Inventions

Rule number 3 of internships: Always ask how long your workday is going to last. It was late in the afternoon, and I still had no idea how long I had to to stay here before my new lord-and-master sent me home for the night. The one slow chemical reaction burbling away on my benchtop had gone unattended for the better part of half an hour, and could safely be left to run overnight. "Um," I began, "How late should I —"

Inventions looked up. He was obsessed with something and completely oblivious to what I was trying to ask. "I'm gonna need some starches and sodium chloride. Go pick me up some saltines." He tossed three Sacagaweia dollar coins at me; I managed to catch one of them, and had to scoop the other two up off the floor.

I narrowed my eyes. "You want me to go . . .?"

"Shopping," Inventions answered. "There's a Kroger less than four blocks east of here."

"You don't want me to whip up some starch and NaCl in a beaker here?" I asked.

"Not this time," he said. "Don't need a lot of 'em, just one box of crackers' worth. Get goin'."

I shrugged, and headed out the door. To this day I still wonder if every intern has to pull go-for duty like this. Maybe it's like hazing a fraternity pledge. The three-and-a-half blocks to the store didn't look quite as bad as I remembered the neighborhood looking when I first showed up; nonetheless I was glad I'd moved my wallet to my front pocket. The supermarket didn't look any worse than the usual, either — air conditioned, clean floors, pretty displays, up-to-date checkout lane tech, just like any Kroger in the better parts of town. I spotted the cookies-and-crackers aisle, turned down it, and grabbed the cheapest off-brand saltines I could see.

And then, when I turned back toward the front of the store, I saw . . . her.

Oh. My. God.

She was walking down the aisle toward me, a handbasket in her right hand with one or two items in it which swung gently with each step. I couldn't take my eyes off her. She might as well have given off a heavenly glow with her own choir of angels singing behind her. I swear I heard the magnificent opening orchestral strains of John Denver's "Calypso" in my head. Her face, her legs, the way she carried herself . . . she looked like Mary Tyler Moore, back during her glory years, but with the poise and sophistication of Christie Brinkley in Billy Joel's "Uptown Girl" video. Only better, better than both of them combined. As she got closer, I got a clear view of her left hand, and there was no ring on her ring finger. She might be unattached! She walked past me, oblivious to the thumping of my heart, and as she did I caught a tiny whiff of jasmine perfume. Her perfume. It was her scent.

In all my years in high school and in the university, I'd never fallen that hard for a woman that fast.

Were I older and wiser, I'd have walked up and introduced myself. But in my early twenties? With all the romantic confidence of Charlie Brown seeing the little red-haired girl? I could only stare as she walked away. I was paralyzed, terrified of messing up, terrified of talking to her, terrified of setting things in motion. I didn't even notice that I'd popped open the box of crackers, opened one of the sleeves, and started stuffing saltines into my mouth one by one.

She reached the end of the aisle and turned the corner to the left. Instinctively, I walked after her, but when I turned left at the end she was nowhere to be seen. She must have ducked into a neighboring aisle. I walked up to the next aisle and glanced in. She wasn't there. I kept walking as casually as I could manage, and looked aside into the next aisle. There she was, walking away. More crackers went down my throat without my even noticing. I desperately wanted to turn in and follow her, but I was terrified that if she saw me following her around I'd lose any chance I might have of her liking me in the future. I turned aside and kept on walking.

I was kicking myself for not going after her, all of my way to the checkout line.

This store had no self-checkout stations, and was surprisingly busy for a weekday. All the lines were long. I got into the woefully misnamed "quick check" line and waited my turn. My crazy obsession with the new Woman of my Dreams was finally abating, and my thoughts could start returning to reality. I looked in the open saltines box, and the open sleeve was nearly empty. Damn, I'd been eating a lot of crackers. Oh well, these kinds of stores usually let you pay for things after you eat them, so long as you still had the package.

I glanced around absentmindedly, my eyes wandered to a checkout line half way across the store, and . . . there she was again! She was standing in line herself, looking just as bored as everyone else. My hand once again reached into the cracker box of its own volition and shoveled more saltines into my mouth. I didn't even notice myself opening the second sleeve and digging into yet more crackers. The line I was in advanced, I moved up instinctively, never tearing my eyes off her. When I somehow got to the checker at the front of the line, he had to tear the box away from my hands to bring me back down to Earth. He scanned the barcode, hit a few keys on his register, and said "Two ninety-nine."

