Flash fiction by Robert Boucheron
Erlenmeyer Flask
Sodium hydroxide fell drop by drop into a conical flask filled with an acid solution tinted pink by phenolphthalein, a solution of unknown strength. Nervous left thumb and index finger on the stopcock, wary eye on the tip of the glass burette, Mona performed a titration.
She was exhausted from too much reading and too little sleep at the end of the semester. She was alone in the chemistry lab, except for the student hired to supervise. He had looked up briefly when Mona came in.
“I’m here to answer basic questions and deal with disasters like chemical spills, broken glass, and fire. I am not a teaching assistant. The lab closes at nine.” He returned to his textbook.
Mona glanced at the wall clock. It was almost nine. All the other students had completed this experiment. No matter what, they had better things to do on a Friday night in spring.
Leonard breezed in.
“I got the fellowship,” he said. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Frozen in a crouch, caught by surprise, Mona could think of nothing to say.
“And about you and me. You probably already knew it was over.”
Stunned, Mona remained silent.
“Well, that’s it, then. Bye.” Leonard breezed out.
Mona leaned back on the stool, let her left hand relax, and dropped the pen in her right hand. Tears began to fall.
Yes, she knew but hoped it wasn’t so, in the hopeless way you have when you’re in love. In love with Leonard? How could she love a man so thoughtless? Also handsome, tall, with waves of black hair a girl could drown in.
Kyle had warned her. A good-hearted goof with a baby face, Kyle was in her own year. He was always lending pens and holding doors open. In sneakers and ball cap, he was at her service, a kid-size cavalier.
“Leonard is a user,” he had said over coffee in the student lounge. “He’s wily and unreliable. Leonard will be gone in a few months, and I will still be here for you.”
Mona shuddered. The tears dripped down her cheeks and chin. They collected in a puddle on the black lab table, like a pool of ink.
How much water do tears contain? Measured by weight or volume? Approximated as a drop of saline solution, the average size of a human tear is what? How do you collect them? When all you want is to sit and cry, or curl up in a corner and weep, or crawl into your unmade bed in the squalid dorm room and pull the blanket over your head and wail into the pillow.
The lab monitor kept his head down. His job did not include this kind of disaster. But maybe he would take pity. Time was running out.
Mona blinked and tried to focus. She saw the burette, the stopcock, and the hanging droplet. When would the pink solution clear? How many tears does it take to fill a one hundred milliliter Erlenmeyer flask?
Sodium hydroxide fell drop by drop into a conical flask filled with an acid solution tinted pink by phenolphthalein, a solution of unknown strength. Nervous left thumb and index finger on the stopcock, wary eye on the tip of the glass burette, Mona performed a titration.
She was exhausted from too much reading and too little sleep at the end of the semester. She was alone in the chemistry lab, except for the student hired to supervise. He had looked up briefly when Mona came in.
“I’m here to answer basic questions and deal with disasters like chemical spills, broken glass, and fire. I am not a teaching assistant. The lab closes at nine.” He returned to his textbook.
Mona glanced at the wall clock. It was almost nine. All the other students had completed this experiment. No matter what, they had better things to do on a Friday night in spring.
Leonard breezed in.
“I got the fellowship,” he said. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Frozen in a crouch, caught by surprise, Mona could think of nothing to say.
“And about you and me. You probably already knew it was over.”
Stunned, Mona remained silent.
“Well, that’s it, then. Bye.” Leonard breezed out.
Mona leaned back on the stool, let her left hand relax, and dropped the pen in her right hand. Tears began to fall.
Yes, she knew but hoped it wasn’t so, in the hopeless way you have when you’re in love. In love with Leonard? How could she love a man so thoughtless? Also handsome, tall, with waves of black hair a girl could drown in.
Kyle had warned her. A good-hearted goof with a baby face, Kyle was in her own year. He was always lending pens and holding doors open. In sneakers and ball cap, he was at her service, a kid-size cavalier.
“Leonard is a user,” he had said over coffee in the student lounge. “He’s wily and unreliable. Leonard will be gone in a few months, and I will still be here for you.”
Mona shuddered. The tears dripped down her cheeks and chin. They collected in a puddle on the black lab table, like a pool of ink.
How much water do tears contain? Measured by weight or volume? Approximated as a drop of saline solution, the average size of a human tear is what? How do you collect them? When all you want is to sit and cry, or curl up in a corner and weep, or crawl into your unmade bed in the squalid dorm room and pull the blanket over your head and wail into the pillow.
The lab monitor kept his head down. His job did not include this kind of disaster. But maybe he would take pity. Time was running out.
Mona blinked and tried to focus. She saw the burette, the stopcock, and the hanging droplet. When would the pink solution clear? How many tears does it take to fill a one hundred milliliter Erlenmeyer flask?
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Robert Boucheron grew up in Syracuse and Schenectady, NY. He has worked as an architect in New York City and Charlottesville, VA. His short stories and essays appear in Bangalore Review, Fiction International, The Fiction Pool, Litro, London Journal of Fiction, New Haven Review, Short Fiction.
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