Chapter 18:
The Mathematics Of 100%
The Girl From The Grocery Store Across The Street Is (NOT!) A Robot, She's Just Incredibly, Incredibly, Incredibly WEIRD!
If we analyze the concept of love—not the biological part (you know, the whole collision of dopamine, norepinephrine, phenylethylamine, and serotonin, among other hormones)—but the emotional part, then there’s something we often think about, rarely put into practice, and moreover, is never the right thing. I’m referring to the classic phrase 'give everything for the other person.'
Of course, everything—absolutely any medium—leads us to think that’s the correct path, that that’s THE way to love, if there’s even a manual for something like that.
In contrast, the ideal, the utopian version of love would be a 50/50, though for that both people would have to be identical.
One person can perceive that the other is giving approximately 30% when in reality that’s their 50%, and in some cases even their 100%.
“What are you looking for, Tanaka?”
“You mean now?”
“Why would I ask what you were looking for a year ago, for example?”
“Right, that was a stupid question.”
“Very stupid.”
“Hey.”
“Sorry, your cynicism is rubbing off on me.”
“As if you weren’t naturally cynical. Don’t blame me.”
“You’re right.”
“And now you’re the one making fake apologies.”
“Again, you’re right.”
The rain was starting to let up, though it was one of those moments where, if you ever had to go somewhere, you’d definitely think it wasn’t going to keep raining—only to end up soaked three blocks later.
“You’re… kind of… strange…” I said, scooting my box a little closer to hers.
“Aren’t I always?” she asked, watching as my box wobbled until it was right next to hers.
“Well, yes… but right now you’re, let’s say, ‘strange-normal’”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“The truth is I don’t even know, but what I’m getting at is—”
“I heard what you told my grandma.”
“I told your grandma a lot of things.”
“One in particular.”
“I told her a lot of things ‘in particular,’ Kiri.”
“You told her you were going to help me so the store wouldn’t depend on her…” she said while barely managing to stick her hands out the sides of the box to lift the improvised ears again—they had drooped from the humidity.
“Uh-huh…” I answered. I thought about lighting a cigarette, but even with the damp air and post-rain state, lighting one inside a cardboard box could turn me into a fireball.
“It’s not mathematically possible.”
“Since when do you know anything about— You know what? Forget it. I said I’d take care of it, right? So that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Motives?”
“I have plenty.”
“I didn’t ask for the quantity. I asked what they were.”
“They’re none of your business.”
“Yes they are, otherwise I wouldn’t ask.”
“Haaa… I just want… you know, for this to work, somehow, in any way…”
“This?”
“You’re really playing dumb. You just want to hear me say it…”
“Maybe…”
“Fine. You and me, the store, Nyocery Store—”
“The manager.”
“Can you pick a name already?”
“I just wanted to make his position clear, Tanaka.”
“Fine, ‘the manager’ and everything… whatever that means…”
“And how are we supposed to do it?” she asked, looking at me through the improvised eye holes in the box.
“You keep the store exactly as it is…” It was strange hearing her talk about these things. Normally I could only read her or burn thousands of neurons trying to decipher her cryptic kaomojis, so I guess—in reality I’m almost sure and I’m going to get arrogant about it—the boxes weren’t a bad idea.
Though a cheap one, her grandma would say. “I… uhm… am going back to my old job.”
“What?”
“That.”
“You’re going to stop working here? Didn’t you say they fired you? How are you supposed to talk about a ‘whole’ when you’re excising yourself from it?”
“That’s a lot of questions…”
“And I want answers.” She spoke, bumping her box against mine.
“Hey, no bumping,” I said, bumping hers back. “Yes, I’m going to stop working here.”
“I understand…”
“And I have contacts at the office. I can go back anytime.” Lie. Horrible lie. I was going to beg, kneel if necessary, and offer my soul to the unscrupulous machinery of capitalism in exchange for money if I had to.
“But still—”
“And after work I’ll come by here and… I don’t know… start doing more things together…”
I saw her box move.
I saw her look at me and look away.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
“Tanaka.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s no…” she said while her voice dropped. I heard her take a little breath before continuing. “There’s no more than this.”
“And you mean…?”
“I can’t offer you more than this and even I know it’s not… it’s not how it’s supposed to be…” She stuck her hands out the sides of the box again and lowered the ears.
