The two of them had been sharing a seat across the aisle.

"Shush," his mother said. "Maybe he's... not feeling so well?"

Blushing, I quickly folded my umbrella. The hasty motion sent off a spray of tiny droplets, making an elderly man across me mutter a curse under his breath.

Ignoring him, I sought the woman's gaze across the windows. Our train had started moving, and I just got the last glimpse of her silent laughter.