Along with pretty much everyone else, Daina had made Lammie the butt of many jokes. He was sort of odd looking in a mr Bean way, his dad dropped him off at Uni every day at 8:55am, he tended to miss the point of most jokes, and as far as anyone could tell, had never been out with a girl before in his life. Him proposing to Daina, who was independent, extremely attractive, had had a few boyfriends… and often made wise cracks ( often at his expense ) just seemed, well, laughable. And she knew it.
But in the months leading up to her birthday, she seemed more and more consumed by Amanda’s wedding - and several times half joked about becoming an old spinster. Could it be that she was so desperate to get married… to anyone…because she was terrified of being “left on the shelf”? The possibility she’d go that far was there, but I really didn’t have her down as that screwed up and irrational.
I thought about it more though, and I started to look back on all the things leading up to it. I soon formulated the theory that she had actually been lining me up for the job of husband. It scared me to think just how early this might have started. I began rewinding the tape, and shuddered as I looked back at things she’d said and done - that I’d said and done - in that context. I wondered if that was what I saw in her eyes that very first time she looked at me in the corridor… that look that made my knees shake, and my pulse race. I had totally misread it. The look was desperation.
Out of all the guys that had asked her out, all the guys who’d given her the eye at the gym, all the buffed third year boys so hot for her, not one had even mentioned marriage. She must have held high hopes for Ewan… until she mentioned the “M” word just six weeks after their first date - forcing him to flee in terror . I wonder if she was disappointed that none of them had gone down on bended knee within a week of meeting her - as her fantasy dictated. She probably thought things were going well with me too… that she was getting somewhere… but at some point, something changed her mind. Either she just gave up on me, or she discovered the picture of my tenuously held girlfriend in my wallet as she “handled” my possessions one day at lunch. I’ll never know the reason.
As her new religion drew her in deeper and deeper, she became even more cut off from the mainstream - and must have watched in fear as her pool of potential suitors dwindled. Before long, guys considered her just too weird and moody to bother with - which probably added to her isolation. But amongst all that was one person who worshiped her. One person who she could impose her will upon, impart her personality on, a raw canvas. She knew he would follow her anywhere - into the flock, and under her God - just to be by her side. She knew women wouldn’t throw themselves at him, and he wouldn’t stray. He’d believe every word she said. She knew she was the best he could ever have dreamed for. Marrying Lammie wasn’t the logical choice for Daina. It was the only choice.
Weeks drifted by, and Daina’s self imposed exile ensured I saw very little of her. I carried on with my work, and my life, but felt the weight of the situation at home keenly without the distraction she provided. It must have been two months later when one day, she suddenly walked up to our circle in the corner, and plopped herself down on one of the low chairs. She didn’t speak, just quietly sighed as she sat down, and stared blankly at the middle of the table, sipping her chicken noodle cup-o-soup. We carried on with our conversation.
It centered around a TV docco many of us had watched the night before, about climate change, and the possibility of the Earth’s magnetic poles shifting. It also covered cataclysmic events, and mass extinctions - evidence of which had been found in rock strata. We were a fair way into the conversation when Daina suddenly looked up, and spoke.
“Except it’s impossible” She said, with a sense of authority.
Well. She must have felt the collective weight of 5 sets of eyes upon her, as they sought her insight into the topic. Perhaps she’d found an alternative explanation for fluctuations in the earth’s magnetic field - or that mass extinctions took longer than expected, or were caused by other more subtle and complex factors. We also assumed she’d watched the documentary. We all paused, and waited for her to speak.
“I mean”, and she raised her eyebrows, “dinosaurs? Pffffft!”
Mr Blonde pulled a quizzical expression. “Yes, dinosaurs. What… you don’t like them?”
“I like them. Doesn’t mean I have to believe in them”, she countered.
Shane glared across the table at her.
“You… don’t believe in them?”, he asked, himself in disbelief.
“There’s no evidence” Daina replied, flippantly, and began peeling a banana.
We all just sat silent for a moment, trying to take what she’d said on board. She chomped the top off her banana.
“So fossil records”, Mr Blonde went on, “are they fake then?”
“No” she replied, “just not as old as they say”.
“Oh. Right” replied Mr Blonde, sitting up, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back into the chair.
“So what are you suggesting?”, I asked, weighing in, “That carbon dating doesn’t work?”
Daina shrugged her shoulders and stuck out her bottom lip. I couldn’t drop it.
“So in determining the relative rate of decay of carbon isotopes, and basic several major geological and biological theories on it, and all of science has made a grave mistake? Is that what you’re trying to say?” I posed.
“Maybe” Daina offered.
“So, let me get this straight… are you suggesting carbon dating doesn’t work?” I replied.
“I’m saying they’re just theories. All of it is just theories”. She bit her banana again.
“Aha” I nodded. “Theories. Like molecules… or atoms or light or gravity”
“Yep” she said, affirmatively.
“Right. So how about the theories you use in your thesis? What about the equipment you use to measure and observe your experiments. Things like the Mass spec and the GC ( Gas chromatograph ) - what makes you so sure they aren’t like carbon dating?”
And Daina looked at me, and frowned a bit. And I felt nothing.
“They work. You can verify results from one with the other” she pointed out.
“Yep. You can. But not always, right?” I challenged.
“No, not always” she replied.
“And many other techniques have been used to cross correlate carbon dating, so why doesn’t that work?”
Daina started to look a bit fidgety.
“Those bones aren’t millions of years old”, she retorted.
I was flabbergasted. I really couldn’t think of anything to say. Here was this person, who was two thirds of the way through her PhD, supposedly in the top half of one percent of the population in terms of smartness - who was able to randomly question some theories - the ones that didn’t fit in with her belief system - but wholly accept those that did. I found it disturbing… more than any of the other weird things I discovered about her.
It made me question the nature of what intelligence was, or more to the point, it’s relationship to education. In that moment, I formed the opinion that Daina was educated, that she had been a fine receptacle for all the facts that were drummed into her. She had learnt well - she had taken on board all that she was tald by her parents, her teachers, her Lecturers, her Professors, and most recently, her preacher. And she’d never questioned any of it. She was educated. She was smart. She’d learnt plenty… but she knew little.
That was the instant I saw Daina for what she was. A naive, scared, self centered, irrational, little girl in the body of a spectacular adult woman. It seemed such a waste to both of them. I knew, in that moment, that she could never look at me that way again - that I could never feel that chemistry, that tension, that borderline obsession I once did. That drug would never work on me ever again. The spell was broken.
I just stood up, turned, and walked out of the lunchroom. I didn’t say a word. As I walked away, my mind drifted back to the times I had wanted her so badly, and just how disasterous it would have been had she let me have her. When she said she thought I understood her, that I “got”her, she could not have been more mistaken. I could never understand her. I would never fathom how her mind worked, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to really know anymore. I started to wonder how much of the common ground we shared was real… and how much was fabricated in her mind… or my mind. I questioned everything that had happened to me over the previous 18 months, in a way that she never could. I wondered what it all meant, and if it had a point. I concluded it probably did. I just hoped I’d figure it out someday.
I knocked off early, and went out to my car. I found the CD - Spiders, by Space, and selected the track. This song was about her. Every girl I’ve ever fallen for has one. As I pulled out of the carpark I sang along with the verse for the last time.
And drove home to sort out my life.
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