I walked from Daniele’s apartment in the West Village to 245 Fulton. I had taken a shower at her place and put on the same clothes as the night before. I was still wearing my Pumps, which became a kind of modus operandi. I felt good in them, too. They were just my size.

I walked into Q’s office at exactly 9am. There was something extraordinarily nice about coming into this sterile space. It was cleaned every evening. It didn’t have any overbearing scent. The floor-to-ceiling windows were crystal clear. It was almost better than clean sheets.

Q looked like a spring chicken in the morning light. I put down my backpack and removed my notebook. 

I instructed Q to turn on the monitor and pass me the wireless keyboard. I typed our logical deduction from yesterday’s lesson.

WORK = TIME = SACRIFICE

We left this illuminated on the monitor. I took a sip of coffee, but before I could commence my diatribe Q interrupted.

“My mother is in town from Shanghai and would like to meet.”

I was caught a bit off-guard, but before I could reply the phone rang. Q spoke in a dialect I had never heard before and hung up the receiver. 

“She will be here in about twenty minutes. Is that okay with you?”

I nodded, uncertain. 

Q propped herself upright indicating she was ready for me to begin. I cleared my throat and ran my index finger along the first bulleted note, the taste of Belvedere still on my breath. 

• Need to work

“For purposes of this evolutionary discourse about the human connection, let us continue with the presumption that we all have a need to work. That there is a defined period in our lives during which we need to work. And let us further confine this period to a universally accepted age to work – between the ages of 18 to 65.”

Q nodded. 

“A safe enough range to shed light on broad conclusions about our relationship with labor during this evolutionary period. And we’re also continuing along in the same era of history where we previously left off. Landline phones. Blinking hardware devices and desktop monitors. Shockproof CD players playing Mariah Carey. Recipe books and cut-out coupons are the norm. Car phones were rare, reserved for the Ferragamo-shoe hustlers. Cigarettes have been recently banned from airplanes, and there’s no avoiding commercial interludes in between music videos on MTV. Baywatch.”

Q pulled up some more bookmarks and we enjoyed a morning laugh at the trailer to Baywatch. I was nervous that tomorrow there would be a pair of Ferragamo shoes waiting for me. Not a bad deal, though. 

“So, these are our times,” I said, standing and walking towards the window. I looked down towards the top of other imposing skyscrapers. “Hasselhoff is peaking and urbanization is already well-established. Suburbs were entrenched in regional planning, steadily growing in demand. Real world SimCity. It was a buyer’s market for well-manicured lawns, where you could walk your dog and even get a milkman. Welcome topographical space for those, and pretty much most of those, making the trek into our urban hubs. 

I turned towards the room and laid my notebook out on the desk.

“There is nothing unusual here. Very systematic, indeed. Local trains, buses and asphalt engineered for commuter perfection – like veins to the beating heart. Capitalist, Socialist, Communist – the form of governance didn’t make a difference. It still doesn’t. The universal trend of pumping labor into concentrated spaces on our planet has been well underway for several decades. We just improved our systems. Lubricated our railways. Expanded our bandwidth.” 

I struck a line through my bullet note. “Human latency,” I explained. “Do you see where we are heading now?”

“So now we’re talking about labor markets,” remarked Q. 

“Labor markets are too big of a concept to tackle here,” I replied. “I’m no economist. Remember, we’re staying mainstream. We’re concerned with individuals. Like binary – let us try to simplify the elements. And like binary we were. Like binary we are. Being propelled through telephone wires and soon-to-be fiber optic cables at unimaginable latency. Human beings and our commuter ways followed in perfect unison. Silver-dollar-slinging toll booths gave way to automated banking transactions. Express trains emerged with pulsating frequency during predictable commuter work-hours. New lines were built, extending to other spaces emerging on the fringes of the urban hub. And there was always one optimal objective – more volume. We were bird-feed to the concrete nest skyscrapers. We had no need, nor the luxury to question it. Work is work is work.” 

I pointed to the flat-screen monitor where we had branded this into our memory.

“Very interesting.” Q seemed a bit lost. “But what does all of this have to do with the human connection?” 

“Great question.” I turned towards the window. The view was still incredible. Transforming each moment along the maritime with new vessels slicing through the current in shifting sunlight. 

“We continued to evolve for another decade or so,” I explained, “with academics coining a new term: Globalization. Widespread economic theories were based on it. Commerce thrived on it. Multinational companies were becoming modern-day corporate colonists in far-off lands that nobody had heard of, or cared to think twice about. Maritime logistics, air freight and all forms of commercial mobility flourished. Industry was happening in a densely layered and complicated way that impacted our entire planet – that brought our entire world closer together.”

