The Most Beautiful Heart

a retelling

Once upon a time, in a village far away in the realm of fantasy, there lived a young man with a beautiful heart. Smooth and flawless, the bright red organ kept a perfect rhythm; the young man was very proud of his heart. Every chance he had, he would enjoy opening his chest for others to admire his heart, and they would all agree that his heart was the finest specimen that they had ever seen. That was, until one day in which the man had gathered a crowd to look at his heart.

“Is this not the most beautiful heart you have ever seen?” he asked the audience. There were murmurs of agreement amongst the viewers, until one voice from the crowd objected, “My heart is far more beautiful than yours.”

“Who said that?” the young man asked, stunned at the audacity of the claim. An old man stepped forward, his face etched with hard lines by time, his body bent over his cane. At the sight of the old man, the young man began to laugh uproariously.

“You?” he asked incredulously, “How could you possibly have a more perfect heart?” The old man said nothing as he opened his chest to reveal a heart that resembled a patchwork quilt. The surface of the heart was uneven and roughly hewn, as if created by someone who only had a vague knowledge of what a heart looked like. Colored in a multitude of shades of red, his heartbeat was erratic, and with each beat, blood trickled out of gaps in his heart. The young man and the surrounding crowd recoiled at the sight.

“You see,” the old man started, pointing at the patchwork heart, “each piece of my heart represents a person who I gave my love to – I tear out a piece of my heart for them, and often they give me a piece of their heart in return. Sometimes the pieces don't fit. Sometimes a person may not give me their heart in return.” The old man pointed at the gaps in his heart. “Though these holes hurt, I hope that someday they may come find me and give me a piece of their heart, while the patches remind me of all the love that I have shared.”

The young man looked at the old and saw the beauty of the gaps and scars that lined the man's loving heart. His previously boisterous voice lowered to a whisper as he meekly asked the old man, “May I give you a piece of my heart?”

“Of course, my child. As long as you take a piece of mine in return.” said the old man. The young man reached into his perfect red heart and tore out a piece to hand to the old man, who did the same. The young man thanked the old for his kindness, and from that day forward shared his heart freely, and no one could deny that the young man had the most beautiful heart that the world had ever seen.

Welcome to the Lab

Hi there. You must be the new guy. Welcome to our lab, let me show you around. We share the floor with three other labs. To your left is the Hong lab. If we are ever out of anything, feel free to ask any of their lab members, they're usually a lot more organized than we are. But don't mention this to Dr. Hong or our boss. If you let on, you will be let go.

Here is where out lab starts. On the left are Ben and Todd. If you ever lose anything in lab, go see them. Chances are they have it. For the same reason, you should always write your name all over your own stuff. Do not confront Ben or Todd about their kleptomania; just walk over, take your stuff back, and go. They'll understand. We speculate that their kleptomania is fueled by a need for social contact. Nonetheless, do not attempt to converse with Ben or Todd, as you otherwise will not hear the end of it.

At the next bench sits Lisa. Lisa is the love interest of Mike, who sits over there. They take the bus to work together every morning. For Lisa, it is just another routine event made slightly more interesting by Mike's company. For Mike, it's the highlight of his day. The rest of us think that Mike will eventually ask Lisa out, and after a period of dating, it will end terribly and they will never talk again. Needless to say, you should not mention this to either of them.

Next to Mike sits James. James hates undergraduates. When you inevitably pick up undergraduate students, be sure to inform them of this. Failure to do so may result in the verbal abuse of your students, which will be reflected in your quarterly review. If your students ever need anything from James, it is best that you ask for them. But don't expect to get it either.

What's this about a quarterly review. I'm glad you asked. Feel free to ask questions. Ask too many questions, however, and you may be let go. Every three months you will be given a letter from our boss outlining his thoughts on your work. Included will typically be a series of noncommittal statements about your progress, ending with a demand for experiments to be performed more quickly. Do not take these statements too personally, as the boss will have probably forgotten about what he wrote within a day. Nevertheless you should take these notes into account, as otherwise, you may be let go.

On the wall is the eyewash station and chemical shower. Feel free to use them in the case of emergency. Expect to clean up afterwards; there is no drain underneath the shower. Note that access to the eyewash and shower is usually blocked by any number of obstructions. The unintentional goal of this is to limit its use and by extension the number of accidents in lab. Please act accordingly. If you will be having accidents in lab, please plan them around the one time a year when we clean the area for safety inspections as your access to the showers will be unhindered.

