“…through the use of modern testing methods, the age of the button shows it to be of the same time frame as the rest of the finds at the site. Many religious groups are now using it as evidence that such dating methods are unreliable, and that creationism should be…”
I tune out my mother’s voice and look over the rest of the display. There is more pottery, which is the part that excited Mom as much as anything. Apparently, no one was making pots back then. I would have thought it was obvious, kind of like the wheel. I mean, even I can make clay dishes, for goodness’ sake. There are also little crisscross patterns in one of the rocks, which Mom thinks were left by a woven basket of some kind.
Seriously—how hard can it be to weave some reeds together?
Despite my lack of interest in the archaeological field, I do have to admit the people intrigue me. They are wrapped together in a tight embrace, legs intertwined and arms encompassing one another. You can almost feel the emotion coming from the slate of limestone in which they are embedded. They lie facing each other with their heads so close, giving the impression they have just shared their final kiss.
“Do you think they did it doggy-style?” Sheila giggles again.
I swear, I may be just as virginal as she is, but with her upbringing, she’s never even seen a soap opera love scene. She just found out last week that there are positions other than missionary. Regardless, she’s totally ruined the imagery for me, so I turn away.
“Is it too early to head to the food court?” I ask. Between Mom’s digs and Dad’s lab, I’ve spent half my life in this museum. The rest of the displays are ones I’ve already seen.
“We’re supposed to get through this exhibit,” Sheila looks down at the folded schedule in her hands, “as well as the two after it, then break for lunch.”
Two of the people behind me start talking about how my mother must be a fraud or at least employing the most unscrupulous of assistants in order to get herself better known in the archaeological world. I look over and vaguely recognize the guy as one of the other professors in her department. I scowl as he takes the lady he is with by the hand and leads her over to the life-sized model of a giant sloth. Sheila and Teresa start to head in the same direction.
“I’ll meet you guys at lunch, mkay?” I call over my shoulder as I make my way to the back of the exhibit and my father’s office, not giving them a chance to reply.
Dad’s not an archaeologist, like Mom, but he’s still in the science world—physics and the property of matter and all that crap. I would think of him like another Bill Nye the Science Guy, but Dad has no personality for TV. He’d bore the poor kids to death with his long-drawn-out explanations of Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, Higgs boson particles, wormholes, or whatever. Anyway, he’s always trying to prove his theories. Something about Mom’s prehistoric find has him convinced that his theories regarding time travel are right and that string theory is a joke. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I’m just now taking my first semester of physics. Most of what I’ve learned so far is the same stuff I’ve learned from old episodes of the Big Bang Theory.
Dad’s not in his office, so I make my way around the desk and to the door behind it. I open it and call out for him, but he’s not in his lab, either. I hope I can at least interrupt him long enough to see if he wants to have lunch with me or something, but he is nowhere to be found.
I give up, deciding I will have to face the masses again through the rest of the exhibit hall before I can eat. Being the energy conscious chick that I am, I flip off the light switch as I start to leave.
There is something glowing green in the very back of the lab.
Curious, I flip the light back on.
The green glow is too dim to be noticeable with the lights on, but I move over to it anyway, feeling somewhat drawn. Ever since I was a kid, I liked poking around at the stuff in Dad’s lab, so I don’t really think much of it when I go to investigate a bit more. Besides, I really don’t want to join the rest of my class until it’s time to eat, and I have time to kill.
Back behind a bit of a divider, kind of like the cube walls you see in office buildings, there is a long lab table in the corner of the room. Right in the center of it is a tall, cylindrical object, which is from where the light originates. There’s something rather blob-like in the center. The substance looks like it’s floating in a gooey liquid and reminds me of those old lava lamps.
Along with one of those large car batteries and a couple of books, there is a stack of paper on the table next to the green thing, covered with my Dad’s scrawl. It’s Dad’s notes to himself, and I have to smile to see there isn’t a single bit that makes any sense on the whole page. Only Dad can tell what Dad is talking about most of the time, as Mom always says. This is just a bunch more of his chicken scratch.
DNA subject 1(M) –unable to categorize -not H. sapiens. Brain differentiation. Broca’s area?
DNA subject 2 (F)—H. sapiens - related to me?? (retest-use different control)