Hey all! It took ten years to update?! No way! But I have my reasons, I suppose. Things have been mad lately. I went on One Piece and Inside Out crazes. I wrote about one or two fanfics for each fandom. The last few years have been going haywire, but I think things have finally settled down. I'm working a job and making plans to move abroad, so life is still busy. Also, this chapter was an absolute bugger to write, not to mention episodes of writer's block.
But I didn't drop this story completely within the last ten years but made some changes, some major and some minor, to the plot of my story.
By the time two months passed since the wedding and honeymoon, Jeffrey and Charlotte had made a place to call home in an end terrace—the grand, or rather modest, finale at the end of a chain of terrace homes. As implied, it wasn't quite Kensington but was more comfortable than some parts of England and America they've seen. It was in a part of Watford that would bustle with traffic every now and then but not too often. But no matter, it was home now.
Jeffrey buttoned his shirt giddily, eyeing the wall clock off and on. How lucky was he, a PhD in the arts yet having the job of his dreams and married to the lady of his dreams? He heard the pop of an older toaster sound off in the kitchen and the faint scratching sound of two slices of toast being removed and covered with jam by a knife. And was that mild feminine humming of some popular song at a faster beat he also heard?
"Jeff, you don't want to be late. Bus'll be here in five minutes." Charlotte called. She had to admit, it felt a little funny saying something you would tell an elementary school child to an adult man with a PhD.
"Be right there, darling." He called back.
She gently continued humming, slowing down the tempo as she turned the kitchen stove off. "A distant bell…" She softly conformed to crooning. "And stars that fell like rain out of the blue…" She felt his arms slowly wrap around her torso underneath her chest. "Why, Jeffrey!" She gasped in mock surprise. "Why so shy?"
"Shy?" He repeated. "Me?"
"Yes. You." She looked at him smugly yet playfully. He kissed her in response. She caressed the side of his face in her hand within that tender grasp. He broke the kiss.
"How shy was that?"
"Better." She rested her head on his collarbone, her blonde hair being pushed up the front of his dark blue suit coat.
"I'd best get going." He released her. She looked up at the little wood-lined clock hanging on a barren part of the kitchen wall.
"Yes, you'd best." She agreed. She wished she could keep him all to herself for the rest of the day, but if one still aspired to contribute to the world, then she had to share him with it. Also, she had to go to work too at a less prominent college as a dance instructor. He swiftly walked through the parlor to the front door of the flat and snatched his smart trench coat off of a slender hook from the top of the tall, spindly coat rack.
He opened the door and said, "See you tonight."
"Okay, see you then!" Charlotte called back. Before he could shut the door, she cried, "Wait!" Jeffrey turned around to see her running towards him with the pair of toasted bread slices carefully kept between a small sheet of parchment paper. She slipped it quickly into his grasp, knowing she could not let him go hungry for the rest of the morning. "Enjoy it while it's warm."
"Will do." He assured her, aware of the springy wet weather awaiting him.
"Good luck." She wished.
He smiled briefly. "See you, darling."
"Bye." He cantered down the two steps off the front door and to the newly arrived and now awaiting bus, not paying attention to his wife shutting the door. He stepped inside along with three other persons, and away the bus went on to another day of carrying persons from one place to another.
Raindrops pounded rhythmically on the roof and windows of the centuries-old hall like a regiment of tiny drums as Jeffrey strolled to a laboratory. Everywhere he looked, ambitious, aspiring students abounded all over down the hallways and by the frame of nearly each door—eager for the first day of a new semester, tired from a belated sleeping and early rising, or upset at the ending of a very well-enjoyed (and perhaps needed) spring vacation. How they reminded him of his days of student-hood at Northampton.
What about now? He was no longer a student but he was no teacher either. What was he? A very brilliant man with a PhD in no field of the sciences but rather of the arts. Then again, a scientist isn't a scientist only because he received a degree. Many of history's greatest scientific minds made their discoveries and developed their works without the aid of the classroom, and some even defied and proved wrong so-called scientific laws set long before. The world scientist simply means "one who knows", not "one who has a Master's Degree or PhD in science".
In the laboratory, he would come face to face with a few of many brilliant minds, each in the race to be the next revolutionary in science. Perhaps he would become that revolutionary. Perhaps. He took a breath. The race began years ago, and today was another lap.
"Dr. Hawkinson." A male voice called from a few feet away. The brunette man turned around. A graying nicely dressed man strutted in his direction. "Thank goodness I caught you in time."
"Ah, Dr. Ashley." Jeffrey greeted him with a small smile and a handshake. "Caught me in time for what?"
"Professor Edgar Worthington is giving a lecture this morning. Come with me; we'll return later." Dr. March Ashley, a researcher in physical chemistry and thermodynamics, slightly cocked his head in the direction of this said lecture and led the way.
