A Journey of One Mile pt. 2

Mark wasn't burdened by her usual attire, layers of heavy dress and delicate shoes, but she couldn't shake the habit of walking as if she was. The unnamed escort, who moved at a slightly less ladylike pace, kept looking over her shoulder making sure Mark wasn't being left behind, every so often issuing the question 'Am I walking too fast for you?' or an offer of 'If you'd like, I can slow down.' Each time Mark would decline the offer, but give thanks for the consideration.

Even among these foreign MIT people the woman stood out. Her heavy accent was the first thing Mark noticed; she had been exposed to Boston accents all her life and had even picked up a bit of the dialect, but this woman's way of speaking could only be properly described as thick. Her choice of fashion was equally bold; decked out in an ankle-length black and white checkered dress with a matching headband, her long jet hair danced back and forth as she trotted down the sidewalk, earrings swinging, mesmerizingly, on their slender golden chains. On closer inspection, Mark noticed the pendants were in fact tiny vacuum tubes; oddly technological jewelry indeed, perhaps she would serve more use in guiding her to Whirlwind than merely delivering her to the correct address.

Slowing her pace, the woman allowed Mark to catch up with her. "If yah don' mind me asking, what brings yah to these pahts?"

Mark minded, actually, but didn't want to seem suspicious by refusing to answer. "Oh, I'm just here to meet someone," she stated flatly, hoping to avoid further questioning.

"Yeah? And might this be a mattah ah work or leisure?"

"Leisure," Mark replied, "nothing official at all."

"I only ask because ah yah uniform…" she expounded, looking Mark up and down, "I'm an ensign myself, by the way."

"Oh, is that a fact?" Mark never would have guessed she was a military woman; she seemed too flashy, too… undisciplined-acting. Reminding herself that most people would probably say the same about her, Mark disregarded the notion; it wasn't wise to make such superficial judgements.

"Yes ma'am. Well, weah here!" They were in front of a hedge-lined red brick building, unremarkable-looking, save ornate marble decorations and a cupola-tipped tower at one end. But it is a remarkable place, one of the most in this city, maybe the world, Mark mused; for it housed a most impressive and rare being. The thought that one of her own kind was so near both tantalized Mark's imagination and gave her butterflies in the stomach; she had successfully reached her destination but the most difficult part was still ahead. Following her guide up the stairway and through an arched green door, they entered a nondescript looking hallway.

The clicking sound of a doorknob issued from somewhere down the hall, followed by the creaking opening of a door; an older man dressed in a suit and tie stepped out. Attention immediately turning toward the woman and the parcel in her hands, he spoke: "Back so soon?"

"I'm a fast walker, what can I say?"

The man took the bag from her hands before turning his attention to Mark. "And I see you've brought a friend– hold on," as he studied Mark's face, his expression turned to surprised recognition, "Mark? Harvard Mark...?"

Completely staggered, Mark barely had time to form a response before the woman spoke up. "Hahvahd Mahk?!" she cried, astonished,  "It IS you! I'm jus' not used to seein yah like this… well, I'm not used to seein yah at all, those old photos ant much tah work with…"

"Photos?" Mark asked, finding enough composure to speak at last. "What old...?"

"From the Post article," the man answered, referencing an feature that had been run in the newspaper; her arrival as Boston's first computer had caused a minor stir among the public. "But when was that– a year ago? So, Mark, what brings you across town and out of your caretakers' watchful view?"

"Oh, it's a bit silly…" Mark suddenly felt hesitant, filled with misgivings for her plans. What she was about to say was incredibly odd, even now that they knew who, or rather what, she was; she hoped she could explain her intentions properly enough to avoid a misunderstanding. Pale skin turning ruddy with nerves, seawater eyes shifting back and forth between the woman and man, she spoke: "I'm actually looking for a child – excuse me – a young computer. Her name is Whirlwind-"

At once, man gave a small chuckle and woman suppressed a few giggles before she couldn't hold back any longer; with a coarse snort, she broke into laughter. "Child! Oh my GAHD, yah lookin' foah Whirl-w-w-wind?!"

Insulted by her insouciance, Mark threw injured glance. "W-whatever do you find so humorous?"

Fits of chortling subsided, the woman dabbed away the tears that had gathered in the corners of her jovial blue eyes. "My apologies, my apologies… it's just that, well," she gestured at herself with a small flourish of one hand, "you found'ah."  

Mark stared for a moment, a mix of surprise and confusion stirring in her mind. Surely she was too old to be the real Whirlwind – too normal-acting, human, to actually be a computer. Was this a hoax, she an impostor? Quickly, Mark brushed the notion out her mind, instead assuring herself that some of the facts surrounding Whirlwind had been lost in transit between MIT and Harvard, or that she had misunderstood some very important point.  "You're Whirlwind?" she asked, narrowing her eyes in puzzlement; while the notions she held about Whirlwind were shattered, she couldn't help but try to hold onto the pieces. "But… why… you're my age almost!"

"Word travels slowly when it comes to these mattahs, as I'm shoah yah undastand – even aftah my debut, they didn' wanna go public with the news." Whirlwind leaned in a little closer,  "They'ah always so cautious when it comes to releasin' infamation on us computahs, even to the rest of the academic community. Don't want espionage, yah know?"  Whether or not that last part was supposed to be taken in jest was unclear to Mark.

She understood the danger involved in being a computer and their reasons for being sheltered, of course, but that she had been living so near another for her entire life and never met until today upset Mark. "I just wonder why we've never met before."

"It doesn't seem right, does it?" Whirlwind replied, "but just because we nevah got to meet in the past doesn' mean we can't get togetha sometime now. In fact… yah welcome to stay for lunch, if you haven't..."

"I would," she gave a mournful glance at her watch, whose hands indicated the time was three-thirty, "but I really should be going home now. I'm supposed to be back by four, and I want to give myself a little extra time just in case I… I get lost again." She blushed a bit; certainly her savvy hosts would would find her stumblebum ineptness at navigating the streets of Cambridge hilarious.

But Whirlwind didn't laugh. "I know this place like the back ah my hand," she began, "I can show yah the fastest way home, if yah'd like that is…"

Mark felt self-conscious about accepting the offer, but deciding this would be a great opportunity to spend a little more time with one of her kind, she agreed. Evening was rapidly approaching now, the air a little crisper and shadows long, streets and sidewalks starting to swell with commuters recently released from work. But Mark, enthralled in conversation with Whirlwind, paid little attention to the hustle and bustle of the surroundings or the jarring ride of the streetcar; in fact, it seemed like only moments had passed when she finally reached her stop.

"I guess this is bye for now." Mark said, stepping off the trolley. "And thanks a lot for helping me find my way today … I hope I wasn't any inconvenience to you."

"It was my pleashah," Whirlwind responded, "besides, how often do I get to talk with anotha computah? Actually, it's nevah," she added with a small, good-natured laugh, "you'ah the first I've met."

Feeling both comforted by – and special because of – this knowledge, Mark watched as the trolley jumped to life, exchanging farewell waves with Whirlwind the car moved farther away and finally disappeared behind a corner. Turning, she made her way back to the Physics Center building; feeling a little less alone in the universe, or at least the city.
…