A Serendipitous Intersection Of Two Separate Worlds
Liam McShane and Stephanie Lancaster and Their Private Magic Dance
Liam McShane would never forget the day he met Stephanie Lancaster. It was on the first day of his classes in his senior year at NYU, and he had decided to take an upper-level anthropology class, to fill out an elective. When he entered the classroom, she was sitting to his left towards the back. She smiled awkwardly as he walked past her and he sat down behind her. He counted out the students, mostly men including himself. There were 12. He didn’t know why he did this, but his mother once told him when he was a toddler, as soon as he learned his numbers, he would spend hours counting everything around him, like lines of cars, numbers of spoons on the table or the number of lights in the room. His attention seemed focused on every detail of his environment.
Of all the numbers he recited, his favourite seemed to be the number 12. When he reached number 12 he would raise his arms in the air and shout, “12, Mommy,” And if he did count and only reached number 11, there was always a disappointment, “only 11, Mommy.”
She never knew what to say at this moment, except sometimes she added another item just to satisfy him and make it 12. Immediately, she could see the mood changes when he shouted enthusiastically, “12, Mommy,” once more.
When their professor didn’t show up for a class on time, many of the students were visibly restless. Liam saTN quietly, writing in a small notebook. Eight minutes passed and finally Professor Grable, looking nervous, came into the classroom.
“I am Professor Grable with the anthropology department. Sorry about my late arrival. My wife just gave birth to a baby this morning so I hope you will forgive my inattentiveness.“ He paused. “This class is titled ‘The History of Ancient Mesopotamia’ Anthropology 405. For the next 11 weeks, we will be explaining in-depth the civilisation which the Greeks called Mesopotamia, the land between the rivers, a land which has gone by many names over the millennia, beginning with Sumer.”
“It is 12 weeks, Professor,” Liam suddenly interrupted him. “We are going to be together for 12 weeks.”
Everyone was surprised by the audacity of Liam’s interruption.
“I’ve counted the weeks from the syllabus and it’s 12,” Liam reiterated.
“You know it’s never a good idea to contradict your professor, especially not on the very first day of class, Especially after I just told you I have had a baby. What is your name?”
“My name is Liam McShane.”
“I hope this isn’t a harbinger of things to come.”
“I’m not trying to be difficult. Details are important to me.” Liam continued. “‘11 weeks of class, three hours class time per week, except Thanksgiving week which is one hour and a two-hour final. Thabt comes to 33 hours we will spend together given 100% attendance. Numbers are important. Some scholars believe that it was in ancient Mesopotamia that numbers were first recognised.”
“This scholar believes that in ancient Sumer mathematics gestated and was born,” Professor Grable answered.
“One final request, Mr McShane. I welcome any and all questions in this classroom,so long as they are presented with decorum and civility. Will you in the future, honour the rules of decorum?”
“Of course.”
“My first order of business is for us to introduce one another, just give me your names and one sentence about you, then I will give a brief description of what is expected of you in this class.”
He pointed to a young Asian woman in the front of the classroom.
“Sunyi Cho,” she answered. “I am looking forward to learning about Sumer.”
“I hope I don’t disappoint you, Ms Cho.”
He pointed to each one and they answered.
“Edward Garvey, I am an anthropology major. Final year.”
“Anthropology is a life commitment. Hopefully, you’re far away from your final year.”
“Andrew Gianotti, philosophy major, mathematics freak.”
“Don’t freak out too much, Mr Gianotti.” He pronounced the last name with a perfect Italian accent.
“Theodore Gianakis. My family came from Mesopotamia.”
“I wouldn’t be bragging about that. Only ruffians came from Mesopotamia.”
“Wasn’t Eden supposed to be in Mesopotamia?” The second young woman interjected. I am Sara Kleborg and I love learning about ancient societies.”
“Don’t love it so much, it’s not all that you read in the textbooks.”
“James Donovan,” the next in line spoke. “I really have nothing else to say.”
“Silence is sweet. Continue.”
“Benjamin Nimajneb.”
“Nimajneb? You have to be kidding me. It’s a made-up last name,” Professor Grable responded.
“No, it’s bohemian.”
“It’s Benjamin backwards. I see your mother was into symmetry.”
“All surnames are made-up names.” He answered. “I can show you my driver’s license.”
