True Things That Happened To Me #1
Aug. 23rd, 2006 04:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kleenexwomanI think I've only told ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
drworm a fragmented version of this story, after not having thought about it for six years. Since then, I've reconstructed it a bit with help from my mother, who was apparently hovering over me from a distance while it was going on.
How I Met A Mad Scientist At A Garden Party
or, Death Rays and Blueberries
I'd only agreed to accompany my mother to Cynthia's garden party because I knew there was going to be good food. Her little fêtes were uniformly boring, full of legal shop talk and gardening gossip. It was barely an appropriate atmosphere for an easily bored thirteen-year-old girl, but I had nothing else to do that night, and leaving me alone in the house would have been more worry for my mother than it was worth. Cynthia had only agreed to allow me into her party because she knew that I could be trusted to sit quietly with a book and not bother the adults.
Thus, I passed a good hour curled in a wicker chair, eating goat cheese on toast and turning the pages of Stranger in a Strange Land, until I suddenly noticed the older gentleman reading over my shoulder. I closed the book hurriedly (I was in the middle of one of the polyamory parts), and prepared to give him my best "Please go away" stare.
"Heinlein, huh?" he asked. "I sure liked Heinlein when I was a boy. Did you ever read The Moon is a Harsh Mistress?"
"Not yet," I said, still unsure if I really wanted him talking to me. He was a sci-fi fan, after all, but he seemed like he'd wandered into Cynthia's party off the street. Everyone else there was wearing some variation on a business suit (even my normally casual mother had dug out a cream-colored blazer), and he was clothed in a guayabera, shorts, and a jaunty Detroit Tigers baseball cap. "So how do you know Cynthia?"
He seemed taken aback. "Oh, it's her party? I don't know, my wife dragged me here." He indicated a skinny, blonde woman, who was braying in laughter at something Cynthia had said. She resembled a particularly pinch-faced Barbie doll, and was at least twenty years younger than her husband. "She's a great gal, but she goes to these all the time, you know? Says she's gotta get me outta the house once in a while. She says, "You gotta get out once in a while, Roger. Meet some people!" I tell her, "Hon, I'm happy down in the basement," but she never listens." He nodded at the book. "Didn't think I'd meet anyone reading Heinlein here."
"Well, my mom kind of dragged me here, too," I said. "That's why I brought the book."
"God," he said, taking a cheese-smeared cracker from my paper plate, "I love Heinlein." I slid the plate away from him. "Nobody at this party's interested in anything except for the damn garden," he said, and chewed thoughtfully. "The damn garden." He gazed at the azaleas balefully.
"So what do you do in your basement, exactly?" I asked. "Do you read a lot of science fiction?"
"Read it! Hell. There's nothing good out anymore. Shit, I'm glad I met you. I thought I was going to be bored out of my skull tonight. You seem like a smart kid. Are you going to college?"
I was flattered. "Well, not yet. I'm only in middle school, but I'm thinking of majoring in English."
He shook his head. "You should major in physics. That's where the smart kids go. You should learn how to build a Tesla coil."
"Isn't that one of those things where you touch them and your hair sticks out?" I asked. "Static electricity?"
"Noooo, that's a Van de Graaf generator. People always get them mixed up. Nikola Tesla invented them to use as death rays, did you know that? Oh, they didn't work at first, but he built 'em so good he could turn one on and vaporize a forest all the way across the world." He was warming to his subject now, spraying toast crumbs onto my book. "That's what I do in my basement, I build Tesla coils. Mine aren't as good as old Nikola's were, but I'm getting there, oh yes. I told the government I'd build 'em a death ray if they wanted one, but I haven't heard back from them yet. They wouldn't even have to pay me! I just want an excuse to build one. The wife won't let me. Says it'd scare the neighbors. I say, to hell with the neighbors, but ya gotta keep the wife happy, you know?"
"A death ray? Like, seriously? You could build one?"
He grinned, basking in my awe. "Hey, they're not as hard as you think. But you know what's really hard? I mean, really?"
"Wormholes?" I'd written a short story about wormholes the previous year, and considered myself to be somewhat of an expert on them. The trick is using exotic matter to keep it from collapsing on you.
"Nope. Anti-gravity. But I figured it out! It's just magnets, you put two magnets together and turn 'em on and stick something in between them. I put a rat in there once, and it floated and squealed...oh, it was scared. I'm gonna step in there myself, one of these days, when I get the field strong enough." He slapped his belly. "See how it works on the ol' gut."
"Wouldn't that mess up your brain or something?" I asked. "I mean, the magnetic field would be so strong..."
"For most people," he said. "But not for me." He lowered his voice. "Electricty doesn't affect me. I can put my hand on a live wire and it doesn't do a damn thing."
"Wait, how does that work? You don't get electrocuted? Is it some kind of natural resistance thing?"
