The Ilia-Brolwimns Equation

The GPS was supposed to be his friend. Kip shifted his watch on his wrist, quickly calculating when he would be arriving home with the current rate of traffic. The projected time on the GPS was optimistic, three minutes late at best. He tapped the screen to change the route. It would take him through the gravel road, but still get him home faster than the highway. His Ma was probably worried sick by this hour; Kip wouldn’t be surprised if he found her calling the police. The shadows of the incessant pine trees along the street ducked away as far as Kip could see out the window. Maybe with the stack of student papers he had to grade, a microwave chicken stir-fry might be easier. Ma would be pleased, that was her favorite.

Kip’s Ma was following a home cardio workout when he stumbled in holding keys and student papers. He stood for a minute watching her jump from side to side, and then went to microwave two frozen chicken stir-fry dinners. The squeals of the over-enthusiastic trainer on the television program repeated sets of squats, high knees, and “you got this, keep pushing through!” Kip’s eyes wandered from the screen with the smiling actor who barely seemed to sweat, to his Ma, who was attempting to follow the trainer at the same pace, to the wall near the television where a shelf of decorations and pictures rested. Kip caught himself looking at the pictures. For some reason, he always paused on the one with him and his Ma and Pa around the kitchen table during their Thanksgiving feast when he was in second grade.

The beeping from the microwave snapped his attention. “Ma, dinner’s ready.” Kip set both plates on the square, wooden table. His Ma continued grunting alongside the workout program. “Ma, dinner’s ready,” Kip repeated louder before sitting and pulling the top paper from the stack.

Ma shut off the television and waddled over, squinting at the plate. “I cooked myself some pork chops since you were late. I skipped breakfast this morning, but I ate a few muffins in the afternoon so I’m trying to double my cardio and cut calories in the next week.”

Kip looked up from his plate. It was normal for older people to gain weight, although physical perception of self was a heavy factor in the equation, so he never tried to convince his Ma to stop if she wanted to lose weight. “Pretty sure that’s not how weight gain works, Ma.” He narrowed his eyebrows. “You should eat the three meals I prep you every week. I’ve calculated calories so that you’ll lose weight with them.”

She muttered a comeback of ignorance and wandered away. Kip watched her go and then stared at the two plates of food in front of him. Nutrition was also a heavy factor in the equation, but it seemed his Ma was at least ten grams short of the daily value skipping dinner. He’d have to double the portion tomorrow. He blinked twice before returning to grade the psychology papers on the difference of perception and reality. A moment later, his cell phone erupted in a ring. He waited for the second, and then answered.

“Hi, Dr. Ilia-Brolwimns speaking.” Kip drew in his breath and exhaled as he listened. He closed his eyes. “Thank you. Wow, the Peace Prize and publish the equation in the Times? That’s great. Of course. See you tomorrow.” He hung up and stared at the two plates of food in front of him. Then, he resumed his grading. His student had interpreted an equation incorrectly.



Kip was swarmed when he opened the glass doors of the Math building. Flashes of cameras and cheers erupted from the crowd, many of whom he didn’t recognize, even as a senior staff member.

“Kip, you’re finally here! The news network disrupted us bright and early so thanks for that. Calls from people who claim to know you but probably don’t, if you know what I mean.” The Director of the Math Department gave him a firm handshake and back pat. “I know it’s early, but we’ve got a bunch of press here who want to do some interviews… and then what do you say we grab some drinks later to celebrate?”

Kip chuckled. “Always thinking about the next beer, aren’t you? Let’s do it.”
“Just because his office is in the Math building doesn’t just make him one of yours!” The Director of Neuroscience strode up to the pair and embraced Kip. “What’s going on with this casual blue suit, Kip? You’ve got to look the mad genius scientist now!” He teased Kip, grabbing Kip’s right shoulder and rubbing it. Kip nudged the director back and the three exchanged laughs.

The two directors guided Kip to the main conference room after a fanatic clamor from strangers Kip barely remembered, even those who used to turn their heads away from him. Finally, he met the calm hands of the President of the University.

