Our Algebra

The world is a beautiful place, its lines and curves and corners; the shapes it makes. The way it presses into itself and then lifts away; the way we lose and gain and lose again. I know it’s beautiful and the Christmas tree is lovely but outside it’s cold and gray and the hot tea isn’t helping this time. A beer instead, maybe, but the calories…

There were things I thought would never change. I thought they were immovable facts of the universe, inevitable and constant like mathematical equations and their answers. In class we found out our mistakes mid-semester. Ultimately, you got an A and I got a B+ so really it turned out fine, jealous as I was. By the end we’d learned the process; the how’s and the why’s of it. But in the algebra of us, I guess we never really figured it out. We made our calculations to imitate the answer everyone else seemed to be getting, the one that must have been from the back of a book no one bothered to give us. We tried to solve for x but we didn’t know that first you have to add and subtract what’s in front; divide and multiply. It was in parenthesis and we thought that meant that it was secondary but really it was foundational. We didn’t know how to look so different and still equal each other; how to reconcile my lengthy numbers and steps and transitions with your bold, singular symbol. We tried over and over and over. At first it looked like it was working; the numbers were falling into place. We wrote things down. We showed our work. When things stopped making sense we went back to the place where we knew we had it right and started fresh again. But at some point I guess we thought we were right when we weren’t. I guess we blew past that first mistake, and the second and third, and by the time we finally realized how far off we were it was impossible to tell where exactly we went wrong. We floundered for a while, reworking equations we knew were inaccurate. Eventually we came to two different conclusions, each convinced of their inerrancy.

And for the first time I’m beginning to think that maybe I don’t equal X at all. At least, not anymore. I’m also beginning to think that maybe I should have realized that a long time ago. Over and over I reworked myself, to make our friendship make sense; to make you want it to make sense, too. You don’t, but at least I can say I tried.

Still I’ve saved every piece of paper, the scraps of us; notes and pictures and cards, wrappers from presents and candy bars. I’ve kept it all, just in case someday we find what we were missing. Just in case someday you want to try again.

But I'm not holding my breath anymore.