Facebook Jeanie

by Addison Westlake

  Stepping out again on the path, Clara’s leg twinged in pain but it only made her smile as she remembered she could go back! Oh, how bad she’d thought she’d had it, how hideous she’d believed she’d become with her few extra pounds and unkempt hair. She hadn’t known the first thing about really screwing up her life. Straight away, Clara decided, when she got back to reality, she’d pull on some sneakers and go for a walk. Maybe even a run. It was springtime, for goodness sake.

  On her left, she came up next to a big wooden-framed corkboard filled with posters. It almost seemed quaint, here in the age of non-stop technology college kids still had a community bulletin board where they stapled up fliers for bands. She read through some of the offerings, absent-mindedly fiddling with some cut-off tabs offering the phone number of a math tutor.

  Then she looked into the eyes of Aleksander Novak. A black-and-white grainy version of him on a flyer advertising a talk featuring none other than Berkeley’s own greentech guru, Assistant Professor Aleksander Novak. Moving closer, she reached out and pulled it off the board. Alek! Of course, she remembered now from the alumni magazine article that she’d never really read, he taught at Berkeley. And was speaking at 3pm. Today.

  “Excuse me,” Clara asked a young man looking into his cell phone as he walked past her. “Do you know what time it is?”

  “2:43,” he answered without looking up.

  “And, sorry—” She held the poster out in front of him, breaking his concentration. “Do you know where this talk is going to be?”

  Gesturing up and over a hillside, he explained that she needed to pass a few buildings, head through a quad and then she’d see it on her right.

  Thanking him, Clara headed off. She didn’t know what to expect at the talk, but knew she needed to go there. It seemed too strange a coincidence to turn down. At the very least, maybe Jeanie would be there.

  And maybe she could say hello to Alek? But just as she felt a swell of excitement over the prospect, the bells on one of her anklets jangled. She glanced down at the fringe on her mumu, the psychedelic leggings, the mismatched socks with matching toe-holes shoved into tattered sandals. On second thought, maybe she wouldn’t say hello. Maybe she’d simply sit incognito in the very back row and observe.

  Without much trouble, she found the big glass and steel building. A plaque on the side confirmed that it had been completed recently and dedicated to science and innovation. Clara felt a slight shiver of anticipation as she passed through the large, modern doors, entering the hallowed ground of learning. A few students filed into an auditorium where a woman stood hustling them inside.

  “We’re about to start.” She beckoned to Clara, who did her best to speed up her pace. No trace of the former cross-country star left in this version of reality. Soon to change, she reminded herself.

  Inside the packed lecture hall, she pulled down the brim of her baseball cap. Seeing an open seat in the back, she maneuvered her way over and sank down, low.

  At the front of the room behind a large, long table, two people sat behind microphones. One of them, a 50-ish man wearing glasses and greying at the temples, began giving an introduction. But Clara’s attention fixed on the man sitting to his left.

  Alek. At 34. He took a sip of water from a glass before him and Clara suddenly needed a sip of something cool and refreshing as well. She brought her hand up to her face to fan it.

  He looked good. Really good. The years had done him a service. Much like Justin Timberlake’s transformation from curly-top boy band member to suave Frank Sinatra crooner. Or George Clooney’s maturation from nippled Batman into sophisticated man-about-the-Italian-Coast. Oh my.

  Clara had to look away for a moment and fan herself. She allowed her gaze to return as the audience erupted into applause. He smiled in acknowledgement and Clara nearly fell out of her seat. And apparently, she wasn’t the only one feeling it. The auditorium resounded with the cheers and woo-hoos of a young and markedly female audience. UC Berkeley was clearly doing a crackerjack job of recruiting women into the sciences. With Alek heading up the marketing efforts about 90% of the graduating class earning degrees in physics looked to be female.

  “Thank you,” he spoke into the microphone and Clara instantly recognized that deep, somewhat gravelly voice. “Thank you for coming today. I’m honored to be invited to speak about a topic so close to my heart. Affordable, accessible solar power.”

