Hidden Variable

University of Central Florida STARS Electronic Theses and Dissertations, 2004-2019 2012 Hidden Variable Heather Harms University of Central Florida Part of the Creative Writing Commons Find similar works at: https://stars.library.ucf.edu/etd University of Central Florida Libraries http://library.ucf.edu This Masters Thesis (Open Access) is brought to you for free and open access by STARS. It has been accepted for inclusion in Electronic Theses and Dissertations, 2004-2019 by an authorized administrator of STARS. For more information, please contact [email protected]. STARS Citation Harms, Heather, "Hidden Variable" (2012). Electronic Theses and Dissertations, 2004-2019. 2388. https://stars.library.ucf.edu/etd/2388 HIDDEN VARIABLE by HEATHER MARIA HARMS B.A. University of Central Florida, 2004 B.S. University of Central Florida, 2004 A thesis submitted in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Master of Fine Arts in the Department of English in the College of Arts and Sciences at the University of Central Florida Orlando, Florida Fall Term 2012 © 2012 Heather Harms ii ABSTRACT Hidden Variable is a novel that blends linear storytelling with the novel-in-stories form. It poses questions about the nature of identity as well as the feasibility of personal power, particularly with respect to disorders of the mind. Darla Pierson, the novel’s protagonist, is a woman in crisis. She is steeped in self- loathing brought on by the knowledge that she has, in effect, become her dead father—a genius with an epic libido, habitually using and discarding people. Her father has another habit that Darla doesn’t share: being struck by lightning. After the second strike kills him, Darla makes a conscious attempt to recreate herself. But soon the new Darla sinks into depression, and her act begins to crumble, damaging her and those around her. Throughout the years, she and her family members experience periodic clashes with nature, never fully realizing that sometimes the most powerful, most devastating opponent comes not from without, but within. iii TABLE OF CONTENTS PROLOGUE ................................................................................................................................... 1 POKER ........................................................................................................................................... 8 SUMMER ..................................................................................................................................... 18 NATURE ...................................................................................................................................... 30 BLACKOUT ................................................................................................................................. 43 PANIC........................................................................................................................................... 53 ST. AUGUSTINE ......................................................................................................................... 65 KATE AND RICHARD ............................................................................................................... 71 FALLING ..................................................................................................................................... 74 THE STORY OF NOTHING, PART I ......................................................................................... 84 REMINGTON STEELE ............................................................................................................... 95 THE STORY OF NOTHING, PART II ..................................................................................... 109 HURRICANE ............................................................................................................................. 122 THE STORY OF NOTHING, PART III .................................................................................... 125 LAST DAY ................................................................................................................................. 141 STEAK LAMBRUSCO .............................................................................................................. 151 LOGIC ........................................................................................................................................ 154 iv There’s something more to existence: at the level of atoms, at the level of universes. Even Einstein knew that quantum physics didn’t tell the whole story—the unknown factors, the unpredictable consequences. It turns out, Einstein was right, but he didn’t know the half of it. --Richard Pierson PROLOGUE Electrocution runs in my family. Before I was born, my great-great grandfather was killed in a field in Massachusetts, working on one of the first alternating current power lines—his fingers charred by a fallen aluminum-steel cable, the current travelling from his hand through his body to the ground. My brother Robert, at thirteen, tried to fry himself in the tub with a weather radio. Between my great- great grandfather and my brother was my father, who in the span of nine years was struck by lightning, twice. The second strike was the one that got him, but the first was the one I witnessed, slack-jawed. We were at Streeter Lake, the only standing body of water in my small Connecticut town, Saxton. It was July, in the middle of an oppressive summer whose air was so thick you could feel the weight of it in your lungs. I reached toward Robert’s lopsided castle for the plastic bucket and shovel. “Go screw,” he said. He was six, I was eight. My mother slapped him on the knee, her teeth clenching, cat-eyes flashing. She did this whenever my brother said something inappropriate, which was often. “Robbie, quit it. You don’t use that language.” 1 “Well, I don’t want his stupid shovel anyway,” I said. “It’s contaminated.” “You don’t even know what that means,” Robert said. “Yes I do. It means dirty.” “Well, duh. It’s been in the dirt.” The small, gravelly beach became nearly empty as the day wore thin. A hot breeze rolled off the water and the distant sky warned of an approaching storm, cobalt blue turning black. My father was in the water about 200 feet away, as he had been all afternoon. His strong back soaked up the light, exposed flesh turning a deep brown, though it hadn’t seen the sun for months. He never came and lay on the towel that my mother dutifully set out, but instead swam mechanically to and from the buoys. “I’m going to go swim out with Dad,” I said. My mother’s eyes cast another warning. “Darla, you stay close to shore. And be quick, those clouds are coming in dark.” “I wouldn’t go in the water,” Robert said. “There’s giant leeches in the water.” “There’s so not leeches in the water,” I said. “Fine. It’s your funeral,” he said. “It’s your idiot imagination.” I went to the lake’s edge. Back and forth went my father. He never tired, never rested. This was back when he could do no wrong, even when he did everything wrong. By the time I was in my teens his genius ceased to fill me with awe. I started to get a handle on his megalomania, but it was too late—I was well on my way to becoming him. 2 I dipped my toe in and shivered. For some reason the water was always cold, even on the hottest days of the year. I forced myself to wade in up to my knees, quickly losing feeling in my feet. I couldn’t see clear to the bottom the way I could with some of the larger, ocean-fed lakes in New England, or any spring I’d later find in Florida. Rather, the water was muddy yellow and you had to close your eyes underwater or risk puffing up for a week. Something black and squishy floated beneath the surface and I chided myself because it was just a weed. After ten full minutes my father swam past me and collapsed on the sand, panting, staring straight ahead at a fixed point on the horizon. He didn’t say a word, so I got out of the water and sat next to him. I didn’t speak because I knew better. Finally his too-deep voice tumbled onto the breeze. “You should swim out there. It’s invigorating.” “Mom says I can’t. Too dangerous.” He nodded toward the tree line. “Maybe so.” He was silent for a minute more. Then he reached in his bathing shorts’ pocket and pulled out a small black shell. “You know,” he said. “This snail holds the shape of the universe.” He traced the slimy shell’s coils with his finger. “It’s called a logarithmic spiral. It’s found everywhere, from the reaches of galaxies to the arms of cyclones. People often call it a golden spiral, but they’re wrong. That would be the true Holy Grail.” I nodded. To my father, everything needed to be larger than life. Snails weren’t just snails—the small stood for the big, or it stood for nothing. The world to him was a series of puzzles and equations, and science was God. In his short life he became a renowned 3 mathematician and physicist. Back then he was the only person I talked about. When I finally had him pegged and for a long time after that, I didn’t tell anyone he was my father. “Well,” he said. “What do you think?” I tried to look thoughtful, as I believed you should when having a smart conversation about important things. “Yes. Definitely.” He smirked at me sideways. “Quick now,” he said, turning the shell over and over in his hand. “If you had fifty-eight friends and you wanted to give them each sixty-nine shells, how many is that?” “Four thousand and two.” “Pi to twenty digits?” “Three point one four one five nine two

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