The Sum Total
Dust motes dance like ill-conceived clichés in the late afternoon soporific sunbeam falling on Tercia’s lecture notes.
‘Life is not a straight line of events which can be plotted between two fixed points, A and B; or birth and death,’ professor Foxworthy drones on. ‘Not only do we take numerous detours on this long and winding road (some voluntarily; others foisted upon us), but it loops back onto itself. The opening bars of a song, or a chance glance of something perceived, might transport you back to an experience in the past – much like the “Your memories” feature on Facebook. Do we welcome this bump in the road; this reminder of past choices? That might depend on what emotions these stimuli evoke.
‘The crux of the matter is: how long does this flashback last? A few minutes, before you scroll past it and get on with your life; or does it, proverbially speaking, set you back years in therapy? HOW you manage your memories, paves the way for your future.
‘Any questions?’
Thankfully, no one ventures a question. The scraping back of chairs must surely have woken up a few students who were catnapping.
‘Old Foxy nearly caught me yawning back there,’ says Tercia as she passes Brianna in the doorway on their way out. ‘I could do with a strong, black coffee – care to join me?’
Looking up from her cellphone screen where she has been checking her messages, Brianna replies, ‘It would have to be a quick one. It is my turn to pick Zahra up at aftercare. Yes, Foxy was on a roll with his philosophy today. I just wish that he would keep philosophy out of the psychology lectures – they have been separate disciples for more than a century now.’
‘I agree with you there. How is Zahra settling down at the new preschool?’
‘She is doing fine. Kids are very resilient. It’s we, as parents, who fret and fuss,’ says Brianna, returning her cellphone to her bag and slings it over her shoulder, after first having to move her long, black hair out of the way.
‘When I have kids, they will just have to fall in with my routine; not the other way around,’ says Tercia, tucking a stray, blond curl under her beret.
Brianna chuckles. ‘We will talk again when you have kids of your own.’
Looking at their reflection as they pass the display window of the college cafeteria, Tercia quips: ‘We look like an advert for that well-known whiskey; you with your near Asian looks and black hair; and me, with my washed-out complexion – thanks to my Dutch roots.’
‘Like my Mam often says: “We are the sum total of our ancestors – good or bad”. Come, there is a table by the window,’ says Brianna, leading the way. ‘Two coffees, please,’ she orders for both of them as they pass the waitress loitering at the till point.
‘Your Mam’s generation was fed on clichés in order for them not to question their preordained place in society.’
‘That is a bit harsh, Ters. I am sure Mam – especially Mam – had choices in her life. Whether she regrets making certain choices, I cannot say.’
‘But you see: that is the beauty of the system; not only here in this country, but elsewhere as well. One is indoctrinated into believing that the choices we make are “for the best” – whatever that means.’
‘You have a point there. Looking back—’
‘—on Foxy’s long and winding road.’
Brianna busts out laughing. ‘You could not have been asleep all the time.’
‘No, I guess not. It must have seeped into my subconscious like an unwelcome subliminal message.’
‘Two coffees. Anything to eat? We are closing in half an hour’s time, so it would have to be something from the cake stand.’ The waitress hovers with her notepad.
‘No, thank you. This is fine.’ Tercia leans closer to Brianna, and in a conspiratorial whisper, returns to the topic of conversation, ‘Do you think that our parents would have married one another if they had a choice in the matter? Take the waitress over there: she is the product of her parent’s choice – good or bad.’
‘St Francis of Assisi famously said: “But for the Grace of God, there go I”. How do we break the bondage of our ancestors?’
‘Would you have chosen a different path for your parents, Bri? I am happy with my privileged roots.’
‘I can see that you would be, Tercia. However, if, just for the sake of argument, and quoting Old Foxy, Mam had to bump into an old flame of hers, and memories came flooding back, would she become morose or rejoice that she chose my Da?’
‘My dear mother would jump at the chance to reverse some of her decisions, especially the one where she married my father!’
‘They had fewer choices and often settled for the least—’
Tercia vehemently interrupted: ‘Bri, we Millennials have too many choices!’
‘Let me quote Old Foxy again: “How long does this flashback last?”.’ Are we to absorb our parent’s memories and weave them into the tapestry of our own life? For instance: take the Hundred Years’ War between France and England—who knows, or cares, what the argument was about.’
‘Hell, no!’ Tertian exclaims.
‘So, the restrictions placed indirectly on us through our parents passed down through generations – wars over a long-forgotten point, and loves celebrated …
’
‘Well, being given so-called freedom of choice, however many, is of no value to us, unless we have the wisdom to choose wisely. Wisdom is only obtained through past experiences—’
‘—and the memories created on our journey on Foxy’s long and winding road.’
‘Yes, you can say that again, Bri.’
‘So, what is the answer?’
‘I don’t have the answer; just questions which come into focus, then disappear in the confusion of illumination,’ says Tercia, looking out at the changing hues of the early evening sky.
They finish their coffee in silence.
THE END
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