"Nah, I had to build it up. Y'see, I work around electricity a lot--"
"So you built up an immunity! Cool!"
"That's not how it works. You can't just build it up like you're walking across the carpet or something." He took off his baseball cap and wiped his brow. "Sorry, lecturing gets me worked up, ya know? Probably why I can't teach! Those who can't do, teach, but I can do, I just can't teach."
"Sure," I said.
"See, the electricity I work around attracts lightning to it. Like calls to like, you know? It's all in the charge. I've gotten hit by lightning three times so far, and there'll be more times."
I scrutinized his face. It didn't look like a charred mass, which was what I'd been led to believe lightning strike victims looked like. "Weren't you hurt?"
"Nah. It's just a little buzz, and then it goes away. And afterwards...I touched my Tesla coil, and it worked fine, and I didn't feel a thing. I touched my magnets, I didn't feel a thing. I went out into the road and found a downed wire, and I stood in a puddle and held it, and I didn't feel a thing! It's not as bad as you think, that's all. Everybody should get hit by lightning once."
I was ready to go out and stand in the middle of a thunderstorm. "Cool," I said, finally, breathlessly.
"Rachel. Rachel!" Mom was poking me in the shoulder. "We're going to go."
"I found a friend," I told her, indicating Roger.
"Yeah," she said. "I saw."
My new friend stood up and offered Mom his hand. "Is this your kid? She's got a good head on her shoulders! Smart girl."
"Thanks," Mom said. "Rachel, come on..."
"Listen," he said. "You come visit me sometime, OK? I run a blueberry farm out in..." He named a town, and I kick myself for having forgotten it. "Family business. I just do it to earn money for my magnets--they cost a hell of a lot. Blueberries are good, though. Best in the state! Come out to see me, we can have fresh blueberries and cream and I'll show ya my death ray." He scribbled the address on a napkin and gave it to me.
"We have to go," Mom said.
"Can we go sometime, Mom?" I asked.
"We'll see." Mom smiled at him and handed me my jacket.
I waited until we were in the car to show Mom the address. "Can we go this weekend?"
"No," Mom said. She stuffed the address behind her seat. "I was talking to his wife."
"Oh." I imagined what the pinch-faced woman I'd seen could have said about him. Was she embarassed of his manners? Proud of his genius? Scared of his death ray? "What'd she say?"
"That there's not much money in the blueberry business."
drworm a fragmented version of this story, after not having thought about it for six years. Since then, I've reconstructed it a bit with help from my mother, who was apparently hovering over me from a distance while it was going on. or, Death Rays and Blueberries
I'd only agreed to accompany my mother to Cynthia's garden party because I knew there was going to be good food. Her little fêtes were uniformly boring, full of legal shop talk and gardening gossip. It was barely an appropriate atmosphere for an easily bored thirteen-year-old girl, but I had nothing else to do that night, and leaving me alone in the house would have been more worry for my mother than it was worth. Cynthia had only agreed to allow me into her party because she knew that I could be trusted to sit quietly with a book and not bother the adults.
Thus, I passed a good hour curled in a wicker chair, eating goat cheese on toast and turning the pages of Stranger in a Strange Land, until I suddenly noticed the older gentleman reading over my shoulder. I closed the book hurriedly (I was in the middle of one of the polyamory parts), and prepared to give him my best "Please go away" stare.
"Heinlein, huh?" he asked. "I sure liked Heinlein when I was a boy. Did you ever read The Moon is a Harsh Mistress?"
"Not yet," I said, still unsure if I really wanted him talking to me. He was a sci-fi fan, after all, but he seemed like he'd wandered into Cynthia's party off the street. Everyone else there was wearing some variation on a business suit (even my normally casual mother had dug out a cream-colored blazer), and he was clothed in a guayabera, shorts, and a jaunty Detroit Tigers baseball cap. "So how do you know Cynthia?"
He seemed taken aback. "Oh, it's her party? I don't know, my wife dragged me here." He indicated a skinny, blonde woman, who was braying in laughter at something Cynthia had said. She resembled a particularly pinch-faced Barbie doll, and was at least twenty years younger than her husband. "She's a great gal, but she goes to these all the time, you know? Says she's gotta get me outta the house once in a while. She says, "You gotta get out once in a while, Roger. Meet some people!" I tell her, "Hon, I'm happy down in the basement," but she never listens." He nodded at the book. "Didn't think I'd meet anyone reading Heinlein here."
"Well, my mom kind of dragged me here, too," I said. "That's why I brought the book."
"God," he said, taking a cheese-smeared cracker from my paper plate, "I love Heinlein." I slid the plate away from him. "Nobody at this party's interested in anything except for the damn garden," he said, and chewed thoughtfully. "The damn garden." He gazed at the azaleas balefully.
"So what do you do in your basement, exactly?" I asked. "Do you read a lot of science fiction?"