“Congratulations on the Nobel Peace Prize, Dr. Ilia.” He almost seemed to whisper in Kip’s ears with the prying eyes of the press eagerly waiting on the side. “You always have shined for the University and we are so proud of your research. The news segment just has a few questions and then you can get back to your scheduled lectures if that’s even possible at this point. Things should die down until the awards ceremony in two weeks and you’ll have a few more segments to do then. Take it all in while you can. It’s an honor of a lifetime.”
“Thank you, Mr. President.” Kip shook a few more hands and settled into a chair. The blaring lights made him conscious of his thin dress shirt beginning to drench in sweat, his unpolished dress shoes, his half-combed hair, his itchy neck. The Directors of Math and Neuroscience gave him encouraging gestures from the side, and Kip winked back at them.

“So,” the interviewer leaned forward with almost sparkling eyes. “It’s so great to meet you, Dr. Ilia-Brolwimns, and we definitely want to congratulate and thank you for your incredible research you’ve published and shared with the world. Your paper starts out with a little qualification.” She pushed her glasses further up the bridge of her nose and looked down at her clipboard to read verbatim the words Kip remembered writing. “The equation that culminated from years of research of analyzing causes, tracking patterns, purchases, family, friends, and many more factors is more than just that. It lets one understand conditions they might be struggling with, and ultimately seeks to improve those individual factors. However, this is not a guide to life, simply something to help understand it. We fear what we don’t understand, and I fear what a short-sighted, sometimes privileged or relatively temporary pain can set off.” The interviewer looked back at him. “This must have taken intense amount of work and collaboration and we want to know all the details. What inspired you to begin this research? What did you mean by this qualification?”

The lights seemed to shut, pausing the interview, and Kip was transported back home twenty-five years ago. There was a window in front of him, the one he always ran to after his Ma called for dinner, to catch when Pa would be returning from work. He wasn’t tall enough to see, so he kneeled on the living room couch pillows that he stacked sky-high, legs wobbling from side to side. It had been raining, and the streetlamp reflected the water droplets on the driveway in a faint glimmer that made him think the headlights of the car were turning in. Even after he was snuggled in bed with no worry that his Pa would return soon, only the faint glimmer remained.

The interviewer cleared her throat and pushed her glasses further up her nasal bridge. Kip blinked back into the glaring lights. He opened his mouth and began to give his scripted response.



The bell was broken on the store counter, so Kip found himself standing and waiting, looking around at the few shuffling, silent individuals in the aisles. As usual, there was no music playing and the lights were dim. Nobody appeared like an employee, and he entertained the thought of walking out with the rack of clearance shirts to see if that would warrant a quicker response from the employees. Finally, a short man with wrinkled clothes rushed to the counter from the back.

“Hi,” Kip nodded at him, “I’m looking for some higher-end ties with pins and didn’t see them in the usual tie section. Do you carry any?”

The worker paused and thought for a moment. “Yes, we have a small set that just got moved further to the back because they aren’t clearance. I believe the colors are blue, green, and black, for thirty dollars each.”

Kip raised his eyebrows. When he usually shopped here, most dress shirts were under fifteen. He did need a nicer outfit for his award ceremony next week, as the Director of Neuroscience had pointed out, but would anybody tell his tie was not the highest quality? “I’ll just take this one, then.” He placed a faded purple tie on the counter. Impulsive self-care and its role in the equation was a part he researched for quite a while alongside the Director of Psychology. He remembered the nights they had ordered delivery to the University, arguing profusely about self-care’s impact on the psyche. Kip still believed what he had argued that day; that it had different weights per person and per object. The tie wasn’t integral for him.

Kip stopped two blocks over at White House Black Market. He remembered his Ma’s size and her preference: no sparkles and a wide, black dress that wasn’t form-fitting. He spotted a plain, dark blue dress with a slight fold on the side. Elegant, classy, and fitting for her age. She probably wouldn’t mind the blue, with this being a celebration. When he flipped the price tag, he nodded to himself. This was for Ma, and if buying it made her happy, his score would increase as well. He grabbed his Ma’s size off the rack.

