[stylist] story I just wrote

[Chelsea Cook]

Robert,
  I posted it a few days ago, but will do so again (both attached 
and below my signature.)

Lori,
Thanks! Look forward to hearing from you.

Shelley,
Thanks to you, too.  I might have heard the word combination 
somewhere before, but did not know of the books.  Are they on 
Bookshare? They sound like something I MUST read! Also maybe H.  
G.  Wells? He wrote during that time period and it sounds like 
slightly his style, though I need to read more of him.

General,
  I like the idea of finding words and lines and turning them 
into short stories.  Sometimes you only need one quote or phrase 
or whatever to get something started.  The middle of the story I 
wrote, for example, popped into my head at something my chemistry 
teacher wrote to me.  I don't know if I'll be able to respond 
every week, but I look forward to seeing what comes of it! We 
used to do something like this in English class, though the 
creative part has often been taken out as I've gotten older.  I 
hope I can bring it back!
Thanks,
Chelsea
"I ask you to look both ways.  For the road to a knowledge of the 
stars leads through the atom; and important knowledge of the atom 
has been reached through the stars."
Sir Arthur Eddington, British astrophysicist (1882-1944), Stars 
and Atoms (1928), Lecture 1

When Worlds Collide


  Cold surrounded me.  I couldn't explain why everything in this 
place was frigid.  The snow was cold; the wind was cold; the 
counter in the lab was cold.  Nothing was warm.
  Absolutely nothing.
  Except another human.
  Oh but you couldn't call the other people inhabiting this place 
human.  They weren't.  They were gray and strict and stern, 
mechanical robots inhaling oxygen and possessing no thermal 
energy.
  I drew these conclusions on the first day of class.  One 
student dropped his chemistry book and didn't pick it up until 
ten minutes had passed, even when I let him know.  He gave me a 
disgusted look.  Didn't he realize how valuable a science 
textbook--of any field--was?
  Apparently, no one did.  I was surrounded by fellow students 
leaving lectures or labs in droves.  I asked one about the 
experiment we had just conducted.
  "What do you think we could have done to reduce the 
electrostatic discharge emitted?"
  "The what?" Her voice was high-pitched, as if she were 
disgusted by what I had just said.
  "Electrostatic discharge." I repeated the term clearly, 
wondering why this student was in a third-year physics course.  
She obviously didn't care, or had been completely zoned out for 
the past ninety minutes.
  "Oh, the lab.  I don't know." Then she turned to her friend: 
"Nora, what do you think my nails should be this time? And do you 
want to get some pizza later at the lounge?"
  I let the blonde girl and her friend, Nora, accelerate past me.
  Thus was my introduction to the science department of the new 
university.  At my old college, at least you could still hear the 
trails of an equation or procedure three meters out the lab door.  
Now it was nails and pizza ten centimeters out.  I smiled to 
myself, thinking that anonymous blonde girl had stated a polish 
color with more syllables in it than the contents of a chemist's 
home lab.  I just hoped the faculty wasn't as unconcerned about 
their areas of research.  But they were faculty.  They shouldn't 
be ...  right?

  Why was I so tired?
  I knew why:
  Exams to prepare.
  Papers to grade.
  Bosses to deal with.
  Classes to lecture.
  Students who didn't care.
  That was the main reason, the prime factor contributing to my 
exhaustion at the end of the day.  I lectured; few took notes.  I 
ran lab; few showed, and those who did often sat and acted as 
though they were collecting real data.  I got empty spreadsheets 
at the end of the period and blank reports at the end of the 
week.
  I kept pondering retirement.  The stress wasn't worth it.  I 
would soon break apart.  My fellow faculty members were even 
sucking up to the students, giving them added GPA points I knew 
they didn't deserve.
  But they all had their positions to consider.
  So did I.
  Or did I? Could I break this cycle?
  Not alone.  It was too difficult.  The bureaucracy was woven 
too tightly together.
  But with a student by my side ...
  Yes, that was all it would take! Someone just as enthusiastic 
about learning and science and life as I was.
  Wishful thinking.  Where could I find such a student, 
particularly here? Was there one left in all of academia? There 
couldn't be.  They were all gone.
  Or were they? Sometimes, we are all wrong.

