The Dissonance, page 13
“Good afternoon,” the man said. “My name is Richard Thorpe, and it gives me great pleasure to welcome you all to the Convocation of Dissonants, 1997.” He paused as the room filled with applause, and gave it a moment to die down before he spoke again.
“I wish I could say this was the annual Convocation of Dissonants, but that’s not the case. This is actually the first large gathering of the community since World War II, and the best we can do for a meeting place is a Hyatt in Texas. It makes a sad sort of sense. The nature of the Dissonance attracts users who tend toward solitude and privacy—small, intimate groups of friends rather than large communities. We like to hide, and we tend to hoard our knowledge, because, for us, knowledge is quite literally power. And yet—I’m hoping this weekend we can start to change our collective attitudes toward one another. To realize we’re stronger together than we are apart. To share our knowledge and grow together as a community. After all, we’re an Abrahamic sect, are we not?”
“Speak for yourself,” Marsh murmured.
“And what did Christ say?” Thorpe went on. “ ‘For where two or three gather in my name, there I am with them.’ We’re meant to be together. So please, don’t hide in your hotel rooms this weekend. Come to the panels and presentations. Ask questions. Share knowledge. Each and every one of you is a valuable member of this community, and when we work together, I believe we can accomplish anything. Let’s make this weekend count, and try to turn these gatherings into something more frequent than once every half-century. Thank you.”
The room broke into another round of applause. Hal and Peter and the girls joined in, but Marsh remained unmoved, hands in his lap. Hal and the others stopped clapping and looked to the professor, questioning, as the people around them stood and shuffled out of the room.
“That man is the single most powerful and well-connected Dissonant on the continent—perhaps even in the world,” Marsh said, leaning over and speaking low. “It’s well and good for him to ask others to share knowledge, because he already has most of the knowledge available. It’s the equivalent of a millionaire running a canned food drive.”
“So why are we here?” Hal said.
“Because there may still be things to be gained from it,” Marsh said. “Make no mistake, this is an opportunity. But remember to view opportunities with skepticism, and apply critical thinking. Don’t let emotions cloud your judgment.”
The words sank over Hal like a sheet of snow. He’d been studying with Marsh for a year now, and the old man was free with his advice—but the advice often took more than it gave in return. Every maxim or truth Marsh uttered seemed to make the world a smaller, meaner, sadder place.
Hal knew he ought to expect this. It was the basis of the Dissonance—the broken world—and for fuck’s sake he’d been chosen by the Temple of Pain as a champion. Of course disappointment and sadness would be the prevailing emotions. It still hurt, though.
“Apparently there’s a youth mixer tonight,” Erin said, pointing to a page in the catalog. “Sort of a get-to-know-you thing, before the tournament starts tomorrow?”
Marsh frowned. “You need rest before the tournament. And by making friends with your opponents ahead of time, you forfeit any psychological advantage you have over them.”
“But they forfeit their psychological advantages as well,” Athena said. “So it sounds like we’d break even.”
“You hope,” Marsh said. “I won’t stop you. Your time tonight is your own. Just don’t give me cause to regret bringing you.”
An hour later, Hal and Peter met Erin and Athena in the lobby, so they could go to the party together. Athena was wearing her usual uniform of jeans and a T-shirt, but Erin had changed into heels and a dress. Hal had always known Erin was pretty. He’d known it in an abstract and disinterested way, the same way he knew T. rexes were carnivores and tomatoes were plants. But all dressed up, she looked more than pretty. She was statuesque, and looked almost like a grown woman. He felt a pang of sympathy for Peter, but said nothing.
Like the keynote, the youth mixer was downstairs in the hotel basement, although it was being held in one of the smaller conference rooms. The chairs had been stacked against the wall, and snacks laid out on long tables near the doors. The lights were dimmed and music played on the PA. Most of the kids stood along the walls, but a few couples danced in the middle of the room.
“So these are our peers,” Hal said.