“Won’t be necessary. Next please.”
“Nelson Braddock, I don’t think Nimajneb is a legitimate name either.”
“I am in agreement with Nelson, I’d ask to see his ID.” The next spoke. “ My name is Brian Richardson.”
“Thank you, Mr Richardson. Three more.”
Stephanie began to speak but Professor Grable interrupted, “No, Ms Lancaster. I’m saving your introduction for last. Could the two men answer?”
“I’ve seen Ben’s ID. That is his last name,” Peter Griffin replied. “My name is Peter Griffin, and I forgot what I was going to say.”
“I am Douglas Trimble. I am a math major and I read that almost all mathematics comes from Ancient Sumer and I just wanted to learn about it.”
“Welcome, Mr Trimble.”
“The last male sat awkwardly on his seat as all attention focused on him. He seemed reluctant to speak.
“To quote the immortal Kingfield from The Paper Chase movie ‘Fill the room with your intelligence.’”
“Clark is mute, Professor Grable,” Stephanie answered in a delicate British accent. “He can’t introduce himself.”
“So what is his name, Ms Lancaster?”
“He is Clark Caville.”
“Alliteration. I’m sorry about your disability, Mr Caville. Now finally we come to the end, the daughter of the eminent anthropologist and Egyptologist, Sir Richard Lancaster. Introduce yourself.”
“I am a little embarrassed by such attention,” she responded. “I, like everyone else, am here to learn.”
“Thank you all for putting up with my ritual. It helps us all to remember one another’s names.”
Liam turned his head a moment and stared into Stephanie’s face and she looked back at him. He knew immediately there was a connection between them, and this was the last brief note he wrote in his notebook before he closed it and put it back in his pocket, ‘I met Stephanie Lancaster today, the greatest day of my life.’
“You didn’t give us your first name, Professor Grable,” Alison interrupted him a second time. “So we technically haven’t finished this ritual.”
“That is correct, Mr McShane, I didn’t.”
“It’s in the school directly, if I remember,” Sunyi interrupted.
“It’s not in the directory,” Professor Grable answered with a harsher tone in his voice. “It’s not in any school-related document.”
None of them understood why Professor Grable was reluctant to tell them his first name, unless, of course, it was something ridiculous.
“Now that we are finished with our introductions, let’s get to the meat of the course.”
Professor Grable pulled down a large map which rolled up like a shade and it read on the top, “Old Mesopotamia circa 4000 BCE.”
The BCE was a nice stylised font and Liam noticed immediately it looked like the number 1308.
He took his notebook out and wrote a brief note, ‘BCE =1308. What is significant about 1308?’
“There were five important empires which ruled this land of Southern Iraq and Syria,” Professor Grable began. “Ancient Sumer, the Akkadians, the Assyrians, The Babylonians and the Macedonians. It is a general theory among scholars including myself that the Ancient Sumer Empire began around 4500 BCE.“ He paused. “In this class, we will explore each of these empires in succession. We will talk about culture, language, religions, mathematics and science, but always with proper decorum.“ He stared at Liam. “I think this is enough for today. I’d like to go and see my baby. See you at the next session.”
Then Professor Grable left the classroom. The other students began to leave as well, but Liam was still sitting at his desk, scribbling in his small notebook. Stephanie approached him and stood right in front of his desk.
“Mr McShane,” she told him to get his attention. He lifted his eyes.
“I’m so sorry I’m so sorry when I get involved with my own thoughts a bomb could go off and I wouldn’t notice.”
“I just want to tell you how impressed I was at your courage to challenge Professor Grable on the first day of class.”
“It wasn’t a challenge. I just wish people would pay attention to the details.”
“What are you writing in this notebook?”
“Thoughts, impressions, observations. I keep a running log of what I’m thinking.”
“What bloody reason would you have for doing that?”
“Because it’s important to me.”
“You are an odd fellow, Mr McShane.”
“I suppose I am. But I have my reasons.”
“So what is it that you do?”
“You mean my major? Or is it a more general life question?”
“Let’s start with that.”
He was surprised that she was speaking to him at all. Few people as a general rule spoke to him, except for Max Goldman and Paul Eisenstein, two classmates he had met in a literature class, part of the core requirements for their degrees.
