But the seas between us broad have roared, from auld lang syne.
And Jack thought about his best friend Javier, admirably humming the tune in the places where he didn’t know the words, and toasting the dawn of another year, even when the passage of time might not feel like something to celebrate.
Jack didn’t know if Javi had forgiven him, or if his words on that stage had been spoken too late to ever merit his forgiveness. As long as Jack didn’t ask, he didn’t have to face the answer. All Jack could do now was hope that Javi knew he was sorry, and knew that he was trying.
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet.
For auld lang syne.
Ben
The whole world, it seemed, had gathered.
Everyone waiting to see what would unfold in this moment that had been spoken about and tweeted about and wondered about for weeks.
The locations had been revealed just three days prior, with hubs in two dozen countries, like a map mounted in a traveler’s home, thumbtacks pinned on nearly every continent. It was the first time that the disparate voices of Strung Together had apparently managed to converge, to sing in one global chorus, and everyone wanted to know who was behind it, the organizers still anonymous. The names of Silicon Valley innovators and outspoken celebrities were whispered alongside prominent NGOs and local mayors and white hat hackers. Many wondered if Wes Johnson had lent his support. And what about that girl from the viral video? The mystery only deepened the marvel.
Ben’s entire group had turned out that day, along with Nina, Amie, and a friend of Nihal’s, all standing shoulder to shoulder in Times Square, where the city had celebrated the New Year en masse only a few weeks earlier. It was cold, but nobody seemed to mind, not with the presence of thousands of bodies, breathing into cupped hands, eagerly tapping their feet.
It started a minute past nine a.m. in New York—it was morning in the Americas, afternoon in Europe and Africa, and evening in the Asia-Pacific. All the screens in Times Square went black, before flashing the words “Strung Together” across their digital faces. The crowd erupted in cheers.
As Ben watched the display commence in Manhattan, he wondered, fleetingly, about the other countries, unaware that the very same video was being viewed by all. Playing across the LED billboards of London’s Piccadilly Circus, and Tokyo’s Shibuya Crossing, and Toronto’s Yonge-Dundas Square. Projected onto screens and building facades in Mexico City’s Zócalo, and Cape Town’s Greenmarket Square, and Paris’s Place de la Bastille. Streaming live, with no delays, on Facebook and YouTube and Twitter. Even the Google home page had been taken over in that instant, the letters of its rainbow logo linked by two twisting threads.
“Today, around the world, we honor the contributions of those with short strings,” the video began, the stark white words like stars on a midnight screen. “These are just a few.”
“Saved two hundred lives in surgery.”
“Raised three children on her own.”
“Directed an Oscar-winning film.”
“Earned two Ph.D.s.”
“Built an iPhone app.”
With each tribute, each triumph, the applause grew louder.
“Married his high school sweetheart.”
“Wrote a novel.”
“Defended our country.”
“Ran for president.”
Ben looked around at the members of his group and wondered what the video might say for each of them. Nihal had been valedictorian, Maura was newly married, Carl was an uncle, Lea was carrying her brother’s babies, Terrell was producing a Broadway show, and Chelsea made everyone laugh. Hank, of course, had been a healer. And there were a million other things, as well, that Ben still didn’t know about these people, despite all the time they had spent together, sitting in Room 204. They had each fallen in and out of love, held jobs both dull and fulfilling. They were sons and daughters and brothers and sisters. They were friends.
“We love you!” someone shouted near Ben.
“Strung Together!” yelled another.
This wasn’t what Ben had expected.
He assumed that he would hear platitudes from government leaders or actors. He assumed they would plead for tolerance. He assumed they might show photos of short-stringers already lost. He assumed the day would feel heavy and sad, a prolonged moment of silence. Like one massive memorial service.
But it wasn’t like that at all.
It was boisterous and raucous and joyful. A celebration of life. An hour of untouched unity. In every location, every country, every public square, people leaned out of windows and stepped onto balconies and climbed up to rooftops, clapping and hollering and banging the rails.