West of Nothing

17. Kiwani, Queen of Africa

If the Bridge lacked for one thing, it was a toilet. To get to the john, you had to go down the hall, pass through a security door and take a couple of dog legs. There was a unisex bathroom attached to the Storeroom, but there was some sort of plumbing issue. Here they had a whole workshop of high-tech fabrication equipment and they couldn't fix the crapper. If he hadn't used up his genie request on a MakerBot, Mason would have asked Santa's elves for a port-a-potty.

The distance to the bathroom worked in his favor now. The next time Shouter left to take a piss, Mason saw an opportunity to steal a few semi-private words with Corny. Sure, their conversation would be recorded and auto-captioned for posterity, but what the hell. At least Shouter wouldn't be butting in.

Mason casually approached Corny's workstation. An awkward ten seconds passed before she swiveled around to face him.

"Yes, Peeper, you want something?"

"I wanted to thank you for standing up for me earlier. You know, when Shouter was giving me crap about my leg scale model."

"Standing up for you?" she said frostily. "Is that what you thought I was doing? I was giving my honest, professional opinion. That's what we scientists do. Next time I may think your arguments are the shitty ones."

"Thanks for voicing your scientific opinion then," Mason said with more sarcasm than intended. The mature thing to do would be to retreat and reassess his strategy. That's clearly what Corny was expecting. She was already in the process of turning back to her monitors when Mason blurted out, "Why do you do your hair like that?"

"What?" The question caught her off guard.

"Cornrows look hideous on you." Not only was the hair-do a poor match for her Nordic complexion but, even to Mason's untrained eye, the job seemed inexpertly done. The rows drifted unevenly, especially in the back.

Corny's look held storm clouds. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's an epically bad idea to insult a woman's hair?"

"I was just making a scientific observation." Mason knew he should stop talking now, but he couldn't help himself. Once your foot was in your mouth, you might as well swallow it up to the knee. "And anyway, you must know it's ugly. I bet you make it that way on purpose. So what's the deal?"

"You really are a piece of work, you know that?"

Mason braced himself for the verbal tempest that was sure to follow, but Corny's expression unexpectedly eased.

"But you're right," she said. "It's ugly as hell, isn't it? Most people are afraid to comment on it. They don't want to offend me or be seen as close-minded. And then there's people like you and Shouter."

"What did Shouter say about it?"

"He said it looks like rows of bird shit."

"It sort of does."

Her eyes sparked. "Don't push your luck. I'm glad it puts people off. Then they're not so quick to put me in a box."

"You want people to see you as a freak?"

"A girl that would rather raise nematode worms than play with Barbie dolls? That sort of qualifies me as a freak, don't you think?"

"So one day you just decided to wear your science freak on the outside?"

"Just the opposite. Some of the popular girls in my fifth grade class started up this princess club. Most of them picked Disney characters like Sleeping Beauty and Rapunzel. I recall there being a Marie Antoinette. They weren't too keen on their history. Naturally, I asked if I could join. What girl doesn't want to be part of a club? They laughed at me and told me there was no place for Bride of Frankenstein and I should go hang out with the other freaks. Afterwards, this one girl took me aside and handed me this full-page photo of a woman with cornrows she said was Kiwani, Queen of Africa. If I did my hair up like Kiwani then they would know I was serious and would have to let me into their princess club. So I went home, grabbed scissors, Vaseline and rubber bands, and spent all night in the bathroom making up my hair.