Here is Esther's bench. If you ever break anything in lab, please report it to Esther immediately. Failure to do so will result in a long lecture on responsibility and lab etiquette. It is highly recommended that you limit the number of items in lab that you break, as too many will result in you being let go. Esther recently had a grandchild, so be sure to ask to see the pictures she has on her desk to stay on her good side.

Oh I nearly forgot. Out by the elevators is out kitchenette. You may store your lunch in one of the two refrigerators we have. Do not leave your food on the counter, as we consider any food left on the counter as free game for the rest of us. On Thursdays the Hong lab has their lab meetings, so free lunch will likely be available as they bring up their leftovers. Our lab meetings do not include food, so plan accordingly. In the event of free food, it is best that your arrive at the kitchenette as soon as possible to ensure yourself a serving.

Beyond this bench is the Cameron lab. You have no business in being over there. You will be introduced to the rest of the lab on a need-to-know basis. If you have any other questions, ask Bill; he sits over there. If you need to order something, see Esther's student, whose desk is over there. If the alarm goes off, see Mike. If all else fails, you can come see me. This is my bench. I sit right over there. Now please go away.

At the Epicentre

The white and grey windowless building was quite generic, save for the plexiglas doors and a neon green sign shining the word “Epicentre” into the late afternoon sun. The Epicentre was a city-sanctioned teen recreational center, a term so broad that it essentially provided no description at all. This particular incarnation of a teen holding facility consisted of a large room, painted black on all sides, with a small stage, lights, and sound system. As a college student, it seemed weird for me to be visiting the Epicentre. After all, I had little desire to hang out with high schoolers, most of whom were loitering in the parking lock, some of them smoking on something or another. They seemed to be hanging around to avoid school and homework. On the other hand, I was there to see a punk rock show.

Before I go any further, I should first mention that there has been no particular “scene” that I would consider myself to be a member of in high school or in college. If you were to ask people to throw me into a group, I'd probably get lumped in with the nerds or the Asians, but neither of these remained eternally consistent. The punk rock scene, however, is pretty much as far as possible from any scene that I could associate with. That being said, one of my friends was very much in the punk rock scene, even having their own band, which my friends and I were at the Epicentre to see this day.

Walking into Epicentre, our group of friends played the role of Joseph's technicolor dreamcoat entering a black and white movie. While the thirty to forty people already gathered were all dressed to blend in with the walls, save for the skulls screenprinted onto their shirts and metal studded belts, we all missed the memo and arrived in yellows, reds, and oranges. To say that we stuck out like a sore thumb would be a severe understatement. Unsure of exactly what a punk rock concert entailed, I stood towards the back of the room, conveniently the furthest spot from the massive speaker stacks threatening my ears with destruction that everyone else seemed to somehow be okay with.

As my friend's band came out, they were greeted with quiet, polite applause – relatively expected given that probably no one had heard of them besides, well, us. That changed pretty quickly as the band went into their first song; a loud number that involved the head singer jumping off the stage and moshing with the crowd. The rest of the set had the crowd jumping and yelling, while my friends and I kept our distance for fear of injury. Watching the mob mosh and thrash, I somehow expected serious spinal cord injuries to result, though perhaps with practice their necks had somehow become rubber. At the end of the set, my friend took the microphone and thanked the crowd. “Thanks also to our friends who came out to support us,” he added as an endnote, “you can tell who they are because they don't fit in at all.” And with that we became the subject of the crowds' staring, all thirty to forty of them looking at us much in the same way you'd observe animals at the zoo. I had never been more aware of my choice of clothing before.

With the next band setting up on stage, the crowds thinned, some going outside for a smoke, others taking a bathroom break, presumably to clean themselves up for the next round of jumping up and down. We made a hasty retreat towards the exit. In the parking lot, we met up with the band, who was elated with the small but enthusiastic turnout. My friend offered to get us in to the next show they were playing at, but I declined. I don't think that I would be able to pull of the skull-print shirts, studded belts, moshing, and yelling.

Though I suppose if I showed up in my normal clothes again I could say, “Hey, I'm with the band.”