“I am a philosophy major, with a literature minor.”
“Do you read?”
“I presume I read. I’m here on a scholarship at NYU. I managed to get through three years. So, I suppose I read.”
On his desktop, she could see a copy of the textbook for the class and another book titled, ‘Wholeness and The Implicate Order’ by David Bohm. It was worn and torn, revealing that it had been read many times. He looked at her more closely, scanned from her head to her feet, memorising every minor detail of her appearance, From her blonde hair pinned behind her head to the delicate features of her physiognomy, to her delicate feet in a pair of dark blue sneakers.
“You’re absolutely amazing, the most extraordinary young woman I’ve ever met and I can’t understand for the life of me why you would be talking to me.”
She was visibly moved by what he had spoken.
“You’re an odd man, Mr McShane. But the most intelligent man in the room.”
“I am the only man in the room. Some of the worst men in the world are highly intelligent.”
She picked up his copy of the David Bohm book and began to look at it.
“I see you like this book. It’s seen a lot of use. You can buy another copy, you know.”
“This is a special book, It changed my life and if you open the cover you’ll see it was signed by Professor Bohm himself.”
She opened the cover and could see David Bohm's distinctive signature in the centre of the front page. She handed the book back to Liam.
“I once met David bomb,” she told him. “Of course, I don’t remember it. I was just two years old. My brother Lionel remembers him. He is three years older and he was five. My father brought us to the University of London to meet him.”
“You obviously travel in different circles than I do.”
“Where did you get this book?” She asked him.
“Now that’s a long story. Don’t you have class somewhere?”
“Not for an hour.”
“I found it in a garbage can near a bench near the arch my first week on campus. I passed it three times before I sat down and fished it out. It opened my mind to begin to see the world in a completely different way.”
“Let’s go get something to eat,” she told him.
Liam stood up from the table, gathered his things and together they left the classroom. So began their friendship as he walked across campus toward the student activity Centre with Stephanie walking beside him. For Liam, it felt like a dream.
When they arrived at the cafeteria, it was crowded and Stephanie joined a line of over a dozen people. There were nearly a dozen tables nearly filled with students. Liam stood behind her.
“Tell me how many students there are. I know you have counted them.”
“126 including you and I.”
“Impressive. How many employees?”
“16.”
“You’re like a computer.” She told him.
“I am more like an obsessive.”
“Have you taken an IQ test?”
“What an impurent question! Is there a minimum threshold or you won’t talk to me anymore?”
“I can estimate IQs.”
“That must be a disappointing ability. Then you must know what my IQ is if that number makes any difference.”
They waited 10 minutes until they both reached the front of the serving line. She ordered a grilled fish fillet and French fries and he ordered a turkey sandwich on wheat bread. Then they walked with their trays to a table with four chairs at the southeast corner of the dining room.
“So tell me about yourself, Mr McShane.”
“Don’t call me Mr McShane. My Father was Mr McShane. My name is Liam.”
“I am not ready yet to dispense with the formalities.”
“Alright, Ms Lancaster.”
“What did you write about in your little notebook? You said you write all your thoughts down. Read it to me. Please.”
“Why would you be interested in what I wrote down? No one is interested in what I write down in my notebooks.”
“I am. Tell me, please.”
He reluctantly removed the notebook from his pocket and opened it. He turned to the last page written and began reading it.
“Met Stephanie Lancaster today, the greatest day of my life.”
Three minutes of awkward silence followed and Liam shifted nervously on his chair.
“Thank you, Liam,” she finally answered. “Please eat.”
He began to awkwardly eat his sandwich.
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you,” she told him.
“I’m not embarrassed. It is the greatest day of my life. Thank you.”
He watched her as she ate her lunch and she kept looking at him while he finished the sandwich. Thtn to his surprise she asked him, “what are you doing after class today?”
“I’m going back to my dormitory room and reading Kirkegaard.”
“I am going to the Museum of Natural History. You’re welcome to come along. There is something I want to show you.”
“I haven’t been there since I was a child,” Liam answered. “Sure, I will tag along.”
At this moment, both his friends, Max Goldman and Paul Eisenstein joined them at the table. They both seemed surprised the young woman was talking to Liam.