Edgar Worthington, Jeffrey recognized the name. He had heard of Worthington and read a few of his papers on the sciences. They excited Jeffrey as well as a handful of his colleagues, so it was no wonder he was a little excited to hear and see the author of these eloquent statements of knowledge and learning from his research, even now. Jeffrey wished to work in the laboratory with Ashley and some other scientists he associated with on a regular basis like Prof. Ballard and Dr. Parrish, but he did not want to miss this.
Dr. Ashley opened one of the double doors to allow some of his colleagues and about twenty young university students into the lecture hall auditorium. The door behind him shut, and he took his place among the benches near the door with Jeffrey and a few other scientists, allowing many a young ingenue to have perhaps the slight thrill of being nearly face to face with today's prestigious guest who would pour some piece of genius into their ever-growing world.
"Good day, gentlemen." Professor Morton, one of the prominent instructors and one of the board members, greeted after stepping down to the desk at the front of the room and clearing his throat. He then noticed three young ladies in the assembly of students and thus added, "…and ladies. Ladies and gentlemen." He corrected himself. "Welcome. It is my esteemed honor to introduce to you today, Professor Edgar Worthington, and his discussion on genetics. Let us make him feel welcome."
The set of spectators gave a round of applause as a middle-aged man walked to the chalkboard and barely rested his hand on the bottom metal rail as to not cut his skin. Nearly every being in this room was impatient with anticipation for the even the first spoken word.
"Genetics." He began, not a twinge of stage fright in his voice. "A study so old yet so new. Existing as long as many branches of biology as say, entomology or anatomy and physiology, but never being touched until nearly eighty years ago by an ordinary friar and his pea plants. It makes up why I have gray eyes and not hazel eyes, brown..." Worthington patted his bald scalp and remaining gray hair and cleared his throat again. "Well, uh, once upon a time—hair and not auburn. Genetics make up who we are, what we inherit from our forefathers, from our physical features to even some of our behavioral traits and thoughts, in a sense, our very own personal history."
He pulled a small thin stick of chalk from the tray within the metal rail and began to quickly draw on the chalkboard a double helix of two downwardly spiraling ribbons, each ribbon spiraling in a different direction as if around an invisible cylinder and intersecting at different uniform points throughout the double helix to create asymmetrical loops. Within each loop, he quickly drew four straight lines.
"I will admit that I'm no da Vinci." He chuckled a bit sheepishly. "But I'm sure at least one of you could tell me what this is."
A young student with combed-down ash blonde hair raised his hand.
"Yes?" Worthington acknowledged.
"DNA." The student answered proudly.
"Correct." Worthington nodded his head in approval. "Deoxyribonucleic acid, to be exact. But as our student has said, we simply call it DNA."
Two phenomena had happened in the year 1953, Jeffrey knew both as a Brit and a scientist: the coronation of Her Majesty the Queen and the discovery of the model which Worthington had just drawn. He continued to watch the man and the chalk in his hand and listen to what he had to say.
"About ten years ago, Doctors James Watson and Francis Crick, a biologist and a physicist, posed a hypothesis that DNA replication was semiconservative, acting as a template for the newer strand. But where was proof? Where was any evidence that that hypothesis was true, hm? Well, thanks to biologists Matthew Meselson and Frank Stahl, we were given the chance to perhaps find proof when they designed an experiment—the Meselson-Stahl experiment nearly two years ago."
He drew four vertical lines, two sets with two lines each. "We have two—minimalist, mind you—DNA strands. The lefts line in each strand are the parent DNA whilst the right lines are the new daughter DNA. But they look a bit too much alike, true? But of course. Which is why we need a distinguishing between the two."
Worthington continued to explain how the experiment was conducted. Jeffrey's mind began to wander, jumping back and forth between the lecture and his thoughts based off the topic discussed today. First something about the parent DNA being heavier than the daughter DNA. Then remembering what little he knew about genetics. Then watching Worthington draw a semicircle with an arrow on each end over the right set of lines indicating that the daughter DNA swapped positions with the parent DNA. Then something about the selective breeding of bananas.
No, Jeffrey. Focus. He scolded himself internally. Darwin only knows when you'll hear this again. He quickly whipped out his pencil and small notepad from his suit-coat pocket and began feverishly writing all what he could remember of what was already spoken. Just in time to catch up with Worthington saying something about the experiment ultimately proving the hypothesis to be true.
Then Worthington announced, "Voila!" as the end of explaining the experiment. "Of course, we must remember that this experiment was performed barely two years ago. And it still seems we've only scratched the surface of this mysterious topic. But soon scientists anywhere around the world will continue to dig deeper, perhaps based off the DNA model and the works of Meselson and Stahl. I understand that there are a few students of genetics, like perhaps the young gentleman here."
Jeffrey remembered that one idea from years ago, to invent something incredible, to create some miracle to save humanity. This idea was spurred from the event of Amelia's two friends being killed in an accident while she was fortunate enough to get out of there alive, albeit covered in bruises and tolerating a broken leg for a few months. Oh, if only the two teenage girls were still alive and thriving in the first years of adulthood instead of having their lives cut so tragically short, if only Amelia came out with—at the most—two scratches or bruises without major pain.