  The room erupted again in cheers and applause as if he’d just announced he’d be treating everyone to free pizza. Clara clapped as well, though until then she hadn’t thought much about power sources, solar or otherwise. But the enthusiasm of the crowd was infectious.

  It only took about ten minutes before she was ready to march on Washington to demand more funding for solar power research. Surely there couldn’t be any more pressing issues currently facing the country? Alek mapped it all out, the ways in which it would transform not just our nation but the world. Provide a cheap and sustainable energy source. Help nations in poverty. End our dependency on the finite resources of oil and coal.

  Apparently the greatest obstacle was expense. It cost a lot more to produce electricity from solar panels than it did from coal. Current technology was expensive and inefficient. Clara wanted to shout it from the rooftops: We need better, cheaper solar cells!

  Such was the power of Alek. He spoke with a passionate intensity that left Clara breathless. And she was in good company. As she glanced around the room, students sat at the edge of their seats, nodding, riveted. Mostly women, she noted again. Women who looked pretty damn enraptured for a talk on alternate energy sources.

  Growing suspicious, Clara tuned in more to the students around her. Sure enough, she picked up some chatter.

  “So amazing,” one girl whispered to another.

  “He’s, like, a genius,” her friend agreed.

  “I’d totally do him,” the first one added and they dissolved into giggles.

  Clara felt a surge of jealousy. She wanted to smack them down Maury Povich-style, declaring Alek off-limits as her own man. Which, of course, was far from the case. Still. She looked around angry now, squinting at all those young, pretty girls in the audience. She bet some of them were trying to seduce him right now, like in the opening scene of the first Raiders of the Lost Ark. Back when Harrison Ford was an archeology professor and the girl in the front row had written “I LOVE YOU” across her eyelids.

  Tall, dark, handsome and saving the earth! Berkeley’s version of a rock star. As he spoke, Clara noted that he still had the same habit of rubbing his stubble while he mulled over an idea. He looked so much more confident than before. And my had he filled out in just the right way. Yet, Clara thought she detected a bit of shadow under his eyes. He probably still wasn’t getting enough sleep, still worked too hard, round the clock. She bet he needed to slow down already and finally have that hearty bowl of soup.

  Alek took a moment to acknowledge all the different student groups with which he was involved, flashing smiles as he gave props to the committee to promote solar power on campus and the solar-powered robot racing team. Each group erupted in cheers with his attention. Clara had to tamp down her urge to yell, “I saw him first!”

  After more applause, the gentleman who’d introduced Alek spoke again. Time for questions and answers. Hands in the room shot up. Clara scooched down further in her seat, not wanting Alek to see her.

  Breathlessly, the student at the front of the room began. “How close are you to making a breakthrough? Are you right on the verge?”

  Alek chuckled, endearingly humble. “I wish I could say yes. But science doesn’t work like in the movies. We feel as if we’re getting closer, but it’s going to take a lot of time and effort to get there. So, no, I can’t say we’re right on the verge of a breakthrough.”

  Clara could almost feel the lovestruck ladies in the room adamantly protesting—they believed in him! They knew he could do it! Or at least they could take him in their arms and offer hi
m comfort over his struggles.

  Another eager undergrad stood with a question. “Can you offer some advice? I’m a physics major like you were and I know you got your PhD at 26 and then did your postdoc at Harvard and then got hired on faculty here when you were just 29.” She rattled off his curriculum vitae easily from memory. “How can I follow in your footsteps?”

  Alek laughed again, kindly. “Thank you for the compliment. It’s good to hear how motivated you are.” He paused and there came that chin rub again, deep in thought. “It’s funny you should ask for advice on following the same path I have. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  The audience practically gave a collective gasp. Clara felt the vehemence of the crowd’s rejection: he couldn’t mean it!

  “I mean it,” he continued. “When I was your age, young 20s, I was so driven. I had a big chip on my shoulder. I kept my head down and worked all the time with this burning need to prove myself.”

  He paused and shook his head. “I accomplished a lot that way but, in retrospect, it might not have been the best way to do it. If I could give advice to myself back then I’d say—take a break. Go outside and play a little.”

