Asymmetry for the Win

Luke was the band’s saxophonist. He was a chemical engineering major and looked like one. With fist-bumping eyebrows and a moptop curated by the Edwards Scissorhands Salon, Luke spent most Friday nights in his dorm room. He was accompanied by his two lovers-- the saxophone and the microscope. The guys called him Bones because he appeared to be devoid of skeletal muscle. Luke didn’t mind, though; he felt tough and unhinged with that moniker—like an untethered electron escaping its molecular energy level.

The standard female would pay little attention, but when it came to the science babes, who swooned at his keen electromagnetism, Bones became Bond. “Bond… Valence Bond,” is how he would introduce himself to the XY’s. His Chemistry buddies would roar like Bunsen burners while the rest of the world stared on.

One autumn Thursday Jubilee beat him in arm wrestling right in the middle of the cafeteria during the dinner rush. It was a decisive defeat, directly under the fluorescent spotlight. She felt bad but the damage was done. After that event he spent his Friday nights at Ronny’s gym, staring at slippery people and big metal things.

Saturday nights were always reserved for band practice and gigs. Late one Saturday night, after practice and a few cans of Devil Tears, Luke went into a diatribe about the meaninglessness of life. His premise was that it was all a big accident.

“After all these random mutations and billions of years, this is the best the universe came up with?” Luke asked, pointing out the window and then to himself. “The 'crown of creation' the TV preacher called us humans. I look like Gilligan-meets-Gollum. Is that what the creator had in mind?”

While Jubilee didn’t hold to any particular religious beliefs, she also didn’t accept his premise. “You’re full of it Bones. You're nearly a stud. And look at Mason over there. He’s too pretty to be an accident.” Mason gave one of his shy smiles and looked away. “See what I mean; did you see that?” she said, as the red tide of embarrassment flooded across Mason’s face.

Luke replied, “Really Jubilee? You’re using Mason as your evidence for meaning and beauty in the world? Science would say his face is asymmetric and his legs-to-torso ratio is disproportionate. His chin is too narrow and his cheek bones too high. And his ears, well they go without saying. My point is, he deviates quite significantly from any Golden Ratios.”

Mason wasn’t sure if Luke was playing the nerdy comedian role, as he sometimes would, or if this was a soliloquy of the beers. Or was he jealous, Mason suddenly began wondering? 'Does he have a thing for Jubilee and thinks that she has a thing for me? Wait… does she have a thing for me?' The very thought was enough to curb his late-night hunger pangs.

“Really, Luke? What would science say about this--” Linnea asked, as she jumped on top of Mason’s amplifier, grabbed him by the shirt and planted a kiss square on his chapped lips, before prancing through the open garage door and disappearing into the night.

Mason, too surprised to move, savored that sip of Linnea’s lip-gloss-saliva for as long as he could manage. He walked home like a jointless action figurine in a sea of mayonnaise. He wore the dumbest and shiest smile known to man.

If for that day only, symmetry and disproportion for the win.