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Fluorine

James Bates

    I’ll be the first to admit it, when I got back from Vietnam, I was pretty messed up with both bad memories and a bad attitude. Among other things. I had no plan, let alone goals. I smoked my weed and drank my whiskey and stared out the window of my efficiency apartment in downtown Bemidji and one day just drifted into another. As the saying went, I was going nowhere fast.
    There was a college in town and, on a whim, I decided to start attending. Why not? The military was footing the bill. Once enrolled, I found out there were jobs available to students. Some extra cash wouldn’t hurt, so I applied at the central office and was sent to work for Doctor Gail Linderholm, a wonderful lady who helped get my head on straight.
    Doctor Linderholm had a Ph.D. in organic chemistry, a class she taught at the college. It was a subject I had no clue about but the college didn’t care. Work was work, and my job consisted of running the autoclave to sterilize test tubes and other glassware as well as getting everything ready for the lab work her students were assigned. Other than taking work direction from her, I was by myself one-hundred percent of the time. I’m an introvert by nature, so that was just fine with me.
    I was taking introductory classes in English, math and history with absolutely no idea what I was doing in school, or why I was even doing it, but it filled up my time so I didn’t have to think about the war and that was good. To say I was drifting haphazardly through life would be an accurate description.
    One day, after I’d been employed for about three months, I was setting aside some beakers I’d just removed from the autoclave when she approached and asked, “Lester, do you know what global warming is?”
    Absolutely no idea.
    “Ah, no,” I said, organizing some pipets, trying to shake my hangover. “No clue.”
    She assumed her teachers voice and said, “Global warming is caused by the build-up of greenhouse gases in the atmosphere, like carbon-dioxide from fossil fuel emissions.”
    “Smoke stacks and car exhaust?” I asked, scrambling for something to say.
    “Exactly.”
    “So, what’s the big deal?”
    “The gases are building up in the earth’s atmosphere at a higher rate than ever before. They’re trapping the heat that’s trying to escape, causing the temperature to rise ever so slightly.”
    “Why’s that a problem?”
    “It can affect crop production for one. Polar icecaps are melting. The sea level is rising, eroding shorelines. The weather patterns are changing. All kinds of things.”
    “That’s not good,” I said, more for something to say than anything. All I wanted to do was finish work and go back to my apartment and smoke some weed, drink some whiskey and take a nap. What did I care about global warming?
    “Here, come with me,” she said. “Let me show you something.” She led me to a small room at the end of the hall. It was her personal lab where the college paid her to do research. “I’m working on a project to help reduce the production of greenhouse gases.”
    She showed me a white board with some calculations on it. “I’m trying to prove that the chlorofluorocarbons in refrigerants are adding to the problem.”
    “Refrigerants?”
    “Yes, like air conditioners and refrigerators. If the lines break, the refrigerant can leak into the atmosphere and cause damage.
    “Add to those greenhouse gases?” I asked.
    “Yes. Exactly. And to global warming.”
    For some reason I was intrigued, and the thought of my weed and whiskey faded into the background.
    I’d always liked being outdoors. My older brother and I used to hunt and fish and stuff like that. Before he was killed in a car accident a few years ago, anyway. Anything to help save the environment sounded good to me. Besides, what else did I have better to do? Nothing.
    “Sounds interesting,” I told her.
    “I was hoping you’d say that.”
    She hired me to assist her, and I started taking more science related classes. Five years later I graduated with a degree in chemistry. Me. Someone who barely made it out of high school.
    Doctor Linderholm and I worked together for nine years on the project, one that included not just us but scientists from all over the world. Not only did we prove chlorofluorocarbons were bad the environment, but that fluorine in particular was harmful.
    To address that issue, we proposed synthesizing a new compound, hydrofluorocarbon, and began testing it. Others did, too, and by the end of the twentieth century it had replaced the original compound as the product of choice for refrigeration; all because we had been able to help prove that it was safe for the environment. It might sound sappy but I liked that Doctor Linderholm and I had done something good for the world.
    I still work at that lab. I’m a fulltime assistant and I love it. I’ve moved to a one-bedroom apartment closer to the campus so I can still walk to work. I’m still single and still smoke a little weed, but I quit drinking. And only occasionally do I have nightmares about the war. As the counselor I sometimes see tells me, “It seems like you’re coping just fine, Lester. Just fine.”
    I think I am, too, by the way. I’m pretty happy. And even though Doctor Lindstrom has been dead for many years, I’ll never forget her. She gave me a chance when she hired me to work with her. She believed in me and helped me accomplish something with my life. And we helped make the environment a little better by getting rid of the chlorofluorocarbons. Not bad for a burned-out vet going nowhere. If it hadn’t been for her who knows what would have happened to me. I’m glad I never had to find out.

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