The Atomic Weight of Love Read Online Free

of a shiny synthetic material. It was gathered at the waist with a pleated belt that tied into a bow on the side, and there were three fabric-covered buttons that I managed to convince myself elevated the dress to near elegance. I added black pumps, the string of pearls my mother had given me for high school graduation, and a muted red lipstick.
    I had a fresh face, a pretty face. I have always been small, my wrists fragile, like fireplace tinder, easy to snap. I have an open, heart-shaped face with high-arching eyebrows, insistent cheekbones, and Scottish skin that blushes and pales like an ever-changing weather map. Genetics have given me a tongue I can roll, unattached earlobes, and the recessive trait of clear, light-blue eyes.
    That night, my youth was all the makeup I needed, but looking in the mirror and brushing my dark blonde hair back from my face, I felt so plain, anticipating the stylish coifs of the popular girls. I didn’t own a lace collar that could be attached to different dresses to spice them up. I lacked the crystal-studded pins girls added to their coats or hats, and the clips that held my hair in place were only a facsimile of silver. My plumage was not the kind that would attract a mate, that would let me stand out from the rest of the flock.
    Jerome’s breath on my cheek sent shivers along my spine as he pinned a corsage of generous white mums onto my bodice. His fingers were careful, practiced, and I liked the way he tucked the pearlescent head of the pin beneath the greenery of the corsage. I smelled the sharp scent of whatever it was he used to try to dissuade his curls, and the collar of his shirt was starched a perfect, crisp white that made me want to tap it with my fingertips to see if it would sound like the taut head of a drum. Two tiny moles perched just above his collar, on the left side of his neck. Part of a constellation?
    The first thing I noticed was the heat of the room. I couldn’t imagine how we could dance for long or how my dress would hold up. Jerome’s suit coat had to be ridiculously hot. He got us each a glass of sweet red punch, pulled a flask from his breast pocket, and poured a splash of amber liquid into the cups. He smiled lopsidedly and shrugged his shoulders.
    We touched our glasses. “To victory!” I shouted, and felt the heat magnified as the alcohol spread its warmth across my chest. Shyly, I put the back of my hand to my mouth and smiled. It was my first-ever taste of alcohol, and in that moment I was, at last, part of the true college life. He took the glass from my hand and set it on a nearby table.
    “A Pennsylvania girl has got to know how to polka.” He steered me toward the dance floor.
    Oh God , I prayed silently to the God who had never shown his face to me in any kind way. Don’t make me do this .
    But I did do it. And Jerry was a dream of a dancer, as advertised. We stopped dancing only twice all night—to soak up more punch and later to permit me a trip to the ladies’ room for an assessment of the state of my declining composure. The face in the mirror grinned back at me, despite her awry and wilting hair. Nothing mattered but that I was alive, dancing, at college, with a desirable date. Sorority girls be damned!
    At Mrs. Hudson’s door, Jerry leaned in to kiss me. Reflexively, I turned my head to the side at the last moment and he kissed my ear. Later, as I lay awake with the music in my head, cigarette smoke permeating my hair and pillowcase, I wished I’d touched the tip of my tongue to each of those tiny moles, in succession.
    “FLIGHT REQUIRES DEFIANCE OF gravity and is really, when you think about it, a bold act.”
    The professor at the front of the lecture hall paused for dramatic effect, but as far as I could see, I was the only fully engrossed member of the audience. I wasn’t enrolled in the class but had instead taken a seat at another professor’s suggestion. I was enraptured not only because I felt I was looking at a wild man,