"Read it! Hell. There's nothing good out anymore. Shit, I'm glad I met you. I thought I was going to be bored out of my skull tonight. You seem like a smart kid. Are you going to college?"
I was flattered. "Well, not yet. I'm only in middle school, but I'm thinking of majoring in English."
He shook his head. "You should major in physics. That's where the smart kids go. You should learn how to build a Tesla coil."
"Isn't that one of those things where you touch them and your hair sticks out?" I asked. "Static electricity?"
"Noooo, that's a Van de Graaf generator. People always get them mixed up. Nikola Tesla invented them to use as death rays, did you know that? Oh, they didn't work at first, but he built 'em so good he could turn one on and vaporize a forest all the way across the world." He was warming to his subject now, spraying toast crumbs onto my book. "That's what I do in my basement, I build Tesla coils. Mine aren't as good as old Nikola's were, but I'm getting there, oh yes. I told the government I'd build 'em a death ray if they wanted one, but I haven't heard back from them yet. They wouldn't even have to pay me! I just want an excuse to build one. The wife won't let me. Says it'd scare the neighbors. I say, to hell with the neighbors, but ya gotta keep the wife happy, you know?"
"A death ray? Like, seriously? You could build one?"
He grinned, basking in my awe. "Hey, they're not as hard as you think. But you know what's really hard? I mean, really?"
"Wormholes?" I'd written a short story about wormholes the previous year, and considered myself to be somewhat of an expert on them. The trick is using exotic matter to keep it from collapsing on you.
"Nope. Anti-gravity. But I figured it out! It's just magnets, you put two magnets together and turn 'em on and stick something in between them. I put a rat in there once, and it floated and squealed...oh, it was scared. I'm gonna step in there myself, one of these days, when I get the field strong enough." He slapped his belly. "See how it works on the ol' gut."
"Wouldn't that mess up your brain or something?" I asked. "I mean, the magnetic field would be so strong..."
"For most people," he said. "But not for me." He lowered his voice. "Electricty doesn't affect me. I can put my hand on a live wire and it doesn't do a damn thing."
"Wait, how does that work? You don't get electrocuted? Is it some kind of natural resistance thing?"
"Nah, I had to build it up. Y'see, I work around electricity a lot--"
"So you built up an immunity! Cool!"
"That's not how it works. You can't just build it up like you're walking across the carpet or something." He took off his baseball cap and wiped his brow. "Sorry, lecturing gets me worked up, ya know? Probably why I can't teach! Those who can't do, teach, but I can do, I just can't teach."
"Sure," I said.
"See, the electricity I work around attracts lightning to it. Like calls to like, you know? It's all in the charge. I've gotten hit by lightning three times so far, and there'll be more times."
I scrutinized his face. It didn't look like a charred mass, which was what I'd been led to believe lightning strike victims looked like. "Weren't you hurt?"
"Nah. It's just a little buzz, and then it goes away. And afterwards...I touched my Tesla coil, and it worked fine, and I didn't feel a thing. I touched my magnets, I didn't feel a thing. I went out into the road and found a downed wire, and I stood in a puddle and held it, and I didn't feel a thing! It's not as bad as you think, that's all. Everybody should get hit by lightning once."
I was ready to go out and stand in the middle of a thunderstorm. "Cool," I said, finally, breathlessly.
"Rachel. Rachel!" Mom was poking me in the shoulder. "We're going to go."
"I found a friend," I told her, indicating Roger.
"Yeah," she said. "I saw."
My new friend stood up and offered Mom his hand. "Is this your kid? She's got a good head on her shoulders! Smart girl."
"Thanks," Mom said. "Rachel, come on..."
"Listen," he said. "You come visit me sometime, OK? I run a blueberry farm out in..." He named a town, and I kick myself for having forgotten it. "Family business. I just do it to earn money for my magnets--they cost a hell of a lot. Blueberries are good, though. Best in the state! Come out to see me, we can have fresh blueberries and cream and I'll show ya my death ray." He scribbled the address on a napkin and gave it to me.
"We have to go," Mom said.
"Can we go sometime, Mom?" I asked.
"We'll see." Mom smiled at him and handed me my jacket.
I waited until we were in the car to show Mom the address. "Can we go this weekend?"
"No," Mom said. She stuffed the address behind her seat. "I was talking to his wife."
"Oh." I imagined what the pinch-faced woman I'd seen could have said about him. Was she embarassed of his manners? Proud of his genius? Scared of his death ray? "What'd she say?"
"That there's not much money in the blueberry business."
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2006-08-23 07:44 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2006-08-24 02:03 am (UTC)Apparently my dad, when he was in high school, was an assistant for a local inventor/scientist to earn some money. My mom recalls him being "really really weird." LOL.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-08-24 05:32 am (UTC)