“Uh-huh… right. How is it supposed to be?”
“Don’t you watch movies?”
“Kiri, they’re just movi—”
“Dates, trips together, the zoo…”
“The zoo?”
“They always go to one. Or the beach, there's also always a beach episode.”
Of course, everything—absolutely any medium—leads us to think that’s the correct path, that that’s THE way to love, if there’s even a manual for something like that.
In contrast, the ideal, the utopian version of love would be a 50/50, though for that both people would have to be identical.
One person can perceive that the other is giving approximately 30% when in reality that’s their 50%, and in some cases even their 100%.
“What are you looking for, Tanaka?”
“You mean now?”
“Why would I ask what you were looking for a year ago, for example?”
“Right, that was a stupid question.”
“Very stupid.”
“Hey.”
“Sorry, your cynicism is rubbing off on me.”
“As if you weren’t naturally cynical. Don’t blame me.”
“You’re right.”
“And now you’re the one making fake apologies.”
“Again, you’re right.”
The rain was starting to let up, though it was one of those moments where, if you ever had to go somewhere, you’d definitely think it wasn’t going to keep raining—only to end up soaked three blocks later.
“You’re… kind of… strange…” I said, scooting my box a little closer to hers.
“Aren’t I always?” she asked, watching as my box wobbled until it was right next to hers.
“Well, yes… but right now you’re, let’s say, ‘strange-normal’”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“The truth is I don’t even know, but what I’m getting at is—”
“I heard what you told my grandma.”
“I told your grandma a lot of things.”
“One in particular.”
“I told her a lot of things ‘in particular,’ Kiri.”
“You told her you were going to help me so the store wouldn’t depend on her…” she said while barely managing to stick her hands out the sides of the box to lift the improvised ears again—they had drooped from the humidity.
“Uh-huh…” I answered. I thought about lighting a cigarette, but even with the damp air and post-rain state, lighting one inside a cardboard box could turn me into a fireball.
“It’s not mathematically possible.”
“Since when do you know anything about— You know what? Forget it. I said I’d take care of it, right? So that’s what I’m going to do.”
“Motives?”
“I have plenty.”
“I didn’t ask for the quantity. I asked what they were.”
“They’re none of your business.”
“Yes they are, otherwise I wouldn’t ask.”
“Haaa… I just want… you know, for this to work, somehow, in any way…”
“This?”
“You’re really playing dumb. You just want to hear me say it…”
“Maybe…”
“Fine. You and me, the store, Nyocery Store—”
“The manager.”
“Can you pick a name already?”
“I just wanted to make his position clear, Tanaka.”
“Fine, ‘the manager’ and everything… whatever that means…”
“And how are we supposed to do it?” she asked, looking at me through the improvised eye holes in the box.
“You keep the store exactly as it is…” It was strange hearing her talk about these things. Normally I could only read her or burn thousands of neurons trying to decipher her cryptic kaomojis, so I guess—in reality I’m almost sure and I’m going to get arrogant about it—the boxes weren’t a bad idea.
Though a cheap one, her grandma would say. “I… uhm… am going back to my old job.”
“What?”
“That.”
“You’re going to stop working here? Didn’t you say they fired you? How are you supposed to talk about a ‘whole’ when you’re excising yourself from it?”
“That’s a lot of questions…”
“And I want answers.” She spoke, bumping her box against mine.
“Hey, no bumping,” I said, bumping hers back. “Yes, I’m going to stop working here.”
“I understand…”
“And I have contacts at the office. I can go back anytime.” Lie. Horrible lie. I was going to beg, kneel if necessary, and offer my soul to the unscrupulous machinery of capitalism in exchange for money if I had to.
“But still—”
“And after work I’ll come by here and… I don’t know… start doing more things together…”
I saw her box move.
I saw her look at me and look away.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
“Tanaka.”
“Yeah?”
“There’s no…” she said while her voice dropped. I heard her take a little breath before continuing. “There’s no more than this.”
“And you mean…?”
“I can’t offer you more than this and even I know it’s not… it’s not how it’s supposed to be…” She stuck her hands out the sides of the box again and lowered the ears.
“Uh-huh… right. How is it supposed to be?”
“Don’t you watch movies?”
“Kiri, they’re just movi—”
“Dates, trips together, the zoo…”
“The zoo?”