I handed him the three Sacagaweia dollars Inventions had thrown at me. I tried to keep her in view out of the corner of my eye while the checker dug out the one measly penny in change he owed me. My dream girl's line must have been a tad shorter than mine, because she was already walking toward the exit. I pocketed the penny and receipt, scooped up what was left of my saltines, and walked in her direction. Okay, Sam, I told myself, act cool. You're just walking toward the exit like any other customer. You're totally not following around a new woman like a lovesick puppy.

The moment I was outside I spotted her again, walking through the parking lot. Once again, I casually walked in her general direction, hoping she wouldn't think I was following her. Once again, I tore into the saltines as an automatic reflex. She walked to a brown Honda Civic, got in, and drove away. I watched her go with a mix of relief and regret. Would I ever see her again? Should I come back here again at the same time next week on the off chance that she might reappear? Would I ever work up the courage to talk to her?

I took a deep breath and marched back toward Mr. Inventions' lab.

When I went back in the front door, Inventions looked up from pounding on what looked like a dark blue torpedo. "Ah, there y'are. Hand 'em over!"

I held out the box of crackers, only to realize . . . "Uh oh."

He snatched the box from my hands and scowled. "It's empty!"

"There're still a few crumbs left," I said quickly. "You might be able to use —"

"I don't wanna eat crumbs! I was lookin' forward to those saltines."

"Wait." I narrowed my gaze. "You just wanted the crackers to eat?"

"An inventor's gotta keep up his blood sugar," Inventions said. "All I have left here are some half-stale whole wheat saltines. Bleah. What was I thinkin' when I bought those?"

I pressed. "You didn't want the starch for anything you're building? The salt for any—"

As usual, Inventions interrupted. "What happened to the saltines, anyway? You didn't buy an empty box, didja?"

"No, I . . ." I looked away and scratched the side of my head uncomfortably. "Well, there was this girl, and . . . I mean, she was really really . . ."

"Well congratulations." Inventions folded his arms. "When's the wedding?"

"I —" I stammered "— I don't even know if she likes me yet!"

Inventions lowered his gaze and smirked. "So, what's her name?"

"Uh . . . I don't . . . actually know yet."

"Have you even talked to this woman at all?"

"Well," I scratched the back of my neck, "Not as such."

"So you're head-over-heels in love with a woman who doesn't even know you exist." Inventions shook his head. "I can't imagine a more effective way to make yourself miserable." He frowned. "Or a more effective way to eat up the saltines I sent you to buy." He took three more brass dollar coins out of a pocket, and threw them at me so hard I was afraid they'd leave bruises. "Now get back there and get me another box of saltines, and this time, don't open it!"

I made sure to go through a different checkout line this time. I didn't want to give an opportunity to the clerk who'd rung up my half-empty box of saltines last time to give me a hard time about it. The Woman of my Dreams was, not surprisingly, nowhere to be found.

When I got back, I tossed the unopened box of saltines to Inventions. He snatched it out of the air without looking, then ripped into it. "Finally!" he said, "I was afraid I was gonna have to tighten the windings on this transformer with my stomach growling."

"Is . . . that for the pedal-powered car?"

He glanced at me with a snort, as though I'd just asked the stupidest question in the world. "Nah, that's finished." He thumbed over his shoulder at the torpedo casing, which now sported four narrow tires. "The transformer's for an improved-range digital radio transmitter."

I walked over to his pedal-powered creation, and peered into its cockpit. Inside the torpedo-shaped aerodynamic shell, it looked like just a garden variety recumbent bicycle, except with four wheels. "You sure this is going to be enough to beat a skeleton in a race?"

"Come on," Inventions said, still fiddling with the transformer. "It's only George. What's he going to do, improve on the industry standard design? Him? Don't be ridiculous."

"But," I said, "But maybe he's got some kind of skeleton powers that'll give him the edge? I mean, he said something about fatigue —"

"Fatigue won't matter in only two laps," Inventions said. "And whatever's powering his legs can't crank rotary pedals any harder than he could when he was alive. And there," he slapped his quadriceps, "I've got the edge. He can't beat me, not without cheating. And I'll be on guard for that. Now why don'tcha head on home. You'll wanna be bright-eyed and chipper when I win tomorrow's race."

I shrugged. He was the master inventor, after all. If he said his design would be enough, it would be enough. I moseyed back over to my chem station, checked the reaction one more time just to be sure it was still running strong, and headed out for the evening.

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