Dr. Henry Layton

His office door was hanging ajar, so it didn't seem like such a big deal to just push it open and step inside. Professor Layton and I had developed a decent rapport over the last semester, and I expected my unannounced entry to have a sort of familial charm. He didn't see me step in, though. I found him at his desk, his face leaning heavily against one fist. He had just nodded off. I didn't want to embarrass him, so I stepped back outside, closed the door, and knocked this time. There was a quiet snort from within the office, then a hurried, “Come in, come in.”

So I went in. Red knuckle-marks still highlighted his right cheek, but I pretended not to notice. “I was hoping to talk about potassium bonds,” I said, forgoing any pleasantries. Although I did this in as friendly as manner as possible, at the same time I wanted to be a little rude, to make a little faux-pas that he could criticize if he was in the mood for it. I still felt kind of bad for finding him napping and thought this was the least I could do to help him reclaim lost pride, just in case he had lost any any.

“And a good afternoon to you, too, Timothy.” I smiled. “Why don't you take a seat.” Settling into the austere wooden chair meant for his students, I repeated my request. In response, he just looked at me expectantly, like an owl watching a dog pass by below. It wasn't friendly or afraid, just mildly and impersonally curious.

“So imagine this,” I started, mustering my enthusiasm, “we take a sample of potassium at equilibrium and flood it with sodium chloride.” In my own mind, I saw lightening crackling. I saw chemical bonds breaking down and then exploding into new configurations. He, however, just stared at me opaquely, and I realized he wasn't the least bit interested. Perhaps he'd heard a thousand other students propose the same experiment. Perhaps this was all old hat to him. In a last-ditch effort to summon his interest, I expand on my idea, shared with him my vision of electron bonds shattering and reforming in perpetual light.

The corner of his lip turned downwards and I fell silent. Eventually, he spoke. “It wouldn't play out like that. You'd reach homeostasis almost immediately.” I expected him to go on, but he didn't. This bothered me. I knew that there was more to the answer than what he was giving; I'd been thinking about this for days. Although I could tell he wasn't interested, I insisted.

He seemed so weary listening to me, but as I explained to him how I saw the process evolving, he began to snort. It was the faintest thing, but I'd heard it before. It was the noise a bull made before charging. It was Professor Layton rousing himself into an academic fervor. I liked this about him. He was unwilling to fall into the geriatric tranquility of his peers. Well into his sixties, he could still get fired up over the little things like potassium bonds. You just had to push the right buttons.

Once, I saw him jogging around campus, and I could tell he was having a hard time. He didn't stop, though. Neither did he look at me. His eyes were fixed on something faraway, a finish line he eventually passed through only to run to yet another goal. As he snorted, he fixed me with the same look. How many times did he have to find the words to explain something obvious to some cocky student? How tired was he of endlessly explaining the basics of chemistry? No matter the answer, he would push himself to do the job right.

But then something happened, something I'd never seen him do before. He stopped snorting and looked down at his hands, which were balled into fists on his desk. Eventually, he just shook his head and said, “It wouldn't play out like that, alright? Just trust me.” And what could I say? We both fell silent.

Eventually he muttered something about me being ready for Friday's exam, and I nodded, grabbing my bookbag off the floor. I still didn't know what would happen if you forced a bond between potassium and sodium nitrate, but at that moment, I didn't entirely care. Me and Professor Layton both, I guess. As I rose, I gave him a cursory look. I was unsure what to do with my eyes, if it would be rude to look at him now. It didn't matter. He was still looking at his own hands, the red marks from his knuckles lingering on his cheek. It was the only real color on his face.