hand.
“Eight o’clock.”
“Mom, you don’t have to schedule it. We’re all here. It’s not like we’re going to forget to bring you with us,” said Tom.
“What’s the name of the play we’re going to see?” asked Anna.
“Proof,” said Lydia.
“Are you nervous?” asked Tom.
“A little, because it’s opening night, and you’re all going to be there. But I’ll forget you exist once I’m onstage.”
“Lydia, what time is your play?” asked Alice.
“Mom, you just asked that. Don’t worry about it,” said Tom.
“It’s at eight o’clock, Mom,” said Lydia. “Tom, you’re not helping.”
“No, you’re not helping. Why should she have to worry about remembering something that she doesn’t have to remember?”
“She won’t worry about it if she puts it in her BlackBerry. Just let her do it,” said Lydia.
“Well, she shouldn’t be relying on that BlackBerry anyway. She should be exercising her memory whenever she can,” said Anna.
“So which is it? Should she be memorizing my showtime or totally relying on us?” asked Lydia.
“You should be encouraging her to focus and really pay attention. She should try to recall the information on her own and not get lazy,” said Anna.
“She’s not lazy,” said Lydia.
“You and that BlackBerry are enabling her. Look, Mom, what time is Lydia’s show tomorrow?” asked Anna.
“I don’t know. That’s why I asked her,” said Alice.
“She told you the answer twice, Mom. Can you try to remember what she said?”
“Anna, stop quizzing her,” said Tom.
“I was going to enter it in my BlackBerry, but you interrupted me.”
“I’m not asking you to look it up in your BlackBerry. I’m asking you to remember the time she said.”
“Well, I didn’t try to remember the time, because I was going to punch it in.”
“Mom, just think for a second. What time is Lydia’s show tomorrow?”
She didn’t know the answer, but she knew that poor Anna needed to be put in her place.
“Lydia, what time is your show tomorrow?” asked Alice.
“Eight o’clock.”
“It’s at eight o’clock, Anna.”
FIVE MINUTES BEFORE EIGHT O’CLOCK, they settled in their seats, second row center. The Monomoy Theatre was an intimate venue, with only a hundred seats and a stage floor just a few feet from the first row.
Alice couldn’t wait for the lights to go down. She’d read this play and talked about it extensively with Lydia. She’d even helped her run lines. Lydia was playing Catherine, daughter of her mathematical genius-gone-mad father. Alice couldn’t wait to see these characters come alive right in front of her.
From the very first scene, the acting was nuanced, honest, and multidimensional, and Alice became easily and completely absorbed in the imaginary world the actors created. Catherine claimed she’d written a groundbreaking proof, but neither her love interest nor her estranged sister believed her, and they both questioned her mental stability. She tortured herself with the fear that, like her genius father, she might be going crazy. Alice experienced her pain, betrayal, and fear right along with her. She was mesmerizing from beginning to end.
Afterward, the actors came out into the audience. Catherine beamed. John gave her flowers and a huge, emphatic hug.
“You were amazing, absolutely incredible!” said John.
“Thank you so much! Isn’t it such a great play?”
The others hugged and kissed and praised her, too.
“You were brilliant, beautiful to watch,” said Alice.
“Thank you.”
“Will we get to see you in anything else this summer?” asked Alice.
She looked at Alice for an uncomfortably long time before she answered.
“No, this is my only role for the summer.”
“Are you here for just the summer season?”
The question seemed to make her sad as she considered it. Her eyes welled with tears.
“Yes, I’m moving back to L.A. at the end of August, but I’ll be back this way a lot to visit with my family.”
“Mom, that’s Lydia, your daughter,” said Anna.
The well-being of a neuron depends on its ability to communicate with other neurons. Studies have shown that electrical and chemical stimulation from both a neuron’s inputs and its targets support vital cellular processes. Neurons unable to connect effectively with other neurons atrophy. Useless, an abandoned neuron will die.
SEPTEMBER 2004
Although it was officially the beginning of fall semester at Harvard, the weather was steadfastly adhering to the rules according to the Roman calendar. It was a sticky eighty degrees that summer morning in September as Alice began her commute to Harvard Yard. In the days just before and following matriculation each year, it always amused her to see the first-year students who weren’t from New England. Fall in Cambridge evoked images of vibrant leaves, apple picking, football games, and wool