“I didn’t expect to see you here today,” Max told him. “Don’t you go to the Indian restaurant on Tuesdays? Paul and I are going to see a film tonight.”
“What movie this time?” Liam asked them.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Paul asked
“These are my friends, Max Goldman and Paul Eisenstein. This is Stephanie Lancaster.”
She looked relieved that they do not seem to know who she was.
“Nice to meet you, Stephanie,” Max told her. “The movie is ‘The Fisher King.” You’re welcome to join us.”
“Thank you,” she responded. “But I am escorting Liam to the Museum of Natural History tonight.”
“Where should we meet? I have to go to class now.”
“Let’s meet at the middle bench on the west side of the Washington Arch in Washington Square Park. I will be there at 5 o’clock.”
She stood up from the table and then Liam stood up and Max and Paul followed “I will see you there at 5 o’clock. It was nice meeting you, Paul and Max.”
She turned around and walked away. All three of them watched as she left the cafeteria. Liam was the first to sit down.
“I can’t believe Stephanie Lancaster is talking to me.”
“She’s hot,” Paul told him. “How did you meet her?”
“I met her in class. Please don’t use that word around her.”
“I’ve never met anyone in a class,” Paul observed.
“Neither had I. But she came to talk to me.”
“You must have made quite an impression on her,” Paul remarked.
“I am as surprised by it as you are. But as you saw she wants me to come with her to the Museum of Natural History. I have to go to a class myself.”
Liam left his friends at the table. As he walked across campus to the history department where his next class in American history was located, he still wondered if he was dreaming. For the rest of the afternoon through three classes, American history, the philosophy of Soren Kierkegaard and the modern American dramatists, He could not pay attention to what his professors were saying. He kept thinking about Stephanie. He only wrote one note in his notebook at 3:35 in the afternoon. “What if everything goes wrong?”
He was 22 years old and 10 years of his life had been a living exploration of things going wrong. His father had died suddenly of a heart attack, his mother overcome with grief, became ill, and he became the primary caretaker for his younger sister. In the midst of all the struggles, he found the strength within himself to do well in school and he had earned a four-year scholarship to NYU. Stephanie who was across campus in another classroom was also thinking about Liam. She had immediately recognised these qualities about him. Liam finished his last class at 4:15 pm. He walked across campus to the arch. There was a young couple sitting on the bench, when he arrived. He watched them speaking enthusiastically, hoping they would leave before Stephanie arrived. He could also see the same metal garbage can where three years before he had found the David Bohm book. His memory danced randomly through many of his most important moments. One moment he remembered his first day on campus three years before, then he was sitting in a mind-altering philosophy class a week before, from fragments of conversations he had heard over the years to memories from his childhood. 20 minutes later, the couple finally left the bench and he walked toward it. He set his canvas bag down on the bench and sat down. He grabbed the metal bench with both hands and leaned forward. Behind him was the arch. For the next 10 minutes, he watched, scanning the streets around him in a wide semicircle. He counted cars that passed and pedestrians. He took out his notebook and began to write random words, “nervous”, “expectation”, and “no disappointment.” Then he put the notebook back into his pocket.
Stephanie arrived at 5:02 and Liam, at first, did not realise she had arrived. She stood in front of the bench watching him as he was preoccupied writing in his notebook.
“Liam,” she greeted him and finally got his attention.
Liam came out of his trance and acknowledged her. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I get lost in an impression.”
“May I sit down for a moment?” she asked him.
“Of course.” He slid over a few inches and she sat down beside him on his right side.
“So this is where your friendship with David Bohm began,” she told him. “From this bench?”
“Yes.”
“Not a bad place to gather your thoughts,” she told him. “I have sat on this bench a few times.”
“You’ve been on this bench before?”
“Yea. If my father had his way, I’d be in school in England. But I fought to be here.” She paused. “what do you do here when you sit.”
“Sometimes I just think about things. Sometimes I write. I just put my ideas on paper.”
“Writing makes it possible for us to transcend space and time to enter into the experience in the minds of those separated by a great time and distance,” she told him.
She noticed Liam had a canvas bag with him.
“Can I look in your bag?” She asked him.
“Of course,” he answered.
She put the bag on her lap and began to look inside. There were two books, David Bohm’s, and another titled ‘The Holographic Universe’ and a composition notebook. There was also a small camera. She took the camera out of the bag.
