“Just making sure you’re real,” I say, twisting the pen between my fingers. “I can’t believe I’m here right now. Thatyou’rehere right now.”
Jack angles his head up, gazing toward the ceiling. In the few seconds that he’s not watching me, I steal a glance at the face that fills my day- and night dreams. Seeing the crescent moon on his lip sends chills down my spine, a sliver of a reminder from when he kissed me.
He holds his hand against the back of his neck. “I’ll say this: I really never thought I’d see you again.”
“Lightning doesn’t strike twice,” I say, swallowing down unexpected emotion that rises to the surface. It’s nice seeing him shocked. I imagine it takes a lot to rattle him, but he’s not as surprised as he should be. Because this is a Holy-Shit-What-Does-It-All-Mean level of surprise. I keep an awkward grin plastered on my face, smiling through the confusion and absurdity of the situation.
Jack. As my liaison. He was supposed to be someone I could recall stories about when I wanted to share what wild chance encounters really looked like. A What-If who I could feel the low ache of sadness over. A mirage in my memory, wondering if it really happened.He wasn’t supposed to be someone I have to work with for an entire year.
Jack crosses his arms. I notice that his sleeves are rolled down again. I also realize that this disappoints me. “I am looking forward to seeing what you create. Though you’re unknown to the public, your art is really truthful.”
I inhale deeply. “Thanks. I’m thrilled about my work being seen on a national level, and it’s neat that there’s history and legacy behind this program. I hope to teach people about something abstract and bring them together around one exciting moment or cause or concept or purpose. Like FATE. The mission, of course,” I say with a grin.
Jack dips his head and smiles.
“With my art, I want to create what I care about and what I believe in. There’s more overlap with fate and science than you might think,” I add.
“You’re going to have to explain that to me sometime,” he says.
“You’d be surprised. My work isn’t so black and white.”
Jack lifts his chin. “No. It’s red.”
My workwasred. At this point I’d take blue, green, yellow. I’ll drop the R from my name and become Ooney, Orange String Girl. I’d work with any color, if only I could think of new ideas.
I don’t share with him that I’ve been feeling creatively blocked. I can’t just tell the mission liaison of NASA’s new art program on the first day, “Hey, great to be here. I know you’re taking a chance on me and that it’s imperative this does well so you can continue to get funding in the future. Oh, by the way, I haven’t had any new ideas in six months. Want me to make a pet portrait of your dog until inspiration strikes?”
Instead, I give positivity a shot. “Perfect for the Red Planet,” I end up saying.
When it becomes unusually quiet, I realize it’s just us in the Viewing Gallery. The glowing blue room feels like a futuristic confessional, so I continue.
“My mom, Wren, you know the one,” I say, attempting to make Jack laugh. When he huffs out a small puff of air, I smile in return. “Your suspicions weren’t far off. She’s also an artist. A pretty famous one, too. I hope this opportunity can do for me what one of her video art pieces did for her. Not the making-me-famous part, but the part that gives me enough exposure to help me branch off on my own. Financially, I mean. I want financial independence, to be a working artist.”
I purposely don’t mentionBaby Being Bornand needing money fast so that I can buy it back. It’s too weird to try to explain.
“I think that’s great,” Jack says. “And this should definitely bring Red String Girl more exposure. Especially with several showcases throughout the year. More touchpoints for you to have work for people to discuss. The first one will be in January.”
“So that means I need to have an installation ready in… five months.” I write the month down in my sketchbook and circle it a couple of times. “Easy peasy lemon squeezy.”
“Your work really is incredible, Rooney. I think what you do here is going to impress people. NASA isn’t limiting you, either. You can create installations around whatever you learn that you find interesting. And you can still make your own art and put on shows, of course. It was in the contract so I’m sure you know all of that.”
“Thanks,” I say, nodding and forcing a smile. Before we go down a rabbit hole of questions like where I usually get my ideas and inspiration from, it’s time to change the subject. “Why are you doing this program?”
Jack shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Oh. It wasa unique opportunity to resurrect the Artist-in-Residence program. It’s an honor to have a small role in it.”
I lean against the railing. “Right. You trying to be promoted or something?”
In the blue light, I can still see Jack’s cheeks grow a shade darker. “What? I didn’t say that.”
“There’s no shame in trying to get ahead, Jack. I’m curious to know why you’re part of this.”
He lets out a long breath through his nose. “I’ve been told that I don’t inspire. That I’m too transactional. That I do the work but don’t know how to teach it. People need to see that I’m a person and not just a coworker, I guess. Something about emotional connection. On that day in New York, I learned I was passed over for a promotion for a senior engineering role. For a third time.”
I let out a small gasp. “I’m sorry, Jack. That’s why you didn’t want to talk about work that night.”
Jack stares down over the blinking lights of the computers. “We don’t usually have to discuss our work with the press or anything on this scale. Only at conferences and with other teams.”
I wait for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t. “This might be one of those teaching moments you can practice,” I say. “Take it from the top. Systems engineer. What do you do? Go.”
