#285 Intense Magnification

by Lisa S. Williams

“This is what a sarcoma looks like under intense magnification.” The gaunt lecturer flashed his laser pointer at a mélange of cobalt, orange, aqua, fountaining white. “You’d hardly imagine that, would you?”

A twenty-something with a laptop raised her hand.

“Yes, miss?”

“What magnification? I’d like exact specifications.”

Dr. Jamison pinched the bridge of his blotchy nose. “If you do, then you’re missing the point. What do you feel when you see this?”

“Fear.”

“Is that what the image itself evokes? Or the word ‘sarcoma’?”

The woman was silent. She narrowed her eyes at Jamison, then dropped her gaze.

A man in the back raised his hand.

“Yes . . . you. Go ahead.”

The man looked around shyly, ran a hand through hair no longer there. “J. M. Turner. That’s my answer.”

“Better! But that’s an intellectual connection. How does it make you feel?”

A blush rose up from the man’s collar. “Peaceful. Like when I was a boy. We spent summers at Cape Cod.”

“Very good.”

A woman across the room blurted, “I get that! Those gauzy, backlit colors. And that blue thing could be a boat.”

“Well, let’s just see.” The lecturer called up the highest magnification, skimmed the screen with his fingertips.

The twenty-something woman stood straight up and faced the auditorium. “‘Know Your Cancer: Learn to Let Go’?” she spat. “What crap this is!”

She whirled about, but Dr. Jamison offered no rebuttal. He now occupied a blue boat and was already far from shore.