The Explorer

Reason

(this is not a true story)

On that day in class, I think our professor was giving us this problem: "So we have k people on an elevator. If there are n floors in the building, and it is completely random who gets off at what floor, what is the expected number of stops the elevator has to make?" Logic problems are so strange, when you think about it. Who comes up with such ideas? I can't imagine.

"So what should x sub i be?" He asked. Everyone was always slow to think about it and respond, except a few guys at the top: "the floor that person i gets off at."

"No - that's actually the wrong way to go about-" Suddenly the guy sitting next to me started crying! I didn't really know him - his name was Michael, I think. I just sat there for a moment, frozen - I didn't know what to do. Gosh, what was he going through? I hadn't heard someone cry like that in years - it was hard to imagine and hard to listen to, but he just wouldn't stop. It got worse. He was crying violently, uncontrolably - people never cry when they have seizures, do they?

He was pounding is fist on the table, with his face buried in his other arm. I couldn't bear it anymore. Without knowing what to think of it, I reached out and put my arm around him, and tried to console him. "It's okay man - it'll be all right." By now the whole class was just dead silent. I patted his back and continued to ask him what was wrong. It was a strange experience for me - if this compassion had been inside of me all along, I had not known. Did I just want him to stop, because it was uncomfortable? "It's okay, it's okay..." and he just kept crying, with no end in sight. I turned and looked at the professor, wondering what to do; he kind of motioned for us to go outside, so I got Michael up out of his seat, and, still with my arm around him, walked him out the door. Where even more people could see him, I guess.

I looked at him intently. "Why are you crying?" I pleaded. Is anyone so suddenly just not able to take it anymore? Maybe it was none of my business, but I was desperate to know. With effort, he looked up, and sobbed, "I don't know!" I frowned; his answer only made me more troubled. "I just don't know." I rubbed his shoulders; I wished I could do something to help him.

Michael was so upset that I worried he wasn't going to make it. But he did; the next day, he was back in class, and seemed to be holding out. I was of course attentive to him when I came in; I asked him how he was doing, tried to inquire further. But since the previous day, I have always had trouble getting close to him; he has been friendly, and I know he appreciated my concern for him that day, but it seems I can only scratch the surface of his character. I question over and over again why I had that experience. It makes me wonder intently about my own life, and my friends' lives; it was a very strange thing, and I will never forget it. Maybe someday I will understand.

posted by Andy @ 3:10 PM