[Newt is small for a fourteen-year-old, a thin little thing trying his best to look cool in a leather jacket despite the summer heat. He's got the Sex Pistols blaring in his ears, his headphones lopsided as they fight the stems of his too-big glasses, and the U-Bahn platform is busy. He leans against a graffiti-smattered pillar to stay out of the way, thankful for the occasional gust of a yellow train blowing by. These tunnels get stuffy.
Finally, his connection rolls up. He pushes off the pillar with one shoulder and scans the doors, deciding which car will give him the best chance of grabbing a seat, but then his eyes catch. He's not sure why at first—there's something familiar about that tumble of brown hair gliding through the crowd, though he can't place it, and then she turns.
He's seen pictures of Monica Schwartz on the internet, on commercials and posters around town announcing her return to Berlin after a year of global tours. She's an opera singer, something they call a coloratura soprano. Totally not his thing. He's never heard her voice. He's never seen her in person before. Not that he can remember, anyway. Dad says she stayed for a few days after Newt was born, just to make sure he was healthy, and then she left again, back to her husband and her career. Newt's never been sure how she was able to have a baby with another man and then flit back to her life as if nothing had changed, but she did, somehow. He thinks he's probably inherited a similar quality of pulling off the unusual.
She stops on the platform to crane her neck over the masses and he yanks his headphones down to his neck like she might... Well, he's not sure what he's expecting. She's too far down the tunnel for him to hear her anyway, unless she decided to give an impromptu performance. Her eyes search the crowd, and he wants to believe she's looking for him.
She's not, though. Of course. Her eyes settle on him for the briefest moment, just long enough for his breath to hitch, and then she moves on. Why would she recognize him? He only recognizes her because she's famous enough to Google. Dad doesn't keep pictures in the house. He says there's no point. She's not part of their life anymore.
The train doors shut and Newt will have to wait for the next one. That's fine. Maybe he should go talk to her, claim to be a fan just to see what she's like close up. No one else on the platform seems to recognize her, save for the woman darting up to slide a hand through her arm. Monica smiles, having found who she was looking for, and they head for the stairs together. Newt shifts his weight. She probably has his eyes since he doesn't have his dad's, but he wasn't close enough to see.
He drops himself against the pillar again. He's moving to the United States soon. Massachusetts, because he likes MIT's biomedical engineering program better than Stanford's or Cornell's. She doesn't tour in the States very often, and even if she did, it's a much bigger country than Germany. The chances of their paths crossing again are slim.
But maybe in a few years, when he's visiting Dad and Uncle Illia for the holidays or running his own laboratory in some other part of the world, he'll buy a ticket to one of her shows just so he can look bored in the audience. He'll let all the operatic wailing sour his mood and he'll sit with his arms folded during the standing ovation. She'll see him and think he looks familiar, but won't be able to place his face. Then he'll pay off an usher to let him backstage, into her dressing room, where he'll introduce himself as Dr. Geiszler and, oh, yes, that Dr. Geiszler, the one who pioneered this groundbreaking bioengineering such-and-such, and Dr. Geiszler is fine, actually, because Dad was the one who named me Newton.
Or maybe, he thinks as another train rolls up, maybe he won't bother. It's not like she ever went through that kind of trouble for him.]
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completelycrazy) wrote2018-11-26 09:33 am
7. Newt as a kid seeing his mom in person for the first time
Finally, his connection rolls up. He pushes off the pillar with one shoulder and scans the doors, deciding which car will give him the best chance of grabbing a seat, but then his eyes catch. He's not sure why at first—there's something familiar about that tumble of brown hair gliding through the crowd, though he can't place it, and then she turns.
He's seen pictures of Monica Schwartz on the internet, on commercials and posters around town announcing her return to Berlin after a year of global tours. She's an opera singer, something they call a coloratura soprano. Totally not his thing. He's never heard her voice. He's never seen her in person before. Not that he can remember, anyway. Dad says she stayed for a few days after Newt was born, just to make sure he was healthy, and then she left again, back to her husband and her career. Newt's never been sure how she was able to have a baby with another man and then flit back to her life as if nothing had changed, but she did, somehow. He thinks he's probably inherited a similar quality of pulling off the unusual.
She stops on the platform to crane her neck over the masses and he yanks his headphones down to his neck like she might... Well, he's not sure what he's expecting. She's too far down the tunnel for him to hear her anyway, unless she decided to give an impromptu performance. Her eyes search the crowd, and he wants to believe she's looking for him.
She's not, though. Of course. Her eyes settle on him for the briefest moment, just long enough for his breath to hitch, and then she moves on. Why would she recognize him? He only recognizes her because she's famous enough to Google. Dad doesn't keep pictures in the house. He says there's no point. She's not part of their life anymore.
The train doors shut and Newt will have to wait for the next one. That's fine. Maybe he should go talk to her, claim to be a fan just to see what she's like close up. No one else on the platform seems to recognize her, save for the woman darting up to slide a hand through her arm. Monica smiles, having found who she was looking for, and they head for the stairs together. Newt shifts his weight. She probably has his eyes since he doesn't have his dad's, but he wasn't close enough to see.
He drops himself against the pillar again. He's moving to the United States soon. Massachusetts, because he likes MIT's biomedical engineering program better than Stanford's or Cornell's. She doesn't tour in the States very often, and even if she did, it's a much bigger country than Germany. The chances of their paths crossing again are slim.
But maybe in a few years, when he's visiting Dad and Uncle Illia for the holidays or running his own laboratory in some other part of the world, he'll buy a ticket to one of her shows just so he can look bored in the audience. He'll let all the operatic wailing sour his mood and he'll sit with his arms folded during the standing ovation. She'll see him and think he looks familiar, but won't be able to place his face. Then he'll pay off an usher to let him backstage, into her dressing room, where he'll introduce himself as Dr. Geiszler and, oh, yes, that Dr. Geiszler, the one who pioneered this groundbreaking bioengineering such-and-such, and Dr. Geiszler is fine, actually, because Dad was the one who named me Newton.
Or maybe, he thinks as another train rolls up, maybe he won't bother. It's not like she ever went through that kind of trouble for him.]