The Atomic Weight of Love Read Online Free Page B

social convention—or to be so entirely unaware of it so as to have no need to ignore it. Although he was twenty years my senior, he was still young, fired by the practical applications of his hard-earned knowledge and the associations he was forming through his war work with other world-class scientists.
    I approached him after that first lecture and accepted an invitation back to his office. After nearly an hour, we left his office to continue talking over coffee. We spoke about what we believed in, what was happening in the world, and what the world might become. It was as though we’d both been starving for that kind of easy conversation and comradeship. When I was with Alden—discussing, listening, leaning across tables and fully animated—life was painted in more vibrant colors; birdsong was more elaborate, rococo.
    If I’d played Mrs. Hudson’s recommended fawning, dumb girl’s role, Alden wouldn’t have paid me a moment’s notice. I never once thought about feigning stupidity in Alden’s presence. Rather, I felt called upon to stretch my mind, to show him I could run alongside him.
    Still, I kept dating Jerry. Alden was so high above me—he was such pure intensity and demanding, hard work—work I was not afraid of, but work nevertheless. Jerry was someone with whom I could let off steam, laugh, and maybe even be silly.
    IN THE SPRING OF 1942, newsreels that played prior to the start of films at theaters showed us the bravery of our fighting men and touted U.S. victories. It won’t be long now , we all thought as we sat in the dark, watching and hopeful, and Jerry squeezed my hand. Mother sent me clippings from the Greensburg paper and filled in details gleaned from her friends at church: Doc, Eddie, Mickey, Dean, Lester, Gabby, Rusty, and Tom Kilgore—Dot’s husband—all of them dead or wounded. Mother told me Lisa Jackson, a friend from Girl Scouts, had married Buck Pemberton, who had joined the navy and was about to ship out. I signed your name to the card , Mother said, and I embroidered a nice pair of pillowcases for them .
    Corregidor fell to the Japanese on May 6, 1942, just as we were finishing final exams. Jerry was horrified by the number of ships sunk by the Japanese, but even more so by the number of ships our navy scuttled or destroyed over the course of just two days, all to keep them out of the hands of the enemy. Corregidor floated just south of Bataan, and we knew that the U.S. had surrendered Bataan about a month earlier.
    I could understand numbers—so many dead or captured. I could look at maps, gauge distances, try to contemplate vast oceans or ships’ holds packed with sleepless, sweaty, frightened boys on their way to face death. I could talk with Jerry and other students about the war—the fiery, insane world at war—but I could not know . I could never know what it felt like to face mortality.
    ALDEN AND I DIDN’T really date—I think we fooled ourselves into thinking we were just spending time together. I didn’t tell him about Jerry, and while Alden once referred to an ex-wife, I didn’t know if he had a current romantic interest in his life. Nothing so mundane entered our orbit.
    I was in awe of Alden. I could only sense the very fringes of concepts that his intellect grasped with such easy, ready fingers. I worshipped his knowledge, his aloof independence and greater world experience. He was my teacher; he led me, and I followed gladly.
    We often walked together between or after classes, when Alden wasn’t committed to secret work in his laboratory. I remember an ozone-scented April afternoon when he pulled my hand from my raincoat pocket and held it in his hot, enveloping hands. Abruptly, suddenly aware of his own gesture, he paused in his description of atomic half-life, radioactive decay. We stood on the rain-darkened campus sidewalk, looked at each other, and I used my free hand to tuck a curl of his hair behind his ear. I felt so calm with Alden. Jerry always