Kip laid the dress on the counter, careful that it didn’t catch the sharp edge. The cashier beamed at him as she scanned the tag. “Fantastic choice! This color especially just came in the new collection. What’s the occasion?”

“Just an awards ceremony,” Kip batted his right hand to the side as if disregarding it.

“Would you like to throw in one of our belts to match the dress?” The cashier gestured to the side. “I think whoever this is for would love the leather accent of the light brown. It’s currently on sale for twenty.”

Kip wondered if his Ma would like the belt. It would tighten the dress around her stomach, but it could help boost her self-perception, especially if it looked appealing on her. “That sounds great.”



It was still light when he arrived back home. Kip sat in the car ripping the price tag off the dress and belt. A publication last year from a neighboring university discussed the effect of visualizing monetary cost on desire and acceptance. He referenced them in his own publication, where they explored the exact weight of monetary cost in the overarching equation. He knew his Ma could improve in this area. When he entered, he heard laughter echoing from the living room and found his Ma on the phone.

“Kip just got home. I’ll have to pick back up with you later! Yes, tell me how that goes. Bye!” His Ma hung up and looked up at him. “You’re back early!”

Kip handed his Ma the dress. “Got you a new dress.”

His Ma gasped and stood to fan out the dress. “This is beautiful, Kip. Why the sudden gift?”

Kip cleared his throat. “I won the Nobel Peace Prize. I have an awards ceremony next week and thought you might want to wear a new dress.”

His Ma let out a cry of joy and tossed the dress to the side to embrace him. “Kip, that’s fantastic! I knew decisions were coming out soon, but I wasn’t sure when. I’m so proud of you, this is big news. I’ll have to tell everybody!” She grabbed her phone eagerly. Kip could feel a previously absent energy surge through him, almost exuding from his skin. It was a direct correlation in the equation; his Ma seemed to be happier already.

Ma paused before she left. “And while I do appreciate it very much, you didn’t have to get me the dress, Kip. I thought I told you that I just got two new ones a few months ago. One’s a sparkly light green. I definitely can wear that to the ceremony.”

“Oh, that’s great.” Kip shook his head trying to remember when his Ma had gone shopping. Her self-care factor had most likely increased. “I thought after Pa you only wanted black dresses.”

“Are you going out tonight to celebrate with your friends at all?” His Ma folded the dress over her arm. “Any dates you’ve been keeping from me?”

Kip blinked. “My co-workers invited me out for drinks, but I wasn’t sure if I should go. I’ve got to grade a few more papers and did a bunch of talking with those interviews today. Plus, I haven’t cooked your dinner tonight.” His Ma had been focusing on her physical health indoors, and although he bought the proper vitamin supplements for her, she needed a variety of sources. “We could go out to the nature trail after and take a walk if you’d like.”

“I think you should go with your friends. I have to make those calls anyway and we have some leftovers! No drinks if you’re driving, though.” His Ma waved him away encouragingly.

“Okay, if you think so,” Kip shrugged. Now that he thought of it, he couldn’t remember the last time his Ma had left the house.



“Here’s to Dr. Ilia! Cheers for our newest Nobel Peace Prize winner. All those days buried inside your books led to something, I guess!” The Director of the Math Department lifted his beer.
Kip rolled his eyes but raised his drink as mutters of congratulations circled the table. “Do I get a raise now?” The table burst into laughter and Kip grinned.

“All right, Kip,” he turned to find the Director of Psychology next to him swirling a drink in his hand. “I’ve got someone I want you to meet here, she’s a special friend of mine who works at the city college.”

“Really, tonight?” Kip protested. His coworkers always tried to be matchmakers for him. But just as he finished speaking the Director of Psychology had disappeared, and a young woman with lucid black hair had replaced him.

“I can leave if you want.” She turned slightly, obviously having heard Kip’s comment.

“No, no.” Kip smiled apologetically. “He’s just always connecting me with ladies, if you know what I mean.”

