“Where did he get that?” Gareth whispered, pointing at the enormous green chalkboard hanging on the far wall.
“He asked for it,” Henry replied. “Probably the only Christmas present Gabe has ever asked for.”
Gabriel, a scrawny, freckled eleven-year-old with bright-red hair and clothes just a bit too big for him, stood before the blackboard, scrawling on it with a stubby piece of chalk.
Gareth gasped when he noticed that the entire chalkboard was covered with unbelievably complex-looking equations and scientific notes. There were terms that he could never even hope to understand.
“Gabe!” Marilyn called. “Come say hello!”
Gabriel froze then put down the chalk and turned around to face them. At first, his face was blank, but after several tense seconds, he smiled—a forced smile, Gareth noted. “Oh.” He glanced back at the blackboard then picked at tiny calluses on his fingers.
“Don’t be so rude, Gabe,” Marilyn scolded. “Father Gareth came all this way to see you. The least you can do is say hello to the man.”
“Hi, Father Gareth,” Gabriel said. “I don’t mean to be, um… rude. It’s just… I was studying.”
“It’s okay.” Gareth laughed. “Looks like a complicated project you got there, eh?”
“Yes.” Gabriel raised his head and gave him a hopeful look unlike any expression he had ever seen on a child. He wasn’t the cold, emotionless boy that his parents had so vividly painted a picture of. He was a lonely, desperately passionate boy who struggled to translate his emotions into a language that others could understand.
“Gabriel,” Gareth said, “can you show me your work?”
Gabriel’s eyes lit up. “Really? Right now? You mean—”
“Father Gareth,” Henry said, “I appreciate the gesture. But really, you don’t need to entertain such fantasies when—”
Gabriel lowered his head and dug his hands into his pockets.
Gareth chuckled. “No, I’d like to see it.”
Gabriel looked at his parents. “Dad, Mom, can I? Can I show you, too? All of you?”
“Us?” Marilyn asked.
“Yes.” The boy nodded. “If you don’t mind.”
“That’s… um… yes, son,” Henry said. “I suppose we can all see it.”
Gabriel jumped back to the blackboard with the kind of enthusiasm that most boys reserved for sports and girls. Henry and Marilyn nervously moved closer together, as if watching a bomb drop from the sky.
Gabriel gestured at the board. “I want to study the cognitive potential of the immune system.”
Henry frowned. “Cogni… immune… what?”
Gabriel jabbed a finger toward a graph on the board. “I just had this idea, a few months ago, and every part of the immune system… For example, you see those notes on the top?” He pointed at some writing. “About lymphocytes and antigen presentation? Y’know, where the B cells and T cells go out and identify a foreign object? I’ve been thinking, if the primary function of these lymphocytes is to—hold on.” He picked up the chalk and began writing on the board again.
Gareth watched him with fascination. The boy sounded more like a professor than an eleven-year-old child.
Henry cleared his throat. “That’s all very interesting, Gabriel, but—”
“Isn’t it? This is what I want to do with my life, Dad! I want to advance the immune system. I want to test the idea of the immune system being a kind of cognitive system. A second brain.” Gabriel pointed at the upper left corner of the board. “See? If you look right there, it explains it all pretty quick.” He glanced over his shoulder. “No, not that part you’re looking at. That section is about the collective nature of ant colonies compared to the nature of the human brain.” He stretched out his arm and tapped the board. “Look at this part.”
Henry squinted at the board. His wife nibbled on a fingernail, while Gareth took a step closer, trying to make some sense of what he was seeing.
Gabriel nodded. “Yes, the notes to the left of that! See them? That explains it better than I can, but basically, just imagine that the immune system is a machine, a network of processes of production. Transformation and destruction. It’s really cool. Imagine that instead of defining existence as—”
“Oh my God!” Marilyn cried. “I thought you were insane, but no. Gabe, you’re amazing. I was so worried, but now I understand. You’re a genius. The next Einstein. This brilliance is a miracle, a gift from God.”
Gabriel frowned. His hands disappeared into his pockets. He glanced at Gareth apologetically and then announced, “I don’t believe in God.”
Standing there during the awkward vacuum that followed his statement was like undergoing a silent root canal. As Henry and Marilyn’s smoldering glares melted through Gabriel’s resolve, the boy’s head dropped, and he returned to his blackboard. Though Gareth insisted that their son had not offended him, Henry ushered Gareth back into the living room and poured them glasses of bourbon as Marilyn hurried back to the kitchen.
Dinner was awkward. All conversation revolved around current events, and Gabriel didn’t utter a word or eat more than a few bites. After they had eaten, Gareth asked if he could have a word alone with the boy. Marilyn shot to her feet then sat back down with a shudder. Henry nodded and spread his hands out as if to say, “What could it hurt?”
Gabriel led the way back down the hallway. Gareth smiled at the sight of their shadows on the wall. A tall, gangly scarecrow strolled beside a short, big-headed child. In Gabriel’s room, Gareth’s gaze lingered on the blackboard. He pulled a chair close and sat on it backward. Gabriel perched on his bed, staring down at his swinging feet.
“That was some impressive stuff earlier,” Gareth said.
Gabriel didn’t look up. “Oh.”
“Why so glum?”
“’Cause…” The boy hesitated then spoke in a shy whisper. “’Cause you’re not here to talk to me about what I like. You’re just gonna tell me it’s bad and that I shouldn’t do it. Like everybody else says.”
“Well, that’s not what I’m going to say.”
Gabriel gave him a dubious look. “You’re a priest. You’re just here to—”
“I’m here to be your friend, Gabriel. I’m here to talk to you and to help you achieve your goals. And this stuff you’re doing, all of this immune system business, don’t let anyone ever tell you that it’s bad.”