"I wonder if one could apply genetics to the scheme of human survival." Jeffrey wondered quietly. Or even not just for survival. He continued in thought. Maybe longevity. Maybe a perfect immune system and a high resistance to sickness and disease, from the common cold to cancer, from allergic reactions to anemia. It couldn't be a miracle cure for certain, but perhaps the start of something. His face and overall demeanor was solemn and reserved, but his mind and perhaps even his soul were on fire with excitement and wondering. He may have found something, already or just today. If not, then someday.
"You were saying something, Doctor?" Ashley muttered quietly to Jeffrey, putting the young genius's thoughts on hold.
Jeffrey barely shook his head and whispered, "Nothing."
But why not genetics? Why not try to impact genetics—the very basis of what makes us us?
In his adolescence, he once saw two pictures in a book, a before and after comparison of selective breeding of pug dogs. The first was of a pug before the breeding process, the canine looking more like a mutt. The second was of a descendent of the first pug, looking much more like a common pug complete with its chubby body and its distinguished squished-in face. Bananas, as he learned, are originally shorter, thicker, and have multiple seeds. With alterations, selected bananas grew longer in length, thinner in width, and lesser in seed content. Such was with watermelon, originally having an unappetizing flavor but with selective breeding developing the sweeter flavor humanity came to know and love. How did these modifications happen? What was needed to make these enhancements? Concoctions? Cross breeding? Heaven help us—inbreeding?
I think I've got it! He thought, beaming with excitement and a growing anticipation on the inside.
The lecture concluded, "Where will this all go? Alas, if we knew all the answers. And in the days to come, I believe we will know. Thank you."
The room applauded in response. The dean of biology, a couple scientists and a handful of students, including the young man with ash blonde hair, came to meet and congratulate Worthington with a handshake and a few words of praise and slight quick discussing of genetics.
"Whoa." Ashley said. "A very different topic made for a very different morning. But it was very impressive. I myself was impressed."
"Indeed, as was I." Jeffrey agreed. "If you'll excuse me."
"Back in a jiffy or half of one?" Dr. Parrish asked but got no response.
Jeffrey stepped out of the auditorium and made a quick trip to his lab. Apparatus was already set up for the experiments in physics. The chalkboard was riddled with mathematics and illustrations of proposed processes and their hoped-for results. He looks looked at the desk. Notes—hypotheses, equations, results of tested experiments both successful and failed, so much. What he had worked on before with the assistance and association of other great minds to understand more of the world around them. He would still do that, but in a different path and potentially alone on that path.
The dean was probably preoccupied with Worthington for the rest of the day, so Jeffrey put off making any proposal for changing his field of research and work until the following morning. Until then, everything from that day, from Worthington's lecture to his own wondering and ideas, replayed in his mind, while he worked with his usual cohorts and fiddled with equipment and mused about mathematics on chalkboards, while he ate his lunch and spaced out absentmindedly in deep thought, while he returned home on the bus, while he ate a slice or two of a home-cooked casserole during dinner and shared a conversation of various topics with Charlotte, while he practiced a dance with her as her guinea pig for her teaching dance at a college and paid most of his attention to "Shuffle left, shuffle right, stamp, stamp. Shuffle left…" until she was sure she could teach this dance to every student in her class.
"You seem distracted tonight." She had said, pausing in the middle of two stamps. "You okay? Work's okay?"
"Yes, of course." He responded. "It's just that a lot happened today." He paused and gave her an reassuring smile. "And I'll hopefully learn more about it tomorrow." He didn't feel like explaining everything about his day and he felt it best to spend the rest of his day helping her in a field in which they were both skilled. If she was a teacher, then she would definitely have to know what she was teaching.
"Okay then." She resumed the stamping. "Shuffle left, step left, step right…" This practice went on for another couple minutes when she finally said, "I think I've got this."
"Of course you do." He affirmed, still dancing.
"Tell me, are you saying that as a supportive biased husband or as the impartial more educated holder of a PhD in dance?"
"Both." He took a step closer to her. "But as the latter, I will say that you're only missing one step tonight."
Darn it. She thought and raised an eyebrow. "What?"
He lifted her up off the ground and spun her in a circle, much to her surprise.
"That's not part of the dance, and you know it!" She reprimanded but couldn't hold back from laughing.
"But in all seriousness, you've got this, Charlotte. If anyone's got this, it's you."
With a final finishing pose of both arms in different directions and feet crossing, she stopped and took a deep breath of relief and weariness. She looked up at him, smiling sweetly, and wrapped her arms around him. "What would I do without you?"
My beloved darling. He thought, holding her in return and touching her hair. I could ask you the same question.
"Galileo only knows." He responded to her question.
But may my days start and end with you. They both thought.
This chapter was so dang long. Oops!