“I do. He always does the same for me,” she paused. “So, you’re Dr. Ilia-Brolwimns, the Nobel Peace Prize winner?”

“Well, that was really only recent news, so please don’t expect too much from me.” Kip laughed.

She seemed curious and slightly unamused. “I’ve been familiar with your publications long before the award release, being a professor myself. You invented this equation? These, categories, this test?”

Kip tilted his head. She wanted to engage in his research. “Yes, I did, with the help of many people.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “It’s impressive for sure. How are you dealing with the mother who claims your publication caused her son to kill himself?”
Kip blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I read in the news that a young college student read your publication, took the test and filled out the equation, and took his life the next day. I’m guessing his result was in one of the more severe ends and he saw it as a loss of hope rather than the possibility to survive. His mother apparently blames the equation you made on his death. She wants to sue, I think.” Her eyes seemed to beat down on Kip.

Kip scoffed in shock. He moved his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

“You must have seen this coming, though, right?” Her eyes continued to beat down on him. Her eyebrows narrowed in concern. “Dr. Ilia? Maybe I shouldn’t have brought this up in our first conversation,” she sighed and frowned in frustration. “Sorry, that’s the professor in me coming out, and I was really interested in what you had to say. You did really amazing work and I’m sure it’ll help people everywhere in preventing suicide.” She bit her lip. “How’s your week been?”

“He’s been going out on the town, prepping those autographs, haven’t you, Kip?” The Director of Psychology had returned, beer in hand.

“You’ve definitely got that right.” Kip smirked. “This guy knows everything about me, you might as well ask him the questions!” Kip stood and took the Director’s hand. “Need to head out now, got some errands to run. Thanks for setting this up.”

“Knowing you, off to your next gig. What is it, the baseball game tonight?” The Director let out a hearty guffaw and slapped Kip on the back.

“Will I get to see you again?” The lady placed her hand gently on Kip’s arm, which seemed to shake. She was a professor too and seemed intellectually challenging.

Kip could probably get along fine with her. If he added another friend that could vastly improve his own equation score. His mind abruptly shifted to his Ma sitting at home, waiting for her properly portioned meals. “Maybe.”



The Directors of Psychology and Math told Kip not to listen to the news the next week when his interview was supposed to air. Kip thought maybe he had an eyelash stuck to his forehead the whole time, as the two Directors had joked when he inquired the reason, but Kip considered his self-perception and confidence percentage high enough to pull up the stream anyways. The interview was just about how he predicted it would go, and he noticed nothing extraordinary when watching. However, just as Kip was about to close out of the website when they were turning it back to the anchors, he paused to listen.

“While it’s fantastic that we got an in-person discussion of Dr. Ilia-Brolwimns’ ambitious endeavor that will hopefully help people everywhere, that has not exactly been the case. Several reports have been made of parents whose college students have recently committed suicide as a result of using the Ilia-Brolwimns Equation. We’ve removed names to protect privacy, but several parents have requested the removal of this publication on internet journals in order to protect their children. Dr. Ilia-Brolwimns’ research institution could very soon be under fire for supporting this research. We’ll keep updated on this developing story. Back to you.”
A knock at his office door broke Kip’s stare. He quickly turned off the television and opened the door. One of his psychology students stood in front of him, holding the most recently graded paper Kip had handed back. She stared at him with unblinking eyes and a stiff body.

“Hi Dr. Ilia, I was wondering if you had a few minutes to go over some questions I had about my grade on the paper.”

“Of course, come in.” He guided her in and sat down in his chair.

“You marked me off in my third paragraph saying my logic and reasoning behind my claims to reality and self-perception were incorrect, but I don’t understand how an opinion can be marked as incorrect.” She handed Kip the paper and he skimmed it over.

“Ah, yes.” Kip nodded, remembering that he had marked the paper for a redo. “There’s slight gray area in this claim here you make but recall the study I mentioned in class that utilized functional magnetic resonance imaging on subjects to determine long-term effects of when reality and self-perception match. When they were found to have harmonious alignment, or when the subject truly understood their reality, they were easier to respond to it correctly, there were less misunderstandings and miscommunications, and they overall showed greater levels of serotonin. When they had dissonant alignment, or when the subject did not reflect an accurate read of reality, that is when lower levels and errors in comprehension were recorded.”