  I was always alone in the lab, staying long after other 
students had left.  Don't know why; didn't plan for it to be like 
this; it just always was.
  I don't even remember what experiment I was doing, just that it 
was a combined physics and chemistry one (my favorite): just that 
I was standing at a cold, white, slightly intimidating counter, 
trying not to let the particular procedure overwhelm me.
  Then the air changed.  The kinetic energy of the gases 
increased.  And these weren't the ones in my experiment.
  I turned.  "Hello, Professor Simms.  Mind if I stay here a 
little longer?"
  "No.  Stay as long as you like.  And please: It's Karen."
  "I couldn't do that."
  "Then Prof.  And I insist."
  I nodded and returned to my numbers.  This professor was not 
typical: she was comfortable both at the lectern and in the 
laboratory.  She held control over both domains, yet there was 
room for intellectual freedom of a sort.  She said if we could 
find it, she wouldn't give us the final.  I happened to think it 
was because she didn't like exams.
  She came over.  "What are you working on?"
  "I'm not quite sure yet." I tried to hide my work.
  "New research?" She smiled, more coming through there than in 
her words.
  I sighed and looked down.  "I wish.  It's actually not for your 
class ..." I stopped there, not wanting to speak ill of her 
colleagues and get us both expelled from the university.
  "I understand.  Some of my colleagues have killer experiments.  
Need any help?"
  This was unreal! A professor was offering help, to me, on 
another project.  Assigned by one of her colleagues.  Didn't all 
teachers work together to make misery; that if one did not, it 
was certain another would? And she had just offered it in nothing 
short of an incomplete sentence.
  I accepted and we worked for awhile, two scientists doing pure 
science.  We got to talking, and I had never met any teacher like 
her.  Not even in high school.
  When she had entered the lab a half hour before, she seemed 
tired and wan.  Now she was just as enthusiastic about the 
project or conversation as I was.  It turned back to jobs, and 
her eyes got a downcast gaze in them.  I asked why.
  She smiled again, though this time only faintly.  "You're a 
true scientist, always asking questions.  Chemistry was never 
really my specialty.  I accepted teaching positions in it because 
I was good at it, but biology and marine ecosystems are what I'm 
really crazy about.  There's just something in the world's oceans 
that's magical." She leaned back, and this time it was a sigh and 
a smile of content.  "Tell me, if you will, why are you in my 
chemistry course? You transferred here, correct?"
  More questions.  Oh well, that was science.  "Yes.  At my other 
institution, people weren't taking their studies seriously.  Kind 
of like" (I paused, then went on when there was no change in her 
expression), "like they do here.  I didn't think it would be the 
same."
  "Sorry.  It is.  Until you get out."
  "Why haven't you gotten out?" The question was more direct than 
I had intended.
  Prof.  Simms didn't notice.  "I couldn't find a bio research 
position.  Discovery's my mission.  I'm actually thinking about 
leaving the university life altogether.  I finally have the money 
to do so.  But that doesn't answer my initial question: Why are 
you in chemistry? It's not your major, is it?"
  "No.  I love the stars and what happens to them.  And a little 
bit of physics doesn't hurt."
  She nodded.  "I had physicist brothers.  Guess it runs in the 
family for me."
  I laughed.  "Wow, that sounds incredible!"
  "You don't want to play football with them.  They'd give their 
teammates a talk about momentum, and their opponents a lecture on 
calculus once they'd won.  These people were all what we'd call 
non-science majors, so you can imagine the outcome."
  I could, very well.  I was the first scientist in my circle of 
immediate family and friends.  I told her so.
  "Must have been hard," she mused, nodding sympathetically.
  "Oh, it was."
  "Then ...  Why did you pursue it?"
  I sat back on a lab stool, leaning against the counter.  
"Astronomy's part of me.  Finding out about the universe is what 
I do, or at least, what I've always wanted to do.  Physics 
describes the world." Could there not be a more encompassing 
answer to a science person?
  She understood.  I could tell by the way she looked when 
brushing back her auburn hair, revealing blue glasses and a shell 
earring.  To this moment, I can't describe the look, but it was 
one of pure recognition that will remain in my memory forever on 
that day in the lab.
  We sat in equilibrium for a moment, then Prof.  Simms said, 
"Sorry, but I must get going."
  "Can we talk again?" My voice sounded like I was twelve and a 
parent was leaving.
  She didn't take it that way.  "Of course we can.  My office is 
open and the times posted.  When is your next experiment?"
  I checked my scheduled list.  "In a week and a half."
  "It's a lab date."
  We both smiled one more time as she flittered out the door, her 
earrings sparkling in the fluorescent light.  I shut down my 
computer, watching the numbers disappear from the screen.  Then, 
as I gathered my equipment and purse, I wondered: What had I 
done? Had I just made a "lab date" with my professor?

