Snowflake

"This looks interesting," he said for the nth time. His mind exploded with a kaleidoscope of ideas.

She sighed.

The two advanced to the next aisle where more books awaited.

"I mean, really," he said. "That could make a great movie."

She looked at him and let him ramble... yet again. How many times would this ritual repeat itself? She thought about it and then flipped open her phone and started writing down her list of To Dos for the day.

"No, seriously!" he said, demanding her attention. "I'm serious! See it, it could be the next big thing!"

"Then why don't you adapt it, make a gazillion dollars then?" she replied. "If you're so sure it's the next big thing?"

He paused, looked at her and then dismissively, when back to his train of thought.

She sighed.

Typical.

How long had this been going on? As long as they had been dating, she thought. But probably a lot longer. Every. Single. Day. The same old thing. He would find a new thing to think about, ponder, and then throw all of his energy into it, like he was trying to save the world. This might last for a few days, or -- if lucky -- a few weeks or months. And then something else would come along and he would be off tilting at the next windmill, trying to solve the world's problems in his head.

At first she thought it was cute. But after a while she realized that this was who he was: an "intellectual derelict"... like his father. And probably his father before him.

She blamed it on his Korean heritage. Yahng-bahn was the term. His family (and like probably fifty percent of the Korean population at this point) are descendent from this aristocratic class which prized intellectual pursuits above all else.

That sounds great on paper. Heck, she was descended from Yahng-bahn herself. But, still... one would have to wonder if that even meant anything.

If you were living in Korea, or even growing up in America as a Korean American the term would be used more-often-than-not within the KA household to remind young kids of their proud heritage.

But the truth is that most Yahng-bahns were probably just intellectuals with no concept of reality. This might explain why Korean culture diminished after a certain point before the Japanese occupation in the early twentieth century.

In any case his intellectual musings would have probably been fine about ninety years ago... and it was probably bred into his family over the centuries, but even so, it could really leave a lot to be desired.

Her friend Carol called his musings/passions/hobbies: "intellectual masterbation"...

But whatever.

The fact was that this is who he was. And even if he tried to solve the world's problems he was more of a Mister McGoo than the powerhouse intellect he might imagine himself to be.

After the first few months together she had resigned to the fact he was a genius in his own mind. But was she going to stick around for it? Would she still be listening to his rambling in fifty years when his wavy hair had given away to a nice shiny bald spot and would she have the patience to "listen" to him when he walked around with a drool cup and wore diapers bigger than his three year old niece?

Still, she reasoned. He was cute in a lost puppy dog fashion. He gets points for that. You know when you see a little puppy fighting against itself over a chew toy?

Yes, exactly.

Exactly like that.

She stopped to ponder.

But after a bit of rambling he was now getting a bit heated.

Oh, boy. Here we go again. The puppy's fighting over the chew toy. He was talking to himself. No, arguing... But if he was arguing, she thought, who was winning?

She snickered.

That broke him out of his world of thought...

"What?" he asked hotly. No, he demanded.

Oops.

She made a new mental checklist to not snicker when he was doing this. Pontification and snickering do not mix.

Check.

Got it.

"Nothing," she ducked into the next aisle.

Wrong call. He wasn't going to let this one slide. He was now offended. Why would she EVER snicker at his thinking?

He was just too darn sensitive. A flower that easily, beautifully bloomed with each new interest. But touch it and it would crumble like a snowflake.

Fragile.

He was now following her around ... the wounded puppy. He needed to know why she wasn't bowing to his absolutely blindingly, bright intellect.

She heard herself think this and something just bubbled up into her throat. Something unexpected.

"Really, Tracy!" he demanded. "What. What were you laughing about?"

She covered her mouth, to hide the mirth now exploding across her face. No, she couldn't take it. It was just so stupid. All of it. Everything he was talking about.

It was JUST. SO. STUPID.

He got closer. Offended. His stern look pressing closer.

And she just gave up.

She dropped her mitten and a explosion of laughter blasted out of her, shattering the once peaceful library.

For a moment the entire library was still.

He was still.

His face as frozen.

Stunned.

Then as if the counterpoint to the laugh was somehow expected, someone else -- far off in the echo chamber of the library -- also laughed. A small, happy echo-y sort of laugh. A laugh glad to connect on this very inappropriate occasion.

And then the rest of the library chimed in and a larger rumble of laugher ensued.

He stared at her, his face scrunched up in an angry sort of confusion.

"What?" he demanded.

She shook her head as she covered her mouth.

You deserve this! her laughing eyes told him. You always start things but never complete them! You deserve this! You deserve this! You deserve this!

And she kept laughing behind her mittens as he turned bright red and walked away.