“Yes, but shouldn’t self-perception always win over reality, no matter if it’s harmonious or dissonant alignment?” The student paused. Her lip seemed to tremble. “You see, my older brother just recently took his own life because his reality aligned with his self-perception, and they were both horrible, not because they didn’t align. To you or me, his situation might have been a happy reality that he just self-perceived incorrectly, but to him his own reality and self-perception lined up. It’s all an opinion of the mind, if I’m correct.” She was rambling, fighting back tears. “I’m sorry, you’re probably right, but it’s just his passing was recent, and I’m just trying to understand it. I think he tried to use the Ilia-Brolwimns equation too because I recommended it to him when you shared your publication with our class, but it didn’t help, and now our father is furious at the University about the Prize and wants me to transfer, but I really like my classes, especially your class.”

Kip was silent as she sobbed in his office, a feeling of cold horror washing over him as he stared at his dim reflection in the computer monitor, the faded image of the anchors discussing his work burning in his mind.


The local symphony was playing on the radio when Kip made his way on the highway. Kip adjusted the volume to the proper threshold to be able to hear sirens on the road and hummed along to the song. He should encourage his Ma to listen to more music, it was important for variable interventions. The awards ceremony was in a few days, and he needed to complete grocery shopping to meal prep for Ma before the official dinners and meetings pulled him away from home. He often took the highway to the grocery store forty minutes away from the city to avoid seeing any of his students there. While he truly enjoyed speaking with his students, the grocery store seemed a rather strange encounter. He could be picking up cookies or removing ears of a corn and a student would spot him and ask about the assignment due next week. No, he’d rather make the drive.

Once he reached the market, he grabbed a basket and made his way to the produce aisle. It was sundown when he left for the market, and at this time he usually expected several adults to be here after work, but the store was quiet. While he was picking a fresh head of cabbage, a tall man in a grey beanie walked up next to him and began to bag a batch of spinach. Kip moved to the right to give some space, and once Kip finished throwing the beets in his basket, he moved toward the refrigerated section, searching for quick meals his Ma could cook if he needed to be away. Kip stood in the middle of the section, gauging prices compared to serving size, and quickly assessing calorie intake for the week. He almost flinched when he turned slightly to the left and the same man with the grey beanie was standing two freezer doors away. The man yanked the freezer door open to grab a pack of frozen fruit, but even when the door shut, he remained staring at the food options. Kip blinked and stumbled to hastily throw a few boxes into his basket. He tried to keep his pace steady as he moved toward the wine. Perhaps his Ma would like a home celebration. After finding the remaining food on his list, Kip stood in line while the cashier scanned his items. He nervously tapped his foot and looked down to avoid the cashier’s eye-contact.

“Sir, if you could just put the checkout divider after your items please.” Kip looked up and found the cashier gesturing to the conveyor.

“Right, apologies.” Kip took the divider and placed it behind his last item. He turned to apologize to the customer behind him. The man with the beanie stood there patiently, with eyes trained steadily on Kip.

Kip’s mouth turned dry. “My apologies for not placing the divider.” Kip swiped his credit card before gathering his items and speed walking toward the exit. He told himself it was ridiculous he was feeling fear. As a grown man, as a Nobel Laureate who created an equation to tackle one of the world’s biggest fears, he needed to remain calm. It was all his self-perception.
And yet, as he was loading the items with a steady hand into the trunk of his car, the faint sound of steps clicking on the parking lot pavement made him load his grocery bags faster. He looked up just as he picked up the wine bagged in paper bags, ready to face the man, but he found himself staring at an empty parking lot.



When Kip entered the house, he set his bag of groceries down just as his Ma swept that spot on the floor. He couldn’t remember the last time she had voluntary cleaned the house.