“They always go to one. Or the beach, there's also always a beach episode.”
“Ah.”
“I can’t, we can’t… no, you can’t do any of that…” she said after a pause. “Not with me…”
“Then with who?”
“With… someone else, I guess.”
“But you don’t want that, do you?”
“… Do you want that?”
“How did you say it? Oh, right. Don’t answer a question with another question.”
“No… I don’t want that, but—”
“But nothing.” I said, bumping her box again. “Don’t give me that absurd speech about how a relationship is supposed to be. There’s no manual for that.”
In fact, if there were a manual, a guide for having relationships with proven maximum effectiveness, wouldn’t that make all experiences, by default, identical? Wouldn’t that be boring?Probably two people on a rooftop, in the rain, inside cardboard boxes wouldn’t be on that list.
I’m talking about Kiri and me, not two homeless people. It’s implied, but I felt the need to clarify.
“And if someday…?”
“Never.” I answered.“Tanaka.”
“Not in a million years.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Some defeatist nonsense, surely.” Ironically, I’m not the one doing it this time.
As expected, one by one, slowly, the drops began to fall again—a light drizzle that barely made noise on the roof sheets.
“Spending your life with me… in the store…”
“There’s also the apartment.”
“Consider it an appendix.”
“I meant mine… eventually.”
“W-What? W-What are you talking about?” she asked, shaking inside the box.
“Forget it…” I answered, shifting as best I could to face her directly. “You were saying… my life with you? Right?”
“… Yes…” she answered after a long silence.
“Just to be sure, you’re not a robot, right?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“I just wanted to make sure the rain hadn’t affected your circuits.”
“I’m not a robot, Tanaka.”
“In that case…”
At this particular moment, getting out of the box wasn’t an option. It was armor for her. I could ask myself if we’d ever be able to talk about these things normally.
The answer, well, honestly I don’t care.
“I’d say this is the first time you’ve had a better plan than mine…”
“How egotistical—”
I couldn’t get my hands out of the box, so I just moved closer to hers until both boxes touched for a moment. “I’m going to adopt your logic, but in my own way… this is officially—”
“Our… first kiss.” She cut me off pressing the box a little harder.
“I can’t, we can’t… no, you can’t do any of that…” she said after a pause. “Not with me…”
“Then with who?”
“With… someone else, I guess.”
“But you don’t want that, do you?”
“… Do you want that?”
“How did you say it? Oh, right. Don’t answer a question with another question.”
“No… I don’t want that, but—”
“But nothing.” I said, bumping her box again. “Don’t give me that absurd speech about how a relationship is supposed to be. There’s no manual for that.”
In fact, if there were a manual, a guide for having relationships with proven maximum effectiveness, wouldn’t that make all experiences, by default, identical? Wouldn’t that be boring?Probably two people on a rooftop, in the rain, inside cardboard boxes wouldn’t be on that list.
I’m talking about Kiri and me, not two homeless people. It’s implied, but I felt the need to clarify.
“And if someday…?”
“Never.” I answered.“Tanaka.”
“Not in a million years.”
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“Some defeatist nonsense, surely.” Ironically, I’m not the one doing it this time.
As expected, one by one, slowly, the drops began to fall again—a light drizzle that barely made noise on the roof sheets.
“Spending your life with me… in the store…”
“There’s also the apartment.”
“Consider it an appendix.”
“I meant mine… eventually.”
“W-What? W-What are you talking about?” she asked, shaking inside the box.
“Forget it…” I answered, shifting as best I could to face her directly. “You were saying… my life with you? Right?”
“… Yes…” she answered after a long silence.
“Just to be sure, you’re not a robot, right?”
“What kind of question is that?”
“I just wanted to make sure the rain hadn’t affected your circuits.”
“I’m not a robot, Tanaka.”
“In that case…”
At this particular moment, getting out of the box wasn’t an option. It was armor for her. I could ask myself if we’d ever be able to talk about these things normally.
The answer, well, honestly I don’t care.
“I’d say this is the first time you’ve had a better plan than mine…”
“How egotistical—”
I couldn’t get my hands out of the box, so I just moved closer to hers until both boxes touched for a moment. “I’m going to adopt your logic, but in my own way… this is officially—”
“Our… first kiss.” She cut me off pressing the box a little harder.
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