“Is there film in your camera?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will take a photograph.”
He did not object and she stood back from the bench and photographed him twice and then she handed him his camera. “Photograph me as well.”
“She stood motionless and waited for him to take the pictures and she smiled awkwardly as he adjusted the camera.
“You look great,” he told her.
After he snapped a picture, he set the camera down beside him.,
“Are you ready to leave now?” He asked her.
“Just a few more memories,” she told him. She said down on the bench beside him.
“Tell me about the book,” she told him.
“No that’s a sad story,” he told her. “Do you really want to hear a sad story?”
“Yes,” she answered emphatically. “I want to know what makes you tick.”
“Like a Clock?“ He rebounded. “It was the day my mother died. My sister called me from Jersey City and about the same time of the year and I walked around campus for hours and then sit down here on this page, just thinking then I saw the book just thrown in the garbage can. I fished it out and began reading it. That book got me through three very difficult months.”
“It’s a physics book,” she told him.
“Yes, the subtleties of quantum physics gave comfort and meaning to my life.”
“I’m sorry about your mother. My mother died as well when I was very young.” She paused a moment.”I’ve never really gotten over it.”
“Neither have I,” he acknowledged.
“Let’s go, Liam and see the museum.”
“One last question. How did this book give you comfort?”
“Because it made me understand that beneath all of the seemingly random chaos of my life with its share of suffering and tragedy there was an inherent order and symmetry, that somehow we are all connected to one another from the least of us to the greatest. Just as this bench and that book and you and I are now connected.”
“Great answer,” she told him. “Now let us depart.”
Then he stood up from the bench and then the two of them began to walk towards the Fourth Street subway station for the B train uptown. Stephanie carried his camera.
The train was crowded and Stephanie and Liam were only inches apart as they rode the train uptown. The 74 block trip took twenty-two minutes and Liam fought the impulse to write down this number in his book. He had many small notebooks in his dormitory room filled with such random details, but like a computer calculating statistical data, he had found himself unable to stop himself. This is the way his mind worked every moment he was awake.
“Are you okay, Liam?” She asked him almost halfway through their journey.
“I’m fine,” he answered her.
“Are you still doing your calculations?”
“I can’t help myself.”
“You’ve been doing this your whole life?”
“As long as I remember.”
“You must have been useful at the supermarket.”
She paused and looked around the subway car.
“How many riders are in this car right now?”
“40 sitting down, 17 standing.”
“57.”
The train stopped and the doors opened and several people got off and several others came on. She recognised that Liam had kept track of it all.
“How many now?”
“8 stepped off, 4 stepped on. It's very simple math if you just pay attention.”
“How do you keep your mind from being overwhelmed with all these numbers?”
“Everyone counts, Stephanie, it's how the brain keeps track of information from all our senses. Consciousness itself is a form of counting.”
When they arrived at the 79th Street Station, Liam was the first to step off the train. They both climbed up the steps of the train station to the west side of Central Park West. As I stood on a sidewalk looking at the side of the museum, she asked him, “How many steps from the subway platform to the front doors of the museum?”
“This some kind of game for you?” Liam responded. “Just because I have these numbers in my head doesn’t mean I recite every one of them.”
“It’s not a game, more of a test period I just want to test your abilities.”
“I don’t have any special abilities. I’m just paying close attention. 75 steps. 76 if you count the curb is a step. I am ambivalent whether it should be counted.”
“I want to ask any more numbers tonight but I reserve the right to revisit the subject.”
“Of course.” He paused. “Why don’t you tell me something unusual about yourself?”
“I am teaching myself Akkadian, one of about a dozen people who understand that ancient language.”
“How difficult is that?”
“Difficult. But I want to be able to read the records, understand who they were, what they felt and thought about.”
They both began to walk up the steps toward the eastern entrance of the building. After they entered the front doorway with the others and paid for their tickets, Stephanie took out the camera and began to take photographs. Liam watched her as she made a complete circle around the front foyer.
“How many times have you been here before?” He asked her.
“Many times.”
“As I told you before, I want to be on here once when I was 8 years old.”
“And you know how many steps were from the subway to the building?”
“I counted them then.”
“And you remember something like that from that long ago?”
