In this science-inspired work of short fiction, Tania Hershman explores a most bewildering aspect of our human nature
12.03 pm
He sits at the microscope, counting bacteria. He hears her coming. She stands by his bench. She picks up a pipette.
鈥淚鈥檇 rather you didn鈥檛 do that,鈥� he says.
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鈥淥h,鈥� she says. 鈥淥K.鈥� And she puts the pipette back and walks off.
He writes in his notebook: 鈥�12.03 I say: 鈥業鈥檇 rather you didn鈥檛 do that.鈥� She says: 鈥極h, OK鈥�.鈥� He sets his timer for half an hour.
12.33 pm
He sits at the microscope, counting bacteria. He hears her coming. She stands by his bench. She picks up a pipette. He looks up. He smiles at her.
鈥淗i,鈥� he says.聽聽聽聽聽聽聽聽
鈥淥h,鈥� she says. 鈥淪orry, I was just鈥︹�� and she puts the pipette back and walks off.
He writes in his notebook: 鈥�12.33 I say 鈥榟i鈥�. She says 鈥榦h, sorry I was just鈥︹��.鈥� He sets his timer for half an hour.
1.03 pm
He sits at the microscope, counting bacteria. He hears her coming. She stands by his bench. She picks up a pipette. He looks up. He holds out his hand. She slowly places the pipette in his palm as if it were a small animal. She grins. He nods. She walks off.
He writes in his notebook: 鈥�1.03 I hold out my hand. She says nothing. Hands over the pipette. Grins.鈥�
That鈥檚 enough for today. He puts the plates of bacteria away and goes into the office, where he sits down at his laptop and records the new results. He decides that for the rest of the week he will make more variations. Tomorrow he will wear a lab coat. On Thursday he will vary the time intervals by leaving the room shortly after each encounter. On Friday, he will turn the lab radio to another station.
He gets up to go for lunch. She is sitting at the other end of the office, her back to him, listening to something on her headphones. As he leaves the room he remembers how it felt as she handed him back the pipette, her warm fingers touching his cold palm.