“In the past couple of years, my string has guided me to unexpected places… and people,” Rooney starts. “Now I get to be here with you all as the real me. I may not be the mystery you thought you were getting, but I assure you, I’m still very much a mystery to myself.” This elicits laughs from the crowd. “We are so much more than we, and others, think we are. I am particles from supernova explosions, and I believe in myths.”
I watch Rooney watch Talia, who has her phone pressed against her ear, her hand covering the other.
“For my first installation, I was inspired by the idea that when we look at planets and stars, we’re looking back in time,” she shares. “Moonlight takes less than two minutes to reach us. When you look at the sun, which I’m hoping isn’t too often for the sake of your retinas, you’re seeing the sun as it was eight minutes ago.”
There are more chuckles from the group. Everyone seems to be enthralled by Rooney and her art. As they should be.
“In a way, delayed light from space objects is like mythology. I view myths and the light as the equivalent of learning from the past and letting it influence the present and future. Myths explainnatural phenomena and why things exist. Aren’t theories like the Big Bang and the multiverse essentially doing the same thing? Aren’t myth and theories both interpretations?” she asks the crowd.
To my right, Gong Gong watches with his hands clasped across his lap. Ahead of me, Wren is taking photos of Rooney with her phone and texting them to someone. Dusty records Rooney’s speech and scans his camera across the room, the entire installation hardly fitting in the frame.
Rooney directs her glance at me. “I know what some of you are thinking: But, Rooney, theories are based on the examination of evidence. Myths aren’t based on fact.”
I smile to myself. She just read my thoughts.
“Here’s what I’ll say to that: Why does fact have to win out over belief?” Rooney asks. “There are enough coincidences in the world that should make you wonder. They might even make you believe. Myth or science, we’re all assigning meaning to our existence in our own ways. Everyone has different interpretations of life and events that occur based on what we’re taught growing up, where we live, and what we’re exposed to.”
It really is subtle when Rooney looks at Talia. I almost miss it. I realize I’m holding my breath, nervous to know the outcome of the auction. Will Rooney getBaby Being Bornback?
Rooney’s voice softens, her cadence slowing. It pulls my attention back to her. “It’s all nebulous—vague, uncertain—which is why I present to you,Nebulous, my aurora borealis supernova installation.”
The sounds of cameras clicking fill the air.
“With the northern lights, more oxygen gives us red and green colors, more nitrogen gives us blue,” she explains. “For us to witness aurora borealis at all, and to see certain colors, depends on where we are in the world. The timing has to be right. There are so manyvariables at play. So many environmental factors that need to align.” A weak smile crosses her face. “Just like fate.”
It wouldn’t be Rooney’s installation without her belief of fate mixed in. The belief that has derailed my life since that night in the bar and grill. Ever since then—no, ever since New York, really—Rooney has infiltrated my mind and heart, weaving a labyrinth of a web. I’m still trying to figure out how to escape.
I feel a nudge at my arm. Gong Gong leans over and whispers, “How beautiful that the northern lights can spark both scientific and mystical perspectives.”
“Mystical,” I repeat with a small smile. “When you know the science behind something and how something is built or works, you don’t think it becomes less mysterious?”
“It’s all about perspective,” Rooney says, as though she’s directly answering my question. “Back when we didn’t know the science behind aurora borealis, people had theories about what caused this natural phenomena. At the time, they’d be living their lives when, all of a sudden, a mysterious green light would start flickering across the skies. In China, this event was so rare that, when it did happen, the belief was that it was a battle between good and evil dragons breathing out fire. In Finland, it was believed that fox tails caused sparks that created the colors in the night sky. I could go on.”
Gong Gong motions toward Rooney and raises his shoulders in agreement. I laugh quietly and observe the crowd. Together, we’re all seeing the installation with fresh eyes. They take photos of Rooney, of the art. Wren continues tapping into her phone while Dusty watches her with a smile.
Suddenly, Rooney’s voice wobbles. It wavers for a moment, but I catch it. She grabs the microphone, shaking her head. There’s a shift in the mood, but no one else seems to notice. Rooney’s wide eyes betray her exterior confident stance. Something has happened.
I sneak a look back at Talia. She’s not where she was standing. To the unsuspecting eye, Rooney looks confident and poised. But I just have to look at her eyes to know she didn’t win. If my heart was cracked before, it’s now in pieces.
“But maybe, just maybe, there’s more to it than you think,” Rooney says, pushing on. “There’s more happening in the universe than we’ll ever see. Some things in the past take time to reach us in the present. In the meantime, we wait.”
At this, she looks at me like an unspoken agreement is made. I find myself nodding involuntarily, my heart taking over my head.
For now, we wait.
“Thank you to JPL and NASA for this incredible opportunity,” she says, her voice filled with emotion. “Thanks to the art students who helped string this. Art takes a crew, just like any mission. And thanks to the FATE mission team, but mostly thanks to Jackson Liu, who inspired me and helped me find my creative edge again. No matter what happens, we will always be connected.”
With these final words, she gestures toward her installation. The room echoes with claps and cheers. Rooney has come out of her chrysalis. And she’s a stunning, beautiful, vibrant butterfly.
I catch up to Rooney before anyone else can get to her first. “I’m sorry, Rooney,” I say. They’re not the words I wish I were saying. “Maybe there’s another way.”
She shakes her head. “That was my chance. It was a once-in-a-blue-moon opportunity. Now the museum has it, and I’ll get interview requests for that instead of this.”
My manager, Annika, and a few director-level managers approach us and congratulate Rooney on her show. She wipes her cheeks, her sad tears transforming into what, to everyone else, probably look like tears of joy.
“Jackson, when you have a moment, let’s chat,” Annika says,nodding toward the higher-ups. I nod, straightening my posture. My mouth becomes a firm line. For the first time in a long time, I have no idea what happens from here, no plan on what’s next.
“I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me,” Rooney says. “I’m headed back to New York in a few days for the MoMA installation and the Lantern Festival with Mom, but thanks for everything, Jack. I’ll see you in a couple of months for the next showcase.”
