Home"No what?" I laugh.
"No, I can't have lunch with you." I swear the woman barely has time to blink. "No time, gotta be somewhere. Late." And with that, she's gone again.
I see her a few hours later. She looks haggard, but her eyes are peeled wide open like giant ping pong balls. In typical Nic (yes, even her name is shortened to save time and energy) fashion, she blurts out a few fragmentes sentences and glares for a speedy answer, "My greatest academic achievement. What is it?" Almost immediately she begins stamping her foot.
Tick tock. Tick tock. I take an interminably long breath and slowly look up to meet her eyes. Her impatience collects in a bulging vein on her reddened forehead. I think back to when we were undergrads - when she would race around to my side of the laboratory bench and copy down whatever results I had jotted down for my experiment. I recall her lamenting over receiving straight "B"s every semester, and helping her forge new and improved documents to present to her parents at the semester's end. I smile when I remember the parties she'd missed after disregarding the "beer before liquor" rule. I shrug in reply, and barely a split-second later, Nic speeds down the hall in search of another, more favorable answer from a former classmate.
Later on that day, she finds me again. I am draped over a park bench, examining a fallen leaf. She begins talking immediately. "So have you thought about it?" I feign ignorance. Her murderous gaze threatens to strangle the life out of me. "What's my greatest academic achievement?" she shrieks in sheer desperation. "I need to know by 6 tonight!"
I shrug, I am clueless. She's lucky to even be alive, I think to myself, much less have a single greatest achievement. Nic barely escaped being skinned and deposited on the steps of the local orphanage, after informing her parents of her desire to study music instead of medicine. Even I was shocked by that revelation.
"You want to WHAT???" I imagine her father's sonic boom of a voice. I see her mother in the background, wringing her hands, wailing, "Where did we go wrong?" while Nic shuffles from foot to foot, avoiding the gaze of either of her parents at all cost. Nic knew that they had aspirations for her to carry on the family tradition, after all, both parents were obstetricians and her aunts, uncles, cousins and siblings could have staffed an entire New York city hospital. Music was never in their genes. Music wasn't even an option.
Nic stopped living at home sometime soon after that, crashing at my tiny studio apartment for nearly three months. Her parents never called to check up on her, and she never bothered to update them. She was angry all the time, and her social life and physical health suffered tremendously. But her music ... her music reached a metaphysical peak that could not be described by mere words. I couldn't believe how her voice had grown from a pip-squeaky whine to a full and emotion-wracked level of beauty. Neighbors would stop outside below our window listen with such concentration, I could not tell them apart from statues. Women and men alike wept. Notes left my anonymous audience members were stuck on the front door of the building praising her angelic soprano voice.
It was no surprise whatsoever when Nic was accepted to Juilliard. It made no difference that her studies in music theory were not up to par. It was inconsequential that her teacher up until then was an unknown. The school welcomed her in like family. In time, she lost the anger and hurt and her music transformed into something ethereal and passionate. As well, her roommate skills improved greatly. She made friends again.
Nic had to give her final recital before graduating. She had performed plenty of times prior to that, but this one made her extremely nervous. After grilling her for the answer for at least 30 minutes, she finally confessed that she had been contacted by her parents. After nearly two years of silence, they had finally come to grips with their daughter's decision. In addition, they had secretly attended a few of her performances and were confronted with the fact that she was good. She was better than good.
They invited her to dinner before her final recital. She jumped at the offer, and told me that I should meet her at the backstage door after the recital. At the concert hall, I found a nice little spot backstage to sit to enjoy the performance - no one would notice me there. Seven o'clock rolled around. Her teacher discovered me wandering around backstage and asked me if Nic had come with me. I told him not to worry. Fifteen minutes before curtain call, still no Nic. Her dressing room was still dark and the flowers I had brought for her were wilting in my hands. Her teacher was frantic. Eight o'clock came ... and went.
I think I stood outside the stage door for an hour after that, after a full-house of audience members grumbled and exited the front of the house. My feet sore, I trudged back home. Nic was not at home either.
A piercing phone ring woke me up early the next morning. Nic sounded dry and flat. There was no hint whatsoever of the sweet voice I had grown to love. She apologized for not meeting me the night before and thanked me for being a good friend to her. She calmed me by telling me that she was safe at her parents' house and hung up.
I lost contact with Nic that following summer - she was never home and her parents never forwarded my messages to her. On occasion, I received a note or a quick message on the answering machine that she was doing well.
That fall, I ran into Nic on my school campus. She was lugging behind her a giant tote bag full of books. She was in all of my lectures, she shared my lab table. I never asked her what happened on the night of her recital. Since then, she had completely morphed into an "I-don't-have-time-I've-got-homework/class/lab" workaholic. After all, she's had to make up for lost time. She was year and a half behind me in the pre-medical program.
I look up at Nic. She narrows her eyes at me, anticipating my answer. "Well?" she sighs. "What do you think? My board interview is in two hours."
I know what she achieved, and I am saddened by the lost prospect of what she could have achieved, but I say nothing. I shrug again. I smile with my mouth, but not with my eyes. "I'm sure you'll think of something before 6. You can do anything you put your mind and heart to."
I feel instantly sorry for what I had said, but the dagger has already been thrown. Her peppiness leaves her and she reaches out for me. She squeezes my cold hand with her warm one and smiles very somberly. "I know, honey," she manages slowly. "I put my mind and heart behind everything I do, whether I want to or not."
She releases me and walks away, taking very methodical steps. I watch her figure grow smaller and smaller as she exits the park, until she becomes an indistinguishable dot on the horizon.