The Circle

participants are there in our global WNBA discussion group?”
Josiah, still visibly shaken knowing that Mae hadn’t been reading his WNBA feed,
managed to find the number on his tablet and muttered, “143,891.”
“And how many zingers out there focus on the WNBA?”
Josiah quickly found the number. “12,992.”
“And you’re not part of either, Mae. Why do you think that is?”
“I guess I just didn’t think my interest in the WNBA rose to the level where it
warranted joining a discussion group, or, you know, following anything. I’m not that
passionate about it.”
Denise squinted at Mae. “That’s an interesting choice of words: Passion. You’ve heard of
PPT? Passion, Participation and Transparency?”
Mae had seen the letters PPT around campus and had not, until that moment,
connected the letters to these three words. She felt like a fool.
Denise put her palms on the desk, as if she might get up. “Mae, you know this is a
technology company, correct?”
“Of course.”
“And that we consider ourselves on the forefront of social media.”
“Yes.”
“And you know the term Transparency, correct?”
“I do. Absolutely.”
Josiah looked at Denise, hoping to calm her. She put her hands in her lap. Josiah took
over. He smiled and swiped his tablet, turning a new page.
“Okay. Let’s go to Sunday. Tell us about Sunday.”
“I just drove back.”
“That’s it?”
“I kayaked?”
Josiah and Denise registered dual looks of surprise.
“You kayaked?” Josiah said. “Where?”
“Just in the bay.”
“With who?”
“No one. Just alone.”
Denise and Josiah looked hurt.
“I kayak,” Josiah said, and then typed something in his tablet, pressing very hard.

---

“How often do you kayak?” Denise asked Mae.
“Maybe once every few weeks?”
Josiah was looking intently at his tablet. “Mae, I’m looking at your pro le, I’m nding
nothing about you and kayaking. No smiles, no ratings, no posts, nothing. And now you’re
telling me you kayak once every few weeks?”
“Well, maybe it’s less than that?”
Mae laughed, but Denise and Josiah did not. Josiah continued to stare at his screen,
while Denise’s eyes probed into Mae.
“When you go kayaking, what do you see?”
“I don’t know. All kinds of things.”
“Seals?”
“Sure.”
“Sea lions?
“Usually.”
“Waterbirds? Pelicans?”
“Sure.”
Denise tapped at her tablet. “Okay, I’m doing a search now of your name for visual
documentation of any of these trips you’ve taken. I’m not finding anything.”
“Oh, I’ve never brought a camera.”
“But how do you identify all these birds?”
“I have this little guide. It’s just a thing my ex-boyfriend gave me. It’s a little foldable
guide to local wildlife.”
“So it’s just a pamphlet or something?”
“Yeah, I mean, it’s waterproof and—”
Josiah exhaled loudly.
“I’m sorry,” Mae said.
Josiah rolled his eyes. “No, I mean, this is a tangent, but my problem with paper is that
all communication dies with it. It holds no possibility of continuity. You look at your
paper brochure, and that’s where it ends. It ends with you. Like you’re the only one who
matters. But think if you’d been documenting. If you’d been using a tool that would help
con rm the identity of whatever birds you saw, then anyone can bene t—naturalists,
students, historians, the Coast Guard. Everyone can know, then, what birds were on the
bay on that day. It’s just maddening, thinking of how much knowledge is lost every day
through this kind of shortsightedness. And I don’t want to call it selfish but—”
“No. It was. I know it was,” Mae said.
Josiah softened. “But documentation aside, I’m just fascinated why you wouldn’t
mention anything about kayaking anywhere. I mean, it’s a