Mathematics as Literature: Variables
This is how we begin. Solitary letters further compose among themselves words of reclusiveness, not touching of course, which compose yet more misanthropic sentences which actually remain two spaces from each other: the most isolated of them all. Misanthropic, they are, because their distance seems to be based on their hatred for one another. But who knows; sentences don’t speak human, and humans don’t speak sentence, so I guess we shall never understand why they are separated. And my human instinct of hasty judgment has downgraded their relationship to hate. Anyway, we are actually here to talk about these isolated creatures of isolated universe, which is separated from the beauty that lies beyond it.
As a matter of fact these creatures that strive in isolation have a name: Variables.
As a matter of further fact, thee shalt discuss one young man in particular, who we will simply know as Variable Recluse (that’s not his real name, mind you).
If you are not familiar with the story of Variable Recluse, please do not fret; I am quite profuse in my knowledge of the tale. Here it is (you should be warned that this is not a happily ending fairy tale. A cautionary tale, if you will.).
Variable started high school on a day when the sun seemed to be shrieking, “Burn, little humans, burn!” This was not a problem for Variable; he would much rather have burned by the sun than endure that day. He passed the main gate, head bowed; he entered through the front doors, head bowed; he ran right into a solid and thick pole, because his head was bowed. Only, the pole was speaking to him. The pole spoke angrily to him. The pole bore its teeth. The pole flexed its arms, which looked like they were filled with millions of little pebbles. In point of fact, the pole was not a pole at all, due to the aforementioned attributes. It was a boy, a burly boulderlike thing with thick and curly hair, eyes that must have been a different color but shone with nothing but a blinding indigo. And it was not the precious one of rainbows; no, it was the freezing kind. Needless to say, he knocked Variable down to the linoleum corridor floor for the disturbance. Variable found himself growing more isolated because, with that one encounter, his chances for a friendship had been decreased by one.
He stood up, head still down. Mr. Burly Boy followed and said, “What’s so interesting about your laces, you down-headed squirrel?”
His courtiers of friends giggled madly behind him; the encouragement the snickers bestowed upon Mr. Burly Boy were prevalent in the way his eyes lit up.
“Squirrel!” he screamed. “Looks like a squirrel, don’t he? Never seen a more squirrel-ish thing before in my life—not even an actual squirrel!”
More laughs ensued, and some of the Courtiers of Encouragement even began to pull at Variable’s green anorak, his best friend unfortunately. He shoved them off in that off-handed sort of way to avoid more trouble.
“Well,” Variable said, his first word of the day. “A squirrel is better than a steroid injected and screaming chipmunk.”
The briefest of pauses.
“Such as yourself,” Variable inputted for clarity’s sake, running his thin fingers through his freshly mown hair.
“Meet me after school,” said the affronted and red faced boy in a quiet and expressionless voice. “Eastside Park. Settle this on the first day and determine dominance of these halls.”
The boy and his underlings took off down the hallway, without another word. Variable’s heart melted with terror, only to be reborn and melt again, and this process continued until the ringing of the bells.
First class of the day: Mathematics, ironically. Smart boy, Variable was. Refused to answer questions, he did. Mr. Tried stared at Variable at the end of class, only saying:
“If you refuse to participate, then I suppose my work with you is over for this school year.”
Variable’s isolation grew, his heart expanding and compressing with each word Tried said.
Second class: English, without much irony to that really. Smart boy, Variable was. Refused to answer questions, he did. Mrs. Dight did not even look at him at the end of class, having discussed the problem with Tried and, while staring at her files, muttered softly:
“So much meaningless potential in such a small body.”
Expand, compress, Variable sang in his head in order to forget the words.
Third class: Science. Irony, well a bit. Smart boy, Variable was. Refused to answer questions, he did. Mrs. Sailed was almost crying when she realized Variable’s classroom attitude. She burst out, with frustrated passion:
“Why are you even here for God’s sake?”
If only I knew, thought Variable, trying to swallow a smirk as he continued to fly further away. He felt like he hardly had a heart at that point.
Fourth class: History. No irony. Smart boy, Variable was. Refused to answer questions, he did Mr. Seconds was laughing at Variable’s absurdity. He said, amidst chuckles:
“Participation isn’t the devil, you know.”
As he laughed, an insane chuckle exploded from Variable’s own throat and obliterated the room around him, completely drawing him away from the whole experience of human existence.
As he laughed coldly, he hardly knew what a heart was anymore.
Variable
Met
The
Burly
Boy
After
School.
And that’s where it ends, really.
Needless to say, Variable did ugly things in that brawl. The other boy was hurt. Isolation had taken him from the start, and it had actually made his body separated from his heart.
Variable taught us that humans are indeed not variables. As in mathematics, variables should be isolated. That’s how they thrive; that’s how we know what they represent. But when humans become variables, when the separate themselves, they lose touch of what they represent, and they begin to represent something else—something terrible.
Please continue the discussion below.