“The leaves of memory seemed to make

  A mournful rustling in the dark.”

Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, The Burning of the Driftwood.

.

I’d guess I was four or five.

The crèche was jiving, so I shuffled off to my nook. Our crèche-room had six nooks for privacy: there were many more than six of us, but few enjoyed solitude. I’ve always valued time alone; usually, nobody bothered me when I relaxed in my spot.

I was studying three fluorescent tubes in the ceiling, which normally cast a glare; but, for about a week, two of the tubes had been dark and lifeless. The third tube was dimly lit, and evenly spaced grey bands flowed noiselessly through its length. I marveled at the bands of shadow as they were emitted — like puffs of smoke — close to one end of the tube, floated mysteriously through the tube, and were absorbed near the other end. I sat calmly, hushed, hoping nobody else would notice the phenomenon. I was afraid the tube would be replaced if it was observed being different.

“Kurt?” Dr. Jhertzen appeared from around the corner; a small girl was beside and slightly behind him. “Oh. There you are,” he said, and propelled the girl toward me.

I looked into her deep, dark-brown eyes and smiled; she smiled back and we hugged. Her soul was pure. She smelled of lilacs, though it was many years later when I made the connection.

Dr. Jhertzen pulled us apart and said, “Kurt, this is Callie Lambda. Could you teach her to mesh?” The girl’s eyes widened when she realized she might be staying with our crèche.

Jessie was our de-facto leader, so I wasn’t sure why Dr. Jhertzen was leaving the girl with me (perhaps it was due to the scarcity of Lambdas; Callie was the only other Lambda I ever met), but I said, “Sure.”

I never argued with Dr. Jhertzen, but meshing wasn’t something you could teach: it was a thing you just did; like breathing. Meshing makes groups fit; it blends personalities together so that the edges disappear. Meshing is like the rounded corners of our crèche-room, where ceiling, floor and walls subtly curved into one-another without abrupt joints. Jessie said I was a genius at meshing, but she was much better at it when leadership was required.  I couldn’t lead people, I could only mesh. Sometimes it exhausted me.

Dr. Jhertzen looked at Callie, said, “Don’t disappoint me,” and then left.

She was nervous, so I gestured toward the ceiling, at the two tubes that were burned-out. I said, “He didn’t even notice they were dead.” It took her a while, but she finally noticed the bands moving along the third tube and pointed them out to me.

I led her back to the group: “Hey, Jess,” I said, “come and see what Callie found.” Everyone followed, and they all thought the shadow-bands were pretty awesome (the three light-tubes were replaced later that day).

Callie died in an experiment a few weeks later.

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