I paused to gather my thoughts, wondering for a moment where I was uncovering this information.  I can’t believe I am back here again. I can’t believe I remembered the way into these ancient ruins. No time for reflection.

“What was your question?” I asked Q. And before she could reply, I remembered. “Right. The human connection.”

“It is an underlying principle of globalization, of course – interconnectedness. And the best part about it – the most hardwire truth of it all – invisible fiber optic cables were already laid beneath the bedrock of our oceans.”

Q nodded and pressed on. “Right, but if we’re talking ‘mainstream’, what does any of this have to do with us, as individuals?”

“Because in order to understand where we are – in order to grasp where we as human beings fit into this network of connectivity, it is necessary to penetrate the greater forces behind it all.”

“I’m not sure I’m following you,” said Q, rising from her chair and walking stiffly towards the Peruvian plant to give it water.

“Let me put it like this,” I replied. “In this contextual moment of our discourse, we are still light years ahead of following a YouTube star in Malaysia. We are confined to playing Tetris, and pinball is still a thing. We are still very physically engaged with our environments, and the World Wide Web hasn’t completely devoured us – there are too many real-world distractions and barriers of entry protecting us.”

I glanced up at some activity on the monitor. “Yes,” I said, “that’s Tetris. But listen, this is important to understand.”

Q momentarily diverted her eyes away from the screen.

“The telecommunications industry was still lobbying hard for long-distance calling rates, and mainstream broadcast news had a chokehold on the national consciousness in ways we still cannot fully separate ourselves from. We were still sitting together around a dinner table watching sitcoms. Together. It would take decades before we achieved some sense of individual autonomy, where information and on-demand engagement is within our full control – or so we believe.” 

“I think I understand.”

“Try not to think so much,” I said without any premediation, wanting to believe it. “You are a smart girl, you will understand. Think of this as a quest. We both want to understand something. We both want to understand more about the human condition and connections between us as people. Is this right?”

She nodded.

“Well, I’ve already told you and your father that I’m probably the wrong person to be speaking with. I’m still trying to understand this entire mess myself. In fact, I pretty much gave up on it. 

“Gave up on what?” asked Q.

I sighed and stared back out the window. I thought of Emmanuel and our conversation over ice-cold vodka. Unfiltered. Right. 

“The human connection,” I replied, “these are not new revelations for me. I’m just unearthing them again.”

“I can see that,” replied Q, in her delicate voice. “You seem experienced.”

“I’m not experienced so much as I’m weathered,” I explained. “In fact, I was wounded. I'm a veteran of a war that has never been recorded in history. I have no medals. There is no recognition or memorial to place flowers on. Like countless others, I am some worn-out, forgotten soldier who has no idea what he was on the front lines for.”

There was a slight pause in the conversation and I could hear the gentle humming of the ventilation system.

“Greater forces,” added Q.

“Greater forces,” I repeated, louder. “Greater forces. Yes, indeed. These greater forces were propagated by visionaries of our times. They were making globalization a reality and perpetuating the concentration of corporate power. Geographically,  it should be obvious to you where this went.”

I smacked the table for impact, startling myself more than Q. “This progress – the progress we are concentrating on in our discourse – went not to the outlier spaces of our planet, but to the beating core. The beating urban core where bottom-line economics and financial models were optimized to a granular unit of production. Production not in terms of industrial production, but human production.” 

I was onto something here, but wasn’t entirely sure if Q was picking up the bread crumbs. “Are you following me?” I asked.

“I’m not sure I am.”

There was a sudden knock at the door and Robert entered. “Mr. Noble, if you would be so kind as to follow me.”

I glanced towards Q who blinked and etched out a smile. “Have a nice weekend, Sam.” 

We walked down the hallway towards the main waiting area by the elevator bank. Robert knocked on a door that opened into a large boardroom.

There were a handful of people in the room, and several departed without notice of my presence.  

I easily spotted Q’s mother, sitting at the end of the table. A man in a dark suit was pointing at a document placed in front of her.  She was on her phone, concentrating, and her inverted eyebrows instantly reminded me of Q.  In fact, aside from her eyes, Q was a splitting image of her mother – just 30 years younger. 

She glanced up at me as I approached the room, and Robert instructed me to take a seat. She spoke in the mother-tongue I heard earlier while simultaneously picking-up a pen to sign a paper. The serious looking man flipped the page and she signed again.

