Page 26 of The Scientist
“I’ve never had to teach classes before, but so far, I’m surprised by how much I’m enjoying it. I’m also grateful that my classes have seemed to garner so much attention. And lastly, my father was from Poland and my mother is from Russia.”
It was like he was going down a mental checklist of everything I had asked. It was the longest I’d heard him speak besides the speech he made at faculty night. I decided to go with the last little piece of information he gave in his info dump. I noticed he said his fatherwasPolish and his motherisRussian.
“Are your parents still living?”
“My mother is, but my father died in a car accident when I was two,” he said, confirming my suspicions.
“I’m sorry to hear that. My father died too, when I was eight… Drug overdose.”
I didn’t tell many people how my father died, so I didn’t know why I was sharing. Even though he’d been acting as if I were harboring some highly contagious disease, for some reason, I just innately knew I could trust him. Maybe it was his reserved nature. He was probably holding a lot of people’s secrets in that giant brain of his.
“Anyway, he was this larger-than-life guy and an amazing father, but he had his demons.”
He looked over at me thoughtfully before speaking. “I don’t remember mine.”
I studied him. “I’m sure you remember some things.”
“No. Episodic memories don’t convert to long-term memories until much later in childhood when the hippocampus and frontoparietal regions of the brain are more developed.”
Wow.Okay then.
“I just meant that even if you don’t have perfect recall of the events from your childhood, it doesn’t mean your heart doesn’t remember him,” I explained. “You might not remember exact details, but I’m sure he still loved you, still held you in his arms. That bond doesn’t just go away. My memories of my dad have definitely faded over the years, but I always remember how he made me feel—loved, cherished. There must be something similar for you.”
He stared out at the road ahead of us, brow furrowed in concentration.
“I suppose you’re right,” he finally said. “Though I don’t think I feel his absence as acutely as you feel your father’s.”
I thought he was probably right about that. I was painfully aware of my father’s absence from my life and still thought about him almost every single day. I wished I could call him and hear his voice just one more time. More than anything, I wished I had him to lean on, especially now. It might have been a little easier if we were going through this whole thing with my mom together as a family.
If we didn’t switch gears soon, I was definitely going to start crying. We were venturing too far away from small talk.
I straightened. “So, how did your family end up in the US?”
“My mother and I moved here when I was ten. My mother’s sister left Russia to come to the US a few years before we did. When the conflict in Russia started getting worse, my aunt begged my mom to get out and bring me here.”
“Is this the Cher-loving aunt?”
The side of his mouth reluctantly turned up into a half grin. “Yes, that’s the one.”
“And do you see her here now, Lex?” I asked with my best therapist-like voice.
“HA-HA,” he said with an eye roll for good measure. “She’s real, I promise. Her name is Polina and she lives in Santa Barbara with her husband Stan.”
“Sure, whatever you say.” I gave him a doubtful look, and a smile tugged at his expression again. “And you didn’t leave until you were ten?That must have been really hard for a ten-year-old,” I remarked.
“It was definitely a big adjustment for us.”
“Do you still speak Russian?”I asked curiously.
“Konechno.”
“I’m going to assume you said yes and not F-off.”
He grinned. “I saidof course.” His tone was light with humor. “I really only get to practice with my mother and aunt regularly. Otherwise, I’m sure I would have forgotten it.”
“It’s crazy that you came here at ten years old but don’t seem to have any kind of accent at all.”
“Ten-year-olds from Chicago aren’t the nicest kids in the world. I had to adapt pretty quickly so I’d stop having my face beaten in.”