Biochemist v. Bioengineer

She spots the Bioengineer.

Well this is awkward, she says.

He walks from the road. When he spots the Biochemist he pauses, sighs, continues. He arrives at the oak. He finds it hard to look her in the eye.

The Biochemist, in the same moderate, precise, commanding tone that won her respect from the community of scientists within the chemistry department, using the same tone and awkward poise that ultimately (in conjunction with a favorably received book that proposed the medical administration of trace chemicals believed to be organically manufactured during sex to extend the lives of celibates, so that they'd match those of married individuals) won her tenure - using these she begins an inquisition into the circumstances that led to the Bioengineer's recent flight, his dalliance with a young Registrar in the administrative department, and the discovery of a manuscript of poetry written to the girl that the Biochemist had found beneath tax returns in the desk drawer of their study. She finishes by asking why he hasn't returned her calls.

The Bioengineer pinches the bridge of his nose.

She asks if he'd like to give their relationship another chance. He asks about the paperwork. She reaffirms her refusal to sign off on a divorce. Until, she says, she's satisfied that nothing can salvage their vows.

He laughs. She accuses him of childishness.

All this, she says, is a just matter of insecurity. We discussed it with the Marriage Counselor. You admitted a fear of cerebral, successful women. It's something we both know you can overcome.

I don't want to overcome, he says. At thirty-seven, I can't overcome.

She tells him he's delusional. Boiling, he spouts. Spouting, he lists several examples of things that have an inherently greater sex appeal than her, including:

- The Book of Leviticus
- The New England Journal of Medicine
- The Gettysburg Address
- A nature documentary on the asexual reproduction of Acrtic lichen

I don't know how to make this clearer, he says. I've lost all physical attraction to you.

I think you need to temper your passion and listen to reason, she says.

He takes up a pistol and walks to the field. She takes the other and follows. They stand ten paces apart.

I thought your poems to her were laughably jejune, she says. I read them all.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.