I was intimidated from the moment I entered the room.

“So you must be Sam,” she said, as the people around her quickly gathered documents and left the room. 

“My name is Lilly,” she said, taking a sip of steaming tea that smelled like gunpowder. She had thin lips, like Q. Even her voice sounded eerily similar – delicate, yet with dagger-sharp precision. 

She caught me staring. “You think I look like Q?” she asked, with a knowing smile.

I ironed out my pants and felt my palms sweating. She looked me directly in the eyes. “You don’t notice any differences?” she asked, with very serious interest in my answer.

In fact there was one glaring difference. Not the skin complexion, that was equal. Not the hair color or shape of her face – equal. Even the facial expressions were of the same genetic code.

“Your eyes,” I said, and could sense Lilly’s glare intensifying on mine. “Q’s eyes have a rounder shape. A bit lighter as well. There is no hazel in yours, Q has a subtle hint of emerald.”

“I understand that you minored in sociology,” said Lilly, gently wiping her already clean mouth. I was surprised that she knew this. I couldn’t recall telling anyone in at least 10  years. The last place it was present was on my resume, stored on some hard disk in my apartment. 

“Yes, that was a long time ago,” I replied, unable to hide my suspicion.

“You’re probably wondering how I knew that.” This family had a habit of reading my mind.

“Actually, yes.”

“Well, by now I’m certain you realize how special Q is,” she said.

I nodded.

“And I’m sure you realize that she has certain attributes as well as medical sensitivities. I have done everything to give Q the best life she could possibly live. We have invested time and energy into Q from the very beginning with one single goal.”

She gave me a direct look, unnerving me once again. 

“Do you know what that might be?” Lilly asked. 

“To build human connections,” I replied. 

Lilly gave me a nod of approval. “In so many words, yes. We continuously strive to expose her to life in its infinite dimensions – to the fullest extent possible.”
I nodded, impressed at how sharp her eyebrows were. They were thin and precise. I watched her mouth move as she spoke. It possessed more expressions than Q – a wider range of varieties. Emotional and smart, of course, but also complex and hard-edged. I felt like she could crack a hard shell crab with one bite and suck out all the meat. 

“She has already been to so many places and experienced so much,” Lilly said. 

“Yes, I’ve seen some of the photos in the office,” I replied.

“That is just the very tip of the iceberg, Sam – and we’ve been on those too, on icebreakers near the Arctic Pole. We visited endangered tribes in Brazil. Coal-burning factories in Serbia. Oil rigs in the middle of the Atlantic and nursery schools in Beverly Hills. We raised Q in an unorthodox fashion. We were privileged, and are privileged, to have her so present in our life.”

She paused, blinking her eyes that alluded an earnest expression, and drew a breath. 

“You can’t imagine the feeling of knowing that there is not much time. That you only have so many years to be here, with your child. All of the phases of evolution that we go through, and to know that you will miss out on witnessing what you love the most, continue to evolve. You cannot help but to feel robbed of something.”

I nodded again, realizing that the boardroom had no windows. A large abstract painting hanging on the wall caught my eye – binary numbers running through the canvas outlined a city landscape. It was mesmerizing.

“I can see why Emmanuel chose you,” she said. 

“Emmanuel?”

“Yes, Emmanuel,” she replied. 

 “He has a poet's heart,” said Lilly, “so I can see why he took a natural liking towards you.”

“So it was Emmanuel that found me?” I asked, surprised that I had never really thought about this. “And what do you mean by a poet's heart?” 

Lilly leaned forward, seeming a bit impatient with the conversation. “I can see you're confused, Sam. It is all quite simple, really. One of the emotional dimensions that we’ve found the hardest to cultivate with Q is, well, a pure human connection. We’ve shown her life’s great distresses. We’ve exposed her to human struggles throughout the world. She has spoken to presidents of nations and dined with laborers. We’ve done our best to show her humanity as it really is – without rosy lenses. Still, through all of this we’ve felt that there is still something missing. I’m pretty sure you just said it yourself, Sam.”

I sat back, feeling vulnerable. “So you brought her to some dive bar with sticky floors and mediocre comedians?” I asked.

Lilly placed her hands on the table, overlapping her fingers, one with a magnificent jade stone that seemed ancient. “I will let Emmanuel tell you about that part..”

The door opened and an army of suits entered the room. “Now if you will excuse me, Sam, I do have some other business to attend to.” 

I nodded and pushed the chair back to leave.

“I shall make a point to see you again before I leave,” added Lilly as I left the room.