  The audience laughed in response, if somewhat nervously. He looked out at them. Seeming to remember that he was talking to room mostly filled with super-smart, super-driven science majors, he added, “I realize you all are working hard, gunning for your degrees. And you need to work hard. You need to put your nose to the grindstone. I’m still doing it; I’m not even taking my own advice. But maybe you all can do better than me. Maybe, every now and then, you can remember to stop and… go get a beer with some friends.”

  This time the cheers and applause erupted without reservation. And Clara joined in, now knowing exactly what she wanted to do when she made her third and final trip back to college. So he wished he could have had more fun back in the day? Taken a break and enjoyed himself? She’d see what she could do about that.

  At the end of the hour the moderator stemmed the tide of questions, but offered Alek up to anyone who wanted to talk more about how they could get involved. He got swamped like Mick Jagger in the 70’s, only the groupies had less drugs and more clothes. Taking advantage of the distraction, Clara slunk out the back.

  “Wasn’t that inspiring!” A flash of pink joined Clara, blonde ponytail bouncing with enthusiasm.

  “Jeanie! I knew I’d see you here!” Clara couldn’t help but hug her annoyingly perky companion. This time Jeanie wore dark skinny jeans, a spotless white t-shirt and a pink backpack.

  “I was so fascinated by what he said about nanotechnology. It’s amazing what his team is working on!”

  “Mmm,” Clara non-specifically agreed. She’d paid more attention to the passionate warmth of his eyes and the chiseled cut of his jaw than to the actual substance of his talk, truth be told. Not to be outdone, however, she added, “Solar power is really great.”

  “It makes you want to go out and make the world a better place, doesn’t it?” Jeanie held the door open for Clara and together they exited into the late afternoon sunshine. Jeanie inhaled exuberantly. “What a day!”

  “Wait, Jeanie!” Clara called out, holding onto the railing and making her way down the stairs, each step sending pain shooting up her leg. Jeanie was already several steps ahead of her; she didn’t want to lose her in the crowd and get stuck forever in hippie hell. Jeanie turned and waited. At the bottom step Clara was able to look right into her eyes as she declared, “I want my old life back.”

  “What?”

  “My old life. The one in Rockridge.”

  Jeanie exhaled, crossed her arms and began tapping one of her pink ballerina flats. If Clara didn’t know better, she’d see it as evidence of stress. After a moment, Jeanie looked up, linked her arm through Clara’s and they set off once again, this time at a slower pace down the path.

  “I’m sorry,” Clara said nervously. “I don’t want to cause problems for you or anything.”

  “No, it’s fine. It’s unexpected is all.” Jeanie studied her as they strolled. “That’s why we beta-test, I guess.”

  “I have three tries, right?” Clara remembered their conversations, or at least hoped she did accurately. “I can go back one more time?”

  “You may. But, are you sure? You want to go back to the way things were before?”

  “Yes, I do. I miss…” How could she put it into words? She certainly didn’t miss the old shuffle from dimly-lit cube to dimly-lit couch, all the while staring at a screen. She didn’t miss how she’d been living her life; she missed the basic set-up: no bum leg, no former membership in a cult, no adulterous affairs. She guessed she missed the potential of what that life could be, a veritable blank canvas upon which to start anew.

  “Do you miss Gil? Are you going to try to patch things up with him?”

  “Who?” Clara looked at her blankly.

  “Gil.” Jeanie reminded her with the gentleness of a nurse caring for a patient dealing with memory loss. Or time travel.

  Huh. Gil. Clara realized she hadn’t thought about him once. Or missed him at all.

  “Not ringing a bell?” Jeanie prompted. Clara began to protest that of course she remembered the man she’d lived with for five years and had ostensibly been moping over back when all of this began, but Jeanie stepped back in with a celebratory, “That’s great! You’re over him!”

  Back to the business of expediting time travel, Jeanie stopped their walk at a wooden bench.

  “This will just take a sec.” She stepped a few paces away to place a phone call.

