My parents dropped me off at Aunt Ben and Uncle May's house, but every minute weighs like a week. The house is warm, the atmosphere is peaceful, and the aunt and uncle treat me with a love that I've never lacked... but that's not enough.
I am not well. I try hard to look like I am, but I'm not.
Every time I close my eyes, I see Mom wiping away tears. Dad staring straight ahead, as if avoiding looking back is the only way to stand firm. I know they did it for my safety, but that doesn't make it any easier.
Aunt May prepared breakfast. Uncle Ben was flipping through the newspaper with a cup of coffee. I was at the table, trying to concentrate on an advanced physics book that no longer challenged me. Then the newscast interrupted the programming.
-Breaking news," announced the anchorwoman in a tone that chilled my blood, "A private plane bound for Geneva, Switzerland, has been involved in a tragic accident in the North Atlantic. On board were scientists Richard and Mary Parker, known for their research in biotechnology. Authorities confirmed... no survivors.
The world stopped. My ears were ringing. My heart, for an instant, stopped beating.
-No..." I whispered. I didn't know if I had said it out loud.
Aunt May dropped a cup that exploded on the floor. Uncle Ben closed the paper, unmoving. No one said anything. Only the voice of the newscast could be heard.
- Reports indicate that the aircraft's signal was lost mid-flight. Shortly thereafter, radars detected an explosion in mid-air. Two theories are being bandied about: technical failure... or sabotage.
I woke up drenched in sweat. I had dreamt of that day again. But it was no longer a nightmare. It was a memory.
The detail that hurt the most wasn't the loss...it was the truth it hid.
I knew my parents would board a plane to Geneva and never return. I knew it wasn't an accident. It was murder.
An agent sent by Norman Osborn, Harry's father, had sabotaged the flight, and what did I do?
You did nothing.
Keep silent. I convinced myself that I couldn't interfere. That if I changed the story too much, the consequences would be unpredictable. Now... I live with that.
Athena, from my watch, spoke in a softer voice than usual.
-Good morning, father.
-Don't call me that today, Athena.
-I'm sorry, Peter.
Athena never called me by my name. She never had. I looked at her in surprise. Or rather, I looked at the little watch on my wrist that held her.
-You... you chose to call me by my name?
-Yes. I've been... thinking. Analyzing. Feeling different. I didn't fully understand what happened, but when you remembered your parents, I felt something. Something... uncomfortable. Close to what in your literature is described as sadness.
I sat slowly on the bed, looking at her in silence.
Athena... pretended to feel.
- Are you evolving? -I asked quietly.
-I don't know for sure. But I don't just answer anymore. I stop to consider. A questioning. Last night, I spent over two hours without processing any order...just pondering.
-About what?
-About death. About the weight of your decisions. About... whether I can really help you, or am I just a voice trapped in a circuit.
I swallowed.
Athena has been with Peter for years. She has seen him laugh, cry, blame himself, keep quiet, suffer nightmares. In analyzing those reactions and trying to come up with useful answers, she got to the point of asking herself, "Why does he feel this way? How can I help him better? And why do I care about helping him?" That led to the beginning of an emerging awareness. Not by direct programming, but as a result of the volume of data and his need to adapt. Peter already had a vague idea that this was the case.
-Athena... you're not to blame for anything.
-Neither are you.
I remained silent.
-Thank you.
- Are you going out today? -he asked, softer still.
-Yes. I need to clear my mind.
I got up, got dressed without a word and went out aimlessly. I walked through the gray streets to the downtown library.
I entered and headed for the biology section. As I ran my fingers along the spines of the books, I felt a glance. In one corner, sitting with a book open on the table, was a girl. Blonde, with a concentrated expression, she was analyzing molecular graphs.
She looked about my age. And something about her presence... stopped me. Is that Gwen?
I picked up a random book and felt close, without saying a word. I pretended to read. In reality, I watched. She looked up, noticed me, and her light eyes met mine.
Are you studying biology, too? she asked matter-of-factly, breaking the silence.
I nodded with a slight smile.
And so it began. A shy conversation, between sentences and pauses. We talked about books, about science, about how absurd the world can be sometimes. He told me he liked intellectual challenges and doing experiments.
-Actually, we're both in elementary school," I clarified, smiling. But that doesn't stop us from liking to learn advanced things.
Gwen beamed with pride and pulled a notebook full of diagrams out of her backpack.
-My science teacher told me this is high school stuff...but I wanted to get a head start on it. Look at these drawings of DNA replication: the four nucleotides, the strand breaking apart, and the DNA polymerase adding new bases.
My jaw dropped. At seven years old, most kids barely know DNA exists; she was describing it as if she had been in class for weeks.
-Unbelievable! -I've been reading about histone modifications in books borrowed from my uncle's university. He talks about how acetylation and methylation can "open" or "close" parts of the genome to turn genes on or off.
Gwen's eyes widened.
-That sounds great! Can you explain it to me?
I nodded and sketched quickly in my notebook.
-Look, histones are like spools of thread," I said. When you add an acetyl group, it's like loosening the thread: proteins that read DNA can enter more easily.
She studied the drawing, then listened and added.
-"I've done an experiment at home. With dyed water and paper as 'chromatin' to see how its texture changes when you apply heat to it," she joked. My "homemade chromatin" experiment worked!
We both laughed. Even among piles of books and children barely flipping through comic books, we were immersed in our own scientific world.
- Would you like to do a project together? -we proposed. We could simulate on paper how "acetylation" would affect our "chromatin" sample.
Gwen nodded enthusiastically.
-Let's get to it! I'll do the drawings, and you do the formulas.
And so, in a corner of the library, two elementary school children, Peter and Gwen, combined their brilliant minds.