Lauren Grodstein - The Explanation for Everything

Still, there’d been some turnover in mental health since then, and at least they were a decent first stop. Andy wondered if he knew anyone over there.

What had Rosenblum advised him? To be good to other people? In a way that he hadn’t been to Melissa, hadn’t been to Sheila, hadn’t been to Oliver. Well, maybe it was time to try something new, try reaching out to Lionel, who was clearly depressed and probably needed the kind of help an older, professorial type could provide.

Andy took out the letter again. I have taken special note of the Anita Lim story. Both of us seem to have been driven to despair by the change in our beliefs. In a world without God, nobody will judge you on the other side . You were right, and I am sorry.

Rosenblum’s death had taken him by surprise. He was so blind sometimes.

For the second time in two days Andy found himself racing out of a room with his heart in his mouth, only this time he had the icy feeling he was too late.

Should he take the elevator? No, no time, he kept running, imagining the plumbing pipes crisscrossing the classroom’s ceiling, and how Anita hanged herself from a pipe of the very same kind. Up two flights, three. What would he say to Lionel’s parents? His twin sister? I had the suicide note in my bag for a day and a half before I made the time to read it?

But was it a suicide note? Nobody will judge you on the other side. Too horrible, keep running.

I’m sorry.

The door to Scientific Hall 501 was stuck and impossible to open; had Lionel jammed it? Andy was sweating, his face wet from sweat or panic or some combination. He had left his briefcase in his lab and with it the building’s master key. He was reduced to banging the door back and forth in its jamb and screaming Lionel’s name. Would someone hear him downstairs? Would someone magically appear with a key? He imagined Lionel’s small body hanging from one of the sturdy ceiling pipes. Oh God, no. No. That poor fragile body. The sweater-vest, the glasses, the hopeful, scornful face. What would happen next? He wouldn’t touch the body, he would run downstairs and call—who? Nina? Linda? The dean? The police? He’d call the police. Maybe that’s what he should do right now, call the police.

Lionel!

He banged the door back and forth more ferociously, thought: please please please.

And then, the door opened. “Sorry,” said Lionel, very much alive. Earbuds around his neck. “My music was turned up.”

Lionel. A sweaty T-shirt. No sweater-vest. “And I was busy reading too.” Andy thought he might fall over from exertion. He wanted to punch the kid in the smug face.

“You’re here,” was all he said.

“Thanks for coming,” Lionel said. “Are you crying?”

Andy wiped his face again. Soaking, he was soaking.

Lionel opened the door wider. “Come on in,” he said, and invited Andy into Scientific Hall 501 as if it were his own room. In fact, he had made it like his own, spreading out his books on the table, drawing the blinds. He had his computer open—a beat-up laptop, much like Andy’s—and a stack of notebooks.

“You set me up,” Andy said.

Lionel looked at him, confused.

“That was a manipulative note.”

“It was?”

“And Melissa Potter,” he said. “Sending her to try to change my mind.”

“I didn’t send her,” Lionel said. “I just made a suggestion. The rest was her. And it was in the spirit of love.” He took off his glasses, the kind that changed color in the sun, and wiped them on the corner of his T-shirt. “You want some water or something? It gets hot up here, I always keep a few bottles.”

Andy sagged in the corner of the room. Above him, the web of pipes gurgled. “What are you doing here?”

“Mostly reading,” he said. “ The Origin of Species, The Selfish Gene, stuff you gave us and also some secondary sources.”

“You’re kidding.”

“ The Will of DNA, that’s a good one,” he said. Early Rosenblum.

“Why here?”

“I told you, it’s quiet,” Lionel said. “And I know I won’t bump into any of my Campus Crusade peeps up here. I’m not really ready to come out to them yet.”

“Come out?”

“As a bright. That’s Dawkins’s word for atheist. ”

“You’re an atheist?”

“I prefer bright, ” Lionel said.

“You’re kidding,” Andy said again.

“You did a good job, Professor,” Lionel said. “You presented good materials, you explained to us the way evolution works. And I mean, like you said, the thing is—the majesty of the world, the way the world works, is so profound, you don’t really need to make it extra profound by layering in the supernatural on top of it.”

“Is that so?” Andy said. His heart was slowing back down to its normal pace, but still that urge to punch Lionel in his smug little mouth.

“You can look at only one thing,” the kid said. “Like take the owl, right? An owl has serrated wingtips which silence airflow around them, so they can hunt in total silence. And their facial structures, their flat faces, help channel sounds into their ears so they can hear their prey. And their brains contain auditory maps, in a way—so all they need to do is hear a faint sound and they can pinpoint where it’s located to a degree.”

“Interesting,” said Andy, feeling sweat collect at the base of his spine.

“I’ve been reading Schoenmeyer. Your colleague. She’s a really good ornithologist,” Lionel said. “Did you know that barn owls are the most widely distributed species on earth? It’s no wonder, really. I mean they’re such incredible hunters.”

Andy bent his head forward, rubbed his damp hair. He’d shower later. Tonight: a shower, a quiet evening with his girls. Next week he’d grade. And he would take them to Montauk this summer, before camp started.

“You taught me a lot about wonder,” Lionel said.

Andy lifted his head.

“It’s like—” Lionel said, “it’s like the thing about God is that he pretty much gives you all the answers. You can wonder about God and God’s spirit and what God wants for us, but it’s a pretty narrow focus. Right? But in nature, in the world, there are so many mysteries, so many things we don’t know—but these are things we can find the answers to, if we want! We don’t have to study ambiguous ancient texts or, I don’t know, wait until we die. We just have to study.”

Andy was still sagging. “I’m surprised to hear you say this.”

Lionel shrugged. “I’m not an existentialist, by the way. I read Camus too and I don’t agree with his analysis of the pointlessness of existence. I mean, he thought the big question was whether or not to kill yourself! Can you imagine? You only get, what, a few decades on this earth—can you imagine wanting to turn out the lights early?”

Andy pushed back his chair.

“I think I might go to graduate school, actually.”

“Grad school.”

“I mean, I don’t know if my grades are good enough but what I’d really like to do is follow your path and go to Princeton. I have this dream—I mean, I get that Anita Lim was a once-in-a-lifetime genius, but evidently she left all her data somewhere and I’m wondering if I can pick it up and maybe keep it going.”

“You’re not serious.”

“Why not?” Lionel smiled shyly. “Like I said, Professor Waite, you’ve really been an inspiration to me.”

“Well, I’m…” What to say? “I suppose I’m pleased, Lionel.”

The kid nodded.

“So I guess I should let you get back to work?”

“Do you mind if I check in with you over the summer? I’m going to start putting together my grad school applications, and I could use your help. You know, if you’re going to be my mentor.”