“Ma, I cleaned two weeks ago.” He held the broom to stop her moving. “Don’t bend when you sweep, it’s bad for your spine.”
“I was just quite bored, and I noticed clutter around the house, so I just wanted to tidy a few things. Will dinner be soon?”
“Of course, firing up the leftovers now.” Kip walked over to put the containers of leftovers in the microwave. He walked over to the table to set the utensils, but then paused when he looked up. The shelf next to the television was missing a few photos. The decorative plants and vases remained in their positions, but there was now a void on the shelf. Only one photo remained, and it was of him and his Ma cooking a meal together long ago.

“Ma, what did you do with the shelf?” Kip opened the microwave to take out the food. He heard his Ma’s faint reply from the other room.

“Need some space for your award!”

“We can always put it in storage, it’s just a medal.”

Kip strained to hear a response, but nothing came. He thought about searching to put the pictures back. He knew leaving those memories would only help him and his Ma, but somehow, they seemed to make him feel safer than any medal could.



Kip realigned the car in the parking space. He sat for a moment in the driver’s seat straightening his suit jacket and checking his notecards were in the pocket. He found it amusing there was no special space close to the auditorium designated for Nobel Laureates. The walk did not seem incredibly far, but with the sun searing the road and the glare reflecting onto his glasses, he had to move almost with closed eyes. He had written out an acceptance speech – in reality, he had written two – but a large part of him was unsure if he even wanted it to be scripted. The young girl sobbing in his office squirmed in the back of his mind. Kip rounded the corner and stopped in his tracks. A huge crowd had gathered outside the auditorium. He was still distant and couldn’t quite make out the demographic of the crowd, but he thought only a small media team would be present so early. Most of the attendees, including his Ma, would be arriving later for the actual presentation. It could simply be an overeager crowd hoping to see the Laureates.

But as Kip neared the auditorium, his feet started to drag against the pavement as if inherently warning him. The crowd was a mix of old and young, but the majority seemed to be middle-aged women and men with wrinkled clothing due to the lack of time, or energy, to fold properly because of wild children running around the house. Many of them held posters, pumping them in the air with fury. Kip shaded his eyes from the sun to read one: Increasing Suicide is Not Peace! And another: We have Hearts, not Equations! Kip blinked twice as he surveyed the clamoring crowd, suddenly feeling conscious of the sweat trickling down his back.

“Dr. Ilia, Dr. Ilia! This way, please.” One of the Nobel Prize coordinators appeared in front of Kip and gestured him away from the crowd. “Please, we’re waiting for you inside.”

“What’s going on?” Kip followed him inside the auditorium where the noise ceased.

The coordinator did not reply. They turned the corner down the hallway and entered a room where a few more coordinators were fervently engaged in conversation.

“Dr. Ilia-Brolwimns,” the coordinators abruptly stopped talking and turned to face him. “Fantastic to meet you in person. The other Laureates are waiting in the reception room next door.”

“Can someone please tell me what’s going on outside?” Kip shook their hands with a confident, slightly harsh grip.

The coordinators exchanged glances. “There’s been a bit of a commotion outside since the morning, actually. A small group of people who wish to voice their,” one coordinator paused, “concerns, about a few of the Laureate decisions this year. But I wouldn’t worry, the committee won’t rescind any awards. Please, you’ll find some hors d'oeuvres with the other Laureates.”

Hors d’oeuvres. Nothing else to calm nerves, to reassure him that his work truly deserved the Nobel prize. Perhaps the crunching of pickled chips with caviar would overpower the sound of staves pounding the ground.



Having done countless lectures and conferences, Kip was surprised he could feel his own heartbeat pulsing as he stepped onto the podium. It seemed to sync with the faint thudding that could be heard echoing from outside the doors. He pulled out a thin stack of notecards that had been over-flattened in his pocket.

