“Got it,” I say. He smells of lemon and jasmine. His breath tickles the hairs on my neck.
“Because whether you like it or not, human beings need an emotional connection to the world around them to thrive, and our world needs it too, in order to survive,” Forrest says, his tanned skin vivid against the white of his shirt. “Look, I know the real world is divided, and too often unkind. It’s overwhelming. Of course, it feels better to immerse yourself in a virtual world, or play games, or watch endless funny videos in your own bubble. But I’m here to tell you that happiness can’t be found behind a screen, that’s just an illusion. And powerful AI, even if it’s ecologically friendlier, or perfect cheap organ transplants, even if they save a millions lives, counts for nothing if we can’t appreciate and protect what we already have.”
A ripple of agreement and light applause travel around the room.
“Megan”—Forrest addresses the girl, who’s been picking at her nails for the entire time he’s been talking; she starts a little and looks anxiously at the audience—“what doyouthink the point of art is?”
Megan thinks about this for a moment and shrugs. “I dunno.”
“Okay, so how does art make you feel?” Forrest asks.
“Bored,” Megan says. “I wanted something to do over the holidays, but this is even more boring.”
“Are you afraid of being bored?” Forrest asks her.
“No.” Megan is defensive. “But being bored is boring, duh.”
The kids laugh, and the adults exchange wry looks. I see why he chose this Megan now; she’s a smart cookie. Of course she’s terrified of being in the spotlight, but she’s also doing her best to hide her fear. Who in this room hasn’t felt like that at one time or another?
“Where do you live?” Forrest asks her.
“Scarborough.” Megan rolls her eyes.
“What colour is Scarborough?” Forrest says.
“Shit coloured,” Megan says. The words “Shit Coloured” appear on a screen behind Forrest’s head. The crowd murmurs and the kids at the back applaud and whoop.
“Okay, that’s valid.” Forrest is unfazed. “That’s how you feel about your town. But if you were going to just think of one colour that described the town, what would it be?”
Megan sighs deeply and thinks for a moment.
“Blue,” she says finally, with a world-weary shrug. The word “Blue” appears on the screen.
“Why?” Forrest asks.
“Sea, innit?” Megan says.
“Elaborate, Megan,” Forrest says with a small smile.
“Well.” Megan pauses for a moment. “It’s like it doesn’t matter where you are in the town, even if you can’t see it, you know it’s there. And it’s always blue. Sometimes grey blue, sometimes green blue. Sometimes... angry like, with big waves that can sweep you into the sea if you’re not careful. And sometimes smooth, likewhat you see on a postcard. Smooth and warm. Looks fake, but it’s real.”
As she talks, her words appear on the screen.
“And what does the seameanto you?” Forrest asks.
“Nothing,” Megan says. “It’s just a lot of water. I’m not mental.”
“It has to mean something if you know it’s always there,” Forrest says. “Look, there’s no wrong answer here. You can say what you like, and you won’t be wrong.”
“All of this is a waste of time.” Megan crosses her arms. “I don’t mind it when we are all doing it, but this is stupid.”
“It might well be,” Forrest says, “but would you mind just giving it a try?”
Megan turns her face away from him, staring out of the window for the longest time. I’m almost certain that that’s how this presentation is going to end, until suddenly, out of the sea blue, she starts to talk. And it’s like another kid has arrived onstage.
“I suppose it’s like a constant,” Megan says. “A lot of shit changes in our town, nothing ever stays the same. Like after the pandemic, all these shops closed down and never re-opened. No new shops came. It feels dead sometimes. Even in the summer when the tourists come, they don’t really care about the place. People just come and go, right? Like we, the town, don’t really matter. My mum came back for a bit last summer, said she was home for good this time. But she went again when the weather turned. But the sea is always there, right?” She looks at Forrest, who nods. “And some sometimes it’s a laugh, to go down the beach with your mates and that. Sometimes it’s just something to look at when you feel fucked off. Like you can throw all your bad feelings in it anddrown them.” Megan puts her phone down in her lap. “But also, it’s sort of like... hope? Sometimes I do look at it, and I think one of these fucking days I’m going over that horizon and having a look at what’s on the other side. I think it’s Denmark. Denmark is probably shit, but I’m going there one day anyway.”
Forrest nods, and Megan, suddenly aware of the people listening to her, shrugs, her shoulders folding inward, her chin dropping. “Or not, I don’t give a fuck.”
