Chapter 3
Daydream
Friday morning, early
That
strange alligator dream ran an endless loop till I shook it out of my
head. Dreams are only dreams; no basis in reality. Right? Then I
thought of the librarian from Alexandria who wrote about his life;
that seems as impossible as that witless dream. Hope Yarrl wrote more
and Mark sends it to me. I wonder what happened to him.
Too
much going on today. Everything always gets done somehow, but first
I’d better get myself organized. My job is great, but I’m also
looking forward to the weekend after this long, full week.
Traffic
wasn’t bad, got to the office early. My first meeting is across
campus in an hour, enough time to get coffee first. In the staff work
area I almost bumped into Charles Hubbard as he made his way between
rows of tall book shelves.
He’s
an old-fashioned professor who’s been teaching advanced English
composition forever and truly appreciates libraries. Today he’s
inspecting our latest acquisitions; always watching for a particular
book by one of his far-away colleagues or something unexpected from
anywhere in the world. There’s a stack of routing forms within
reach if he wants to read it after it’s been cataloged. He usually
has coffee here, too. He likes to try new flavors and brings us some
exotic beans every few weeks.
“Good
Morning, Professor Hubbard.” I spoke in passing; but he was too
preoccupied with the contents page of a new title to notice. A few
more steps and I was in the staff lounge.
“Good morning Angie,” she was on the couch with an open book,
eating coconut yogurt from a plastic container. “Breakfast?” I
headed toward the coffee machine.
“Yeah, my favorite part.” Angie grinned around the spoon in her
mouth. “You should try this yogurt, John, it’s a new brand I
really like. Oh, and Professor Hubbard brought in a new flavor today,
the bag’s on the table.”
“Thanks, tell me if you like it; maybe I’ll try it later.” I
looked for my coffee cup, “How was your meeting yesterday with
Anthropology?”
“We need to talk about that. It was all positive, but they have so
many expensive needs it’s kinda complicated.” Her attention
turned back to yogurt.
“OK, we can talk next week.” I took my coffee back to the
office. Charles had already left.
Routine emails from colleagues this morning and one from my high
school reunion committee; not something on my to-do list. I never
think about high school; maybe because it wasn’t all that pleasant
twenty-nine years ago. Anyway, I don’t quite get the idea of high
school reunions.
In those years I didn’t know how to live in the moment; mostly I
dreamed ahead. Sometimes miserable and awkward, I toughed it out and
managed to get through it because I always thought things could get
better.
Guess I was nerdy, not interested in sports or parties; short and
skinny, not the athletic type. But I was always fascinated by science
and liked to set up projects for myself, which was fun and took the
edge off an unpleasant home life. I subscribed to “Scientific
American” magazine and was impatient for it to arrive every month.
Best part was ‘The Amateur Scientist’ section which always had
instructions for a small project.
One time, I built a device that could project whatever I saw through
my microscope onto the wall. Now it doesn’t sound like much, but at
the time it was a challenge. First I had to find all the parts: one
projection-type bulb and a socket, power cord, special projection
lenses and a certain kind of aluminum box to house the unit after it
was constructed. It turned out cool.
Then I got into chemistry and built a lab in the garage. My parents
were fine with all my projects as I didn’t cause a bother or need
too much space, and they always knew where I was.
I started with a standard chemistry set, then added stuff: an array
of test tubes and racks, plus an alcohol bunsen burner, flasks,
beakers, and chemicals for the main equipment. The neighbors soon
noticed something was going on; must have been the disagreeable
odors. They were suspicious of anything I did from then on.
After a while, the other neighborhood wanna-be scientist, Matt
Wilson, and I got together and tried to make beer and wine. That
didn’t turn out great; guess it was our go at organic chemistry.
After that I was a pin setter at the bowling alley for a while for
fifty cents an hour. But that was way too dangerous; so I quit and
washed dishes late nights in a restaurant during high school. Maybe
that motivated me to get more education.
Matt always wanted to be a chemist and I think he would have
completed his doctorate in chemistry had he not been drafted and sent
to Vietnam. After he was wounded, he seemed to lose interest in going
for more education. The lottery never picked me. Guess that was a
trip to the past.
Next email is from my publisher. Time to send update on
collaborative book project with several colleagues in Egypt and
Germany. This is my first international project with others. Plenty
of pressure, emails, phone calls, recommendations, corrections and
deadlines keep showing up; but forward movement is slow. That can
wait till tomorrow.
I’d forgotten all about that weird dream.
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