He glanced at Athena, her mouth twisted in disappointment. “We might as well be at the Homecoming dance back home,” she said.
“It’s not so bad,” Erin said.
“Yes it is,” Peter said.
“C’mon,” Hal said. “Let’s go mingle.”
They headed for the refreshments table, but were about halfway there when they were intercepted by a handsome boy with dark hair and a half-smile on his face.
“Hi,” he said, over the music. “I’m Garrett Thorpe.” He offered his hand to shake, which they all did, introducing themselves. When Peter gave his name, Garrett’s eyes widened in recognition.
“Are you Elijah Marsh’s grandson?” he said.
“Yeah,” Peter said.
“I heard about what happened to your parents. Awful thing.”
“Thanks,” Peter said. “I don’t really remember it, so it’s not like a whole big thing for me.”
“Sure,” Garrett said. “Well, I’m glad you guys could make it! My dad organized the whole convention, but this part was my idea. The mixer, I mean.”
“Your idea was to put on a shitty high school dance at a convention of the most powerful people in the world?” Athena said.
Hal stifled a laugh, and Peter smiled. Only Erin looked aghast.
“I think it’s nice,” she said.
Garrett gave her a toothy grin. “Thank you so much,” he said.
Hal didn’t like that smile one bit.
“So I know this is a totally lame, cliché thing to ask, but—do you want to dance, maybe?” Garrett asked Erin.
“She has a boyfriend,” Peter blurted.
Athena raised her eyebrows, but said nothing. Erin looked slightly mortified.
Garrett opened his mouth, then shut it, smiling. “I’m not asking you to go steady,” he said. “Just if you want to dance.” He turned his winning smile on Peter. “No funny business. You have my word.”
Erin shrugged. “Sure. Let’s dance.” She let Garrett take her arm, and they walked out to the dance floor.
As soon as they were out of earshot, Athena turned to Hal and Peter. “This is lame. I’m leaving.”
“Me too,” Peter said.
Hal didn’t have the heart to argue.
“You coming?” Athena asked.
“I think I’m going to stick around,” Hal said. “Soak up the atmosphere.”
The others left. Hal drank his punch, and stood at the edge of the crowd. Every now and then he caught a glimpse of Erin and Garrett Thorpe, dancing. Even in the dark he could tell she was enjoying herself—smiling and bouncing on the balls of her feet, head thrown back in laughter. He watched her and the other couples dance, and felt a mix of boredom and envy.
He’d just about decided to head back to the room when a girl walked up to him out of the dark. She was small and fair, with dark hair and brown eyes and a slightly upturned nose. She wore a simple blue dress and sneakers.
“Do you want to dance?” she asked.
Hal felt a moment of sheer terror. Wasn’t this supposed to go the other way around? Shouldn’t he be the one working up the nerve to talk to her?
But Hal Isaac was nothing if not brave.
“Sure,” he said. “I’d love to.”
She took his hand and he let himself be led out onto the dance floor. He was keenly aware of the feel of her fingers in his own.
The song was a slow number, and Hal knew the basics from junior high—one hand on her hip, the other intertwined with her own.
“I’m Kelly,” she said, leaning close to be heard over the music. Her lips brushed his ear and his flesh goose-pimpled around the spot.
He leaned over, suddenly very conscious of his own breath, wishing he’d brushed his teeth before he’d come down, and also that he’d avoided the fruit punch at the refreshments table. “I’m Hal,” he said. “Where are you from?”
“Des Moines,” she said. “You?”
“Here. Well, more or less,” he said. “From the area.”
“Cool.”
After that, they turned their awkward, shuffling circles during the slow numbers, and bounced around during the fast ones. Holding Kelly’s hand, touching her waist, trying not to step on her feet, Hal couldn’t help but remember carrying Athena out of the Clegg woods the summer before. He tried to banish the thought from his head, to focus on the girl in front of him. He wondered if Kelly was thinking about someone else, too.