  Clara sat down to rest her aching leg. And contemplate the fact that when she’d first heard her ex-boyfriend’s name, she hadn’t even been able to place it. Gil who? Loud and clear, she could vividly recall Cat’s condemnation from what felt like ages ago: “You don’t miss him,” Cat had declared over dinner. “You just miss having a boyfriend.”

  Yeah. Sitting on that park bench, she had to admit that seemed about right. When she thought about Gil now, two words came to mind: clammy hands. Not the sort of thing that kept you awake at night with longing. She guessed she had to acknowledge, back in the dark days of what could graciously be called her ‘funk’, she’d mostly been feeling lonely rather than missing Gil.

  Aristotle had said it first, or at least he was the guy who’d said it first whom Ivy League universities required undergrads to read: Nature abhors a vacuum. Back in all that emptiness, she’d needed something to fill it up. Cue the Nicholas Sparks movie music and cast Brad as the dashing male lead. In all those formative years watching classic movies with her mom, she guessed she’d developed some movie-making skills of her own. She’d created the perfect fantasy, cropping the shots and spliced together her own tailor-made montages, scrapping whatever pieces of storyline she didn’t like. Including the fact that Brad had obviously been thriving and happy in his life married to Ashley.

  Back in a jiff, with the clairvoyance of a genie, Jeanie asked, “What about Brad?”

  Clara shook her head. “There is no Brad.”

  “I’m pretty sure there is a Brad.”

  “No, I mean, there’s a Brad just not with me. He’s happy with Ashley. I realize, when I think about it, I guess I made it all up. After Gil left me and I hated my job I just… latched onto Brad.”

  “Huh.” It may have been the least articulate thing Jeanie had ever said. “Well, good that you realized it,” she offered at last.

  Clara nodded. “I want to go back to my apartment in Rockridge and buy some flowers.”

  “It is a lovely time of year for flowers,” Jeanie agreed.

  “So can I go back now?”

  “Yes, I’ve cleared it. You can go back.” With more firmness, she reminded Clara, “But you know this is your last chance.”

  “Yes.”

  “All right. Well, to get your old life back what you need to do is go back to college and let things play out like they did the first time around.”

  “When I broke up
with Brad?”

  “Yup.”

  “No problem.”

  “It may sound easier than—”

  “No problem. I mean it.”

  “OK then! Do you have your cell phone somewhere?” Jeanie looked dubiously at Clara’s ensemble.

  Digging into a hidden pocket in the mumu, Clara pulled out her phone.

  Jeanie did a click and a tap and handed it back. “All set.”

  Clara gave her a smile and took a deep breath. Thinking it would be more dramatic if she had ruby slippers, closed her eyes and repeated “there’s no place like home,” she settled for simply grasping her phone in one hand and tapping a finger onto the blinking button to “RESET.”

  CHAPTER 16

  SEDUCTION, BETTY CROCKER-STYLE

  Ah, the welcome strains of Will Smith.

  From her college dorm extra-long twin bed, hangover and all, Clara mumbled along with the chorus, “Na na na na na na na. Na na na na na na.” Probably sounded like Frankenstein trying to get his groove on.

  She cracked open one eye. Cat stood blow drying her hair, right on schedule. Closing that eye again, a smile spread across her face. Good to be back.

  Tentatively, Clara moved her right leg, hugging her knee into her chest. No pain! She hugged her left knee as well out of sheer joy. OK, first stop when she finally made it back home: flowers for the patio. But next stop: the running store to buy new sneakers. Pink, in honor of Jeanie.

  Couch Clara was about to meet her very own personal trainer, like Jillian Michaels only tougher: New Motivated Clara. Let the marathon training begin! Or maybe a triathlon? How about an Ironman with the marathon PLUS the 112 mile bike ride PLUS the 2.4 mile swim? Maybe she could even qualify for the world championships in Hawaii? She’d always wanted to vacation in Hawaii! And imagine how hot the guys would be, all those super-ripped athletes?

  But first. Reliving her day back in college, just as it had been the first time around.

  Clara hoisted herself up to sitting. Whew. She needed about five gallons of water and a bottle of Advil. How had she done this to herself so relentlessly back in college? Groaning, she stretched her arms up to the ceiling.