The Cartesian coordinate system is a popular method of representing real numbers and is the bane of eighth graders everywhere. Since its introduction by Descartes in 1637, this means of visually characterizing mathematical values has swept the globe, earning a significant role in branches of mathematics such as algebra, geometry, and calculus. Describe yourself as a point or series of points on this axial arrangement. If you are a function, what are you? In which quadrants do you lie? Are x and y enough for you, or do you warrant some love from the z-axis? Be sure to include your domain, range, derivative, and asymptotes, should any apply. Your possibilities are positively and negatively unbounded.
- Inspired by Joshua Nalven, a graduate of West Orange High School, West Orange, NJ (2007-2008)
This made me want to dig up my application essay. It was in response to the "Write an essay somehow inspired by super-huge mustard" prompt, but wound up turning into a short story. You can tell how much Raymond Carver I was reading at the time, and it gets kind of weirdly bad slash fiction-y at the end. It's sort of a hot mess, but shit, I was 17, and I still think it's kind of sweet.
The blacktop was hot beyond the baseball diamond. Sarah fidgeted, waiting for the game to end, shifting from one flip flop to the other. She had no interest in the score, but this summer, like every other she could remember, Darwin was working at the hot dog stand. She remembered, years ago, one of a pony-tailed throng, older brothers’ baseball games. They had giggled in line, no vegetarians then, waiting as he filled their cups with Coke. He slathered on ketchup and mustard, dark hair hanging in his eyes. The girls were that tender age, first beginning to laugh about symbolism, and whispering things about him they didn’t understand.
Their brothers had known him. Sarah’s oldest brother Jack had gone to school with him for a time. But that was before Jack had joined the military. Now Sarah hardly ever saw him, and when she did, her father’s jaw got tight and her mother seemed pale.
But back then Jack went to his brother’s baseball games- Jamie, the middle child, third baseman- because back then Jamie was around. So Sarah would come along, making eyes at the tall and quiet young man, band t-shirts beneath his dirty striped apron.
She was waiting for him now, light glinting in her eyes from the departing cars. Half-blinded, she saw him walking with a cigarette, idly untying greasy knots.
“I’ve still got a few things to do,” he said. “Pete wants me to clean and lock up.” She nodded.
“I’ll keep you company.”
They held hands, picking their way through cigarette butts and bleachers. “We won,” he told her, apathetic. “Oh. I guess that’s good.” A small pause before he replied. “No one comes to see a losing team, and empty seats don’t sell hot dogs.” She nodded.
He pushed his shoulder against the door in the right place, and it was hot inside. The smell of meat and baseball gloves seemed to get down her throat and in her eyes. She held back a slight cough– you think she’d be used to it by now– while he pulled the shutter across the counter window. Eyes adjusting, she released his hand while he got out the Windex. “So what d’you want to do after this?” he asked, spraying down the counter. “I don’t know, see a movie maybe?” She felt distracted.
“Okay.” She eyed the shelves with their streaked glass doors. There were hot dog buns in numbers most people never see, looking sickly in the dim light. Industrial sized tubs of mustard and ketchup. Jamie had once convinced her that this place used those little packets you get at fast food places. She had imagined immense caverns, cold and underground, filled with small mountains of white and red and yellow plastic, leaves you could never jump into. He had been a funny kid, Jamie. Not much of a student, but smart as hell just the same. And he had been proud of his speed, a constant challenger. Too proud, she now knew. Poor kid. When Jack had found out–
“Baby?” Darwin’s voice interrupted her thought. He had come over to throw out bits of brown paper towel, wet and stained blue from cleaning. “You okay?” She nodded. He pushed his hair back with his hand, narrowed his eyes just slightly, looking at her. She kissed him, a blissful distraction from such scrutiny, pressing her tongue between his teeth. He resisted for a moment, as if to say something more, but she slid her hand beneath his shirt with cool fingertips. He pulled tight against her, breaking the kiss to run teeth and tongue along her ear, doing his best not to damage her earring. He’d been chastised for that before. Unclasping her bra, a breathy whisper, surprisingly gentle for his low voice. “I can never feel close enough to you.” The small room and its distinct smell lost focus for her, replaced by the feel of countertop on the backs of her knees. She was quiet.
Later on, in their apartment, she was doing laundry in the kitchen sink while he slept. Her gaze kept pulling back to a picture, framed on top of the fridge. Two brothers, the same eyes, arms wrapped around each other grinning. Her best friends. The focus was terrible, their faces blurred yet the branches behind them were perfectly defined. She had barely known which end of the camera was front back then. She had barely known a lot of things.