As the songs progressed, Kelly drew closer and closer to him, leaving less and less space between their bodies as they moved. Hal thrilled and worried, as his heart raced and his breathing sped up. Did she know how excited he was getting? Could she tell?
Finally she leaned her head on his shoulder but pressed herself against his groin and sighed happily. She backed off after that, but when the event ended at ten, and the overhead lights came on, and everyone was told to go get some rest, Kelly stood on tiptoe to kiss Hal on the cheek.
“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow?” she said.
“I hope so,” he said.
She ran off to join a group of girls across the room, and Hal turned to head to the elevators, breathless, confused, and more turned on than he’d ever been in his life. He startled to find Erin standing in front of him, barefoot, holding her shoes in one hand. Her hair was slightly disheveled. Her face was red, and she was smiling, and sweaty.
“And they were worried about my behavior,” she said, raising an eyebrow.
They walked down the hall together in companionable silence, Hal with his hands in his pockets, Erin dangling her shoes over one bare shoulder.
As they got into the elevator, she sighed and leaned against the back wall. “You know this is the most fun I’ve had in months?”
“Really?” Hal said. “You always look like you’re having a good time.”
“ ‘Look like,’ ” Erin echoed. “Do you ever feel like you’re being tugged in like four directions at once?”
“No,” Hal said.
“I do,” she said.
The elevator opened and she got off. Hal rode the rest of the way up by himself. Peter had taken the bed farthest from the door, and lay with his back to Hal as Hal entered. He’d left on one of the little lamps for Hal and his cactus sat on the table between the beds. It might’ve been a trick of the light, but Hal could’ve sworn the plant swayed at him in a greeting.
Hal undressed as quietly as he could and lay down. As he leaned over to switch off the light, Peter said:
“Did she dance with him a lot?” He didn’t turn around, or move at all.
“Not really,” Hal lied. “She got bored with him pretty quick. You should’ve stuck around—would’ve been fun.”
Peter made no response. He let Hal kill the lights, and they lay in silence until Hal passed out.
Athena
On Saturday morning, Athena rolled over and checked the clock on the table between her bed and Erin’s: 5:55. Five minutes before the alarm she’d set for herself. She reached over and turned it off. She’d set it more as a precaution than anything else. This had always been her own personal superpower. Her internal clock always woke her without fail.
This morning, however, the hunger pangs would’ve done the job all by themselves. They’d woken her every ninety minutes all night, and her stomach growled as she got out of the bed now.
She’d been dieting all summer long, trying to slim down, to look like the other girls in her classes at school. She’d never been a skinny kid, but in the past couple of years, as her friends lost their baby fat, she’d widened at the hips and bust. She wasn’t fat, exactly, but she wasn’t far off from it, either. So she’d been eating frozen Weight Watchers TV dinners, guzzling Diet Coke, and chewing sugar-free gum, all in an effort to curb her body’s inclination toward girth and fullness. She’d lost ten pounds since the end of the school year, but each pound had been a battle. She’d had to grit her teeth and say “no thanks” to every snack her parents offered, every cheeseburger her friends wanted to go eat at the diner in town. In short? She was miserable. But she wasn’t a quitter. She could do this.
As she showered, she stretched her left leg and winced. It was always stiffest in the morning, and even at the best of times it never felt quite right. She’d managed to hide the extent of the injury from her parents—thanks to the professor’s paste, there was no scar, and she could conceal her limp if she was determined—so they had no idea how much discomfort she endured daily.
She dressed as quietly as she could. She could probably have made more noise—Erin was out cold on her stomach and sawing logs into her pillow. She snored through Athena’s preparations and exit.
Athena took the elevator to the lobby, then the escalators to the basement, where she found Professor Marsh engaged in conversation with a middle-aged woman who only came up to about his shoulder. They spoke in low, but friendly-sounding voices, yet when Marsh caught sight of Athena, he put a hand on the woman’s arm, and the conversation stopped as the woman turned to look.