“For the past few centuries, the effects of mental health have been disregarded. The rate of suicide has increased exponentially within the past decade, and no number of therapists or friends or family is slowing the rate,” Kip paused to look down at his Ma. Her sparkly light green dress reflected against the grand chandeliers. When Kip turned over his notecard, he heard a slight buzzing, a choir of murmuring voices seeping in under the grand doors and down the hallway. His Ma frowned and turned her head back, as if someone behind her was whispering.
“I am incredibly honored to receive the Nobel Peace Prize this year for my research.” The voices outside the auditorium, now unified into a cohesive chant, seemed to rise in volume. Shadows snuck in from the doors, moving fervently from side to side. The door began to shake. More members of the audience began to murmur, heads turned back. His Ma’s eyes began to widen in fear and anticipation.

Kip briefly glanced at the coordinators, but they nodded confidently for him to continue. “This is not without the incredible help of several minds at the university who have supported this endeavor.”

The pounding at the door began to overpower Kip’s words now, and he fumbled to turn his notecard. The audience members began to speak louder, cries of concern washing across the seats. Even the coordinators began to look uneasy.

Kip raised his voice. “Essentially, I hope that –” The auditorium doors slammed open and piercing screams burst from his Ma and the audience as chants filled the hallowed room.


The sky was dark as Kip walked to the bar. The first meeting with the Director of Psychology’s friend did not exactly go so well, but he felt oddly receptive when he found an email from her asking to meet up.

“Anybody hassle you on your way here?” She smiled as he sat across from her. Kip forced a laugh but said nothing. He thought of his Ma at home, who had waved him off to the rendezvous, but not before he caught her shoving away an old picture album, the one with his Pa in it that he hadn’t seen for several years. The Nobel medal rested upright on the shelf across from where she was sitting, now the only object left on the shelf. “You still got the medal, though?”

“Yes.”

“Does it feel like you’ve brought more peace to the world?” She paused and looked down. “Sorry, let’s start over. How are those student papers coming?”

“The papers are great. Students really seem to understand the distinction between reality and perception.”

“It’s funny how students seem to understand that when even adults haven’t figured it out yet.” She smiled to herself.

The rest of the conversation blurred by. Kip listened with great respect, and even thought the night went well. When she asked at the end of the night if he wanted to meet again the following weekend, he thought of his Ma probably completing a cardio workout at home and planning on skipping dinner. “Maybe,” he replied.


On the stroll home, his path illuminated in spurts from flickering streetlamps sporadically placed on the road, Kip passed by a gas station. From the darkness outside, he could read the stickered signs in the windows: sales on large drinks and microwave food. It was likely his Ma would want some, knowing her late-night craves.

It was strange to imagine that he was still at the gas station scouring for solutions for his Ma’s cravings. With all the money from the award, he could really afford some improvements to his Ma’s healthcare, get her a new car, a personal trainer, finally take her on a long trip since she probably wanted to get out of the house. In the aisle next to him, a young boy was selecting pain medicine. Kip finished placing snacks in his basket and moved to check out. The television propped on the counter was playing the local news. He blinked, recognizing the two anchors that had been discussing his work. The cashier began to scan his items. Kip felt someone move behind him and turned to see the young boy standing behind him quietly, staring at the pain medicine box that rested in his hands. Suddenly, the program cut to breaking news and Kip saw a picture of his interview at the university pop up on the screen. He froze in place as the anchors began to describe the recent Nobel Prize winners. The cashier looked sideways at the television and then back at Kip, but said nothing and continued scanning.

The light background music in the store cut off and the shop now echoed with the news anchors discussing the increasing rates of suicide from the Ilia-Brolwimns Equation. Kip’s palms began to sweat in the air-conditioned store. He felt the young boy behind him move sideways to get a clearer view of the television. Once he paid, Kip clutched the bags of snacks and headed for the doorway. As he turned, he almost collided with the young boy moving up to check out and he saw the boy stare from the television screen back to him. Kip began to panic, losing his grip on the snacks as he looked into the young boy’s eyes to apologize about bumping into him, and the pain medicine, and the Nobel Peace Prize, and whatever else was wrong in the world that seemed to be Kip’s fault. But when he found the boy’s dark brown eyes, they didn’t seem fiery or revengeful. They were hollow and sad. As Kip walked home in the darkness, he found himself clutching the snacks harder and harder until the food inside was crumbled into tiny pieces.