“I remember a lot more than that,“ he told her. He wanted the tell her more, but held his tongue.
“Why didn’t you avail yourself of all the great museums in this wonderful city?” She asked him, “With your abilities, you could have benefited tremendously from them.”
“Because of financial considerations,” he responded.
What he didn’t tell her then, but she would one day discover about him, what is his financial support of his sister since their mother died. It was a statement filled with personal anguish and he spoke these words with a different tone and timbre. But he was too excited to allow any past demons to spoil the moment.
As they began to explore the museum, he watched her move from exhibit to exhibit as a bee might jump from flower to flower. She kept taking photographs of the exhibits and then an occasional photo of Liam. As they began to travel from floor to floor in what first seemed like completely random directions, Liam began to suspect there was an inherent pattern we need the surface of the seeming randomness of their journey. She seemed to be enjoying this game, taking him to exhibits on several floors and then returning them back to the main lobby. He followed her a few steps behind as though being led by a guide. This seemed even more ironic when she passed the Lewis and Clark exhibit and stopped to take a picture of the three figures behind a glass.
“Are you trying to toy with me?” He finally asked her. “I feel like a rabbit being chased by a fox.”
“You are following me,” she responded. “I’d be the rabbit and you’d be the Fox.” She paused. “I am testing you. I want to find the limits of your pattern perception.”
“I don’t like being tested like this,” Liam told her.
“I think you do. You have been waiting your whole life for someone to take notice of your capacities. People see you every day, and the have no idea who you are and what you’re capable of being. I saw it Immediately, even before you spoke a word.”
“Most people simply ignore me.”
“Most people don’t pay attention to details.” She reached into her back and removed a key. “I want to show you something.”
Then she took him into the basement of the building down on a small staircase and through a long narrow hallway toward a number of closed storage rooms. On the left side of the corridor, four doors from the end, she put in the key and opened the lock. She swung the door open outwards and turned on a light. This is my special room. On the door was a plaque which read, “Room 1308.” He remembered the 1308 reference from earlier in the day.
He walked over to the open door and stood behind her looking into the room, Filled with obviously ancient objects, places and pictures and bowls, many painted with elaborate images of what looked like ordinary scenes of some ancient peoples, engaging in the routine rituals of daily life. She lifted carefully what looked like a serving bowl and rotated it, showing him the images of cultures that seemed totally unfamiliar to him, from lives he presumed had been lived thousands of years before his. Then she carefully put the bowl back on its shelf. He struggled to recognise many of the scenes, a family sitting at meals, images of horses and chariots, children who were playing, of people playing music.
“So what do you think?” She asked him.
“They don’t mind you handling their artefacts like this?”
“These are my artefacts,” she told him, “given to me by my father. For my father, it is about beautiful objects found and recovered from the earth. For me, it’s about the people who created the subjects. I want to understand them, connect with them.”
“How is that possible?” He asked.
“I will find a way somehow.”
“I see in your own way, you are as unique a person as I am.”
“I am,” she admitted. “But despite your objection now, I think you believe we can connect with the past.”
“And maybe even the future,” Liam responded. She turned off the light.
“I will bring you back here again one day for a closer look. But for now, I have one final exhibit to show you.”
He noticed that she didn’t take any photographs of her special room. She too came back upstairs then downstairs again to where the large well was mounted and she said down on the floor beneath the whale.
“Please sit down here with me,” she told him and Liam cautiously sat down beside her.
“This is where I come to sit sometimes and contemplate my life.”
“You are really quite a mystic,” he observed.
“My father says the same thing about me. My brother Lionel is more practical, more like my father. They say I am like my mother, though I barely remember her. “I have a photograph.”
She reached into a bag and removed one photograph of a mother, looking strikingly like Stephanie, but more serious.
“She was a botanist.”
She returned the photograph to her bag.
“I hope you don’t mind my keeping your camera for a couple of days. I will bring it back when I develop the photographs.”
“Of course not, I don’t even know why I brought it. I almost never take photographs of anything.”
“Photographs capture the images of memories, like the drawings on the bowl I showed you.”
“But after we are gone, who else can find meaning in them?”
This was one thing Liam thought about often, how temporary his thoughts and experience could finally prove to be. This sense of impermanency haunted Liam almost every moment of his life.