“We’ll talk later,” the woman said.
“Indeed,” Marsh said.
Marsh didn’t introduce Athena, and the woman didn’t seem to expect him to. She gave Athena a curt nod and walked away, back toward the elevators.
“She’s not going into the presentation?” Athena said.
“I don’t think she could stand it,” Marsh said.
“Why not?”
“Because she’s a woman of considerable intelligence, and she has a weak stomach for nonsense.”
They entered the ballroom, passing a sign on the placard: THE VOICE OF GOD, THE DISSONANCE, AND JUDEO-CHRISTIAN APOLOGETICS.
“If it’s nonsense—” Athena started to ask, but Marsh shushed her.
“Keep your voice down,” he said.
“If it’s nonsense,” Athena murmured, “why are we up so early to be here?”
“Think of it as reconnaissance,” Marsh said. “Intelligence gathering. It’s important to know how your opponent thinks.”
“Why are these people our opponents?” Athena asked.
“Not here,” Marsh said. “After.”
Athena fell silent, but not happily. If Marsh wanted Athena’s help gathering information, he could have at least briefed her on why they were here ahead of time. That would’ve been helpful.
The panel was sparsely attended, mostly by men around Professor Marsh’s age. This apparently wasn’t a subject of much interest to most Dissonants younger than Moses, which would explain why it was taking place at 7:30 on a Saturday morning. The panel was made up of three older men, one younger man, and one middle-aged woman. They dressed like Marsh, in conservative tweeds and sweater vests, despite the summer weather outside.
The moderator took the lectern at the end of the long table. He was the first other Black person Athena had seen since they arrived. Why were there so few Black people here? Lord knew Black people had enough pain to contend with existing in this world. They ought to outnumber the white attendees by two to one at least. And yet, Athena and this man appeared to be the only spots of color in an otherwise pasty population.
“Good morning,” he said. “My name is Lucius Hannon, and I want to thank you all for being up so early to attend what I think is a very important conversation.” He made eye contact with Athena as he said it, and smiled a little. Athena forced a little return smile, because it seemed the polite thing to do.
Hannon introduced the panelists: Joseph Means, retired professor of theology from Texas Christian College; Daniel Allen, Old Testament scholar from somewhere in Oklahoma; Jeb Hart, a graduate student at a small Bible college in the Midwest; and Cordelia Wehmeyer, a retired schoolteacher from Wisconsin.
Each panelist said hello to both Mr. Hannon and to the audience before Hannon presented them with the first question:
“For most of its history in North America, Dissonant use has been tied to the practice of Christianity. Do you still feel this is a worthwhile, relevant bond?”
Next to Athena, Marsh crossed his arms and sighed, loud enough that some other people in the audience turned to look at him. Athena fought the urge to shrink in her seat. The professor had specifically asked her to attend this panel with him. This was her invitation to the grown-up table. She was proud to be here, and she would act like it. She resquared her shoulders and held her head high. She stared straight ahead like she was interested in the panelists’ answers—and caught Jeb Hart’s glance. He smiled a tiny bit before he spoke.
“That’s something of a softball question,” he said. “The five of us wouldn’t be gathered here on this stage right now if we didn’t think this was important.” His voice was surprisingly deep, and he spoke in a flat, unaffected way. “You might as well ask a duck if it thinks water is relevant.”
Soft laughter rippled through the sparse crowd.
“I disagree,” said Daniel Allen, an overweight man with a few wisps of white hair in frozen exodus from his skull. “Not that we all think this is important—but I take umbrage with Mr. Hart’s flippant tone. Look at the time of day the convention scheduled this panel. First thing in the morning on a Saturday, when most attendees are still sleeping off last night’s parties. Look at the crowd we’ve drawn.” He swept a hand out at the three-fourths-empty ballroom. “We agree this is important, but I believe the larger Dissonant community has dismissed us in deed, if not yet in word.”
