Learning H*nese

"Learning H*nese" is going to be the title of my Oprah Book Club bestseller. Normally, I am a little glib, but I am serious that if I ever get off my lazy ass that is going to be the title for my second book.

H is my friend and I am going to miss him. Not that he is dead or anything, but he is back in Japan and with his wife and two girls, his laboratory, and his world.

I met H in 2001. At that time I was working in a different lab. My labmate and friend M, was a fabulous and very garralous gal with whom I got along like toast and jam. M and I would decend down to the 2nd floor conference/lunch room chatting up a storm. Mi would sometimes say that she knew it was lunch time when she heard us in the hallway. At the chalkboard end of the room, two Japanese postdocs would be sharing a homecooked lunch. M, being the friendly person she was, would always ask them the same question every day "What did you make?" And all we would get were two smiles and a lot of nodding.

When I joined my current lab in 2003, I had spoken about 5000 words to H. I had heard about 25 in return. I laugh now thinking how many times since then I have told him to be quiet. It is impossible to reverse the opening of the flood gates.

Our lab has always been fairly tight knit as labs go. We spend long hours together, many of them frustrating, many of them wasted on silliness, many of them on us wanting to strangle our boss. H was particularly amusing in this aspect. Everything seemed to be magnified. He was more stressed, more overworked, and basically screwed by the world. However, it was never annoying, it was tragically amusing. He and I were not the best partners in science. Most of our interaction in the lab was him proposing something and me telling him he made no sense. We fought often about papers and what they meant. Maybe it was good because I know I became a better versed in topics if for no other reason then to prove him wrong.

Sometimes he and I would go for a beer. The night time temperature would dip below freezing, but since Massachuseetts had just adopted its bar smoking ban, he made us sit ouside in our coats and hats. He would cross his leg, like like a lady, take a sip of his beer, light up his cigarette, and say, "You know what ET#1, life is crazy. When I was younger...." The story always meandered into his college days, old girlfriends, past adventures. It never escaped me though how someone only 3 and half years older than me could think he was already over the hill.

He left that winter and returned to Japan. We kept in touch via e-mail. "Could you believe that latest paper by WG?" My favorite enigmatic e-mail was when he proposed to his wife. It was full of nouns and lacking verbs. All of the words surrounded the idea of fate. How odd for a scientist.

When V and I went to Japan this summer, we became the Three Amigos hats, dance, and all. The three of us spent in ordinate amount of time together. As we had before, H and I bickered and poked fun at each other. And V slipped into her old role of the adult/referee/mediator. One day out of frustration or inspiration, H and I were arguing about something and I turned to V and said "could you please translate, H is speaking H*nese." The term H*nese caught on because not even Japanese people (including his wife Y) could always understand his twisted logic.

H applied for a grant to come back to Boston for four months. The plan was to bring Y and show her where he spent his time in America and to learn 3D cell culture. Plans are meant to foiled, Y was pregnant with twins and therefore unable to come to Boston.

For the past four months, H has been pattering around our lab. He bonded with everyone. The boys were so grateful to finally have male that could speak up for them. There was finally noise eminating from the boy side of the lab. They chatted and laughed. H would act as a go between visiting V and I mainly to commadeer stuff off our bench.

We all went out sometimes. We would get D, a former labmate, and eat dinner. Sometimes we would talk, but sometimes we would just sit there like you do with you family members, with whom you are happy to see and have nothing to say.

As a farewell gift, V and I took H to a Celtics game last week. We sat in the nosebleed section with our 7 dollar Budweisers. He crossed his legs, like a lady, took a sip of his beer and said, "You know ET#1, life is crazy. I used to get seat there. [pointing to the loge sections] I like basketball...."

Last week was a flurry of activity of H getting ready to go back to Japan. Our professor took us out to dinner in his honor on Sunday at a Bugaboo Creek Steakhouse. The talking animatronic moose and bison heads freaked me out. Or maybe it was seeing them while supporting a fever of a 103, that scared me. Throughout the dinner H was checking out the tables around us filled with children and their parents. He swung from horror to smiles. He could see his own twin girls who were only 50 hours away reflected in all of them.

I was sick the next day and did not get a chance for a proper send off. I was coughing, and a little delierious when the phone rang Monday night. H was calling. And even medicated, I had no problem understanding H*nese, he said farewell.