Thursday, June 26, 2014

London blitz

I am watching some gianormous science talk in a huge hall with 300 colleagues and this girl about five crawls into my lab.

"Hi," she says. "I'm Rebecca."  Before I know it I've got this girl curled around my little grey cat who has also shown up entirely out of context, and the cat is purring and the girl is warm and sleepy and it's like I have Instant Family in my lap, just add water.

It's nice.  Nicer than I thought.  I feel the start of tears and try to focus on whatever the hell Generic Signaling Pathway, Statistially Significant Bar Graph, Clever Analogy, Neat Tie In To Medicine that had my attention before but it's impossible.  I'm already imagining christmases and birthdays, random walks to the park, firsts - first bike, first day of school, first serious conversation.

Then my cat leaves and I feel uncomfortable.  This child is a stranger and what if people wonder where I got her from?  For that matter, where DID she come from?  I shift the way I do when I want to get a snack and my cat is seated on my lap.  And this girl reacts just the same way, sliding effortlessly, thoughtlessly from my lap, and wanders off.

Except she is not a cat.  She is a five year old girl.  This doesn't hit me right away which is shameful.  Later I think of this as some kind of karma for what happens next.

I am thirsty. I get up to leave.  The hall is packed.  My seat is taken instantly, no going back.  There are people standing in every aisle, some still on their commuter bikes complete with helmet.

I snake my way through the crowd to a very public water fountain.  Dozens of people idly watch me try to control the powerful jet of water that arcs up from the fountain and lands fifteen feet away in a hole on the manicured lawn of the lecture hall.  I drink and drink, feeling no relief from my thirst.  Eventually I stop because I am so exposed and wonder what people are thinking as they watch.

The talk must be over because people have begun streaming from the many entrances.  Which coincides with the first siren, a long wailing like an air raid.  We are in London, and that is in fact exactly what it is.  People stop, puzzled, milling, and actually look up as if to catch a glimpse of German bombers.

The evident power of cultural memory makes me smile; to a person every member of this crowd is too young to have been in a single bona fide air raid. 


No comments:

Post a Comment