  Had I found her?
  I couldn't tell.  Not right away as I left the laboratory, but 
I couldn't stop thinking.  That was one thing both of us 
did--continuously.
  I had never had any children, yet the more I talked with this 
young woman in my lab, the more it surfaced that she was the 
daughter I always wanted.  Intimate for just meeting the girl, I 
know, but there came to be a soft spot for her in my heart.
  She proved herself and continued to amaze me in class.  She was 
the enthusiastic one, always working problems that were 
blackboards long in front of an entire lecture hall, always 
answering my assignments with clear and purposeful, even 
original, language foreign to the rest of the science majors in 
my charge.  In lab, she was spectacular, pouring chemicals and 
making machines do incredible things.  I just hoped she could 
survive the university.  If she could, there was no stopping her.
  But I had to concentrate on matters other than students as I 
left that enjoyable lab session.  The Dean of Science wanted to 
see me, and I couldn't imagine what for.
  I found out the second I opened his heavy wooden oak door.  
Copies of my courses syllabi were spread over his desk.  Piles of 
old exams.  What had I done this time?
  "Professor Simms?" His voice was curt, all business, no room 
for unnecessary words.
  I didn't give him any.  "Yes."
  "The department committee and I have decided to cancel some of 
your classes for next term.  It is not because you are 
unqualified to teach them; student interest prevails in this 
subject.  Research dictates what we teach.  You will not be 
teaching organic chemistry next year.  Is that clear?"
  My mouth dropped open.  He had said everything so fast and 
crisp, it took me a minute to close it after the words had soaked 
in.  Organic chemistry was the one course, the closest to biology 
that I had ever come teaching here, and now I was going to lose 
it.  But I couldn't defend myself.  THEY had spoken.
  "Are mine the only classes canceled for next term?"
  "No.  The high-level astronomy courses are going as well.  We 
can't afford having classes students don't have an interest in 
taking.  You will be compensated with more administrative duties 
and more labs." He stood up.  "Would you like these? If not, 
they're going in a drawer." He waved at my papers covering half 
of his desk.  I reached down and took a few exams and copies of a 
syllabus, then withdrew.  He gathered the rest of the pile and 
aligned them.
  "Was that all, sir?"
  "Yes, Professor Simms.  Have a good finish to your semester."
  "You, too." I turned and left the office, with none of the joy 
that was present when I had left the lab.
  There was no yelling, as I had expected there to be.  Calm and 
quiet pervaded.  The ordeal had been civil.  No one had exploded.  
No one had refused.
  At least not on the outside.
  But on the inside ...
  What would I do now? Was panic the emotion? No, not quite.  
Rebellion? Maybe a hint.  Anger? Most definitely.
  But what could I do?
  It just so happened that half a week later, my bright and 
curious lab partner solved my problem as well as her own.

  Why did I hear so much noise?
  At least, it seemed like a great volume of sound and voices as 
I approached the main student foyer, where I noticed a small 
queue of my fellow--well, close enough to fellow--scientists 
milling around the main bulletin board.
  "Can you believe it?"
  "How can they do that to us?"
  "Remind me: Why am I spending my tuition here?"
  "They don't even have what I want in the first place.  I was 
forced to come here, and now they've taken away the only class 
that's mattered!"
  Practically everyone had spoken now, so I added my two cents: 
"What?"
  Someone pointed.  "That's what.  All astro courses in the three 
hundreds and above are canceled."
  "As well as organic chem and some bio," someone added.
  The sign posted confirmed what everyone was saying.  I skimmed 
it for a moment, seeing my beloved course titles and CANCELED, in 
big red letters next to each and every one of them.
  Now I couldn't believe it either.  I was shocked into just 
standing there, not moving, not speaking, not breathing.
  Everything came into my head: the stressful transfer, the 
seemingly ideal classes.  Why had I come here? To finish my 
astrophysics degree.
  And now, it wouldn't happen.
  But it had.
  And now I had to deal with it, to react.  How I would manage 
that one, I wasn't entirely sure.  But something had to change.  
I was confident about that: something had to change.
  I headed up to my dorm to think.  My roommate wasn't there; I 
didn't want to see her now.  I plopped down on my bed, sank down 
into the pillows, almost in total despair, and then sat right 
back up again.
  I had it.  Like the flash of insight that comes over when a 
calculation is done perfectly, a small piece clicked.
  And then, as I grasped the idea, more pieces began to click 
into place, until by the time I had stood from the bed, the 
solution was clear, outlined, and only requiring implementation.
  Though I couldn't wait.  The theorist that I was, I always kept 
a pad of blank paper beneath the equation sheet tacked to my 
wall.  I snatched it up and started scribbling furiously.  I 
could not, would not, forget this ingenious plan.
  At least, I thought it was genius.  I'd have to run it by Prof.  
Simms and see if she was in on the matter.  I hoped she would be.
  I didn't want to leave her behind.

  What was that yellow rectangle doing next to my computer?
  I came closer and realized that it was a posted note several 
sheets thick.  By the scrawl, I could immediately tell who had 
left it.  I read:

EQUIPMENT REQUESTED FOR NEXT EXPERIMENT:

1.  2 hot plates (one for bio purposes)
2.  2 sets chem lab (beakers, tubes, flasks, cylinders).  (Again, 
one for bio purposes)
3.  1 full set college texts (heavy in math and science, but grab 
what you can under 20 kilos) (You should be able to get these 
easier than I can, I do not have many left)
4.  Rubber hosing (heavy-duty fluid compression)
5.  50 m Electrical wire (conductive)
6.  Summer and fall clothing
7.  Any books you see fit to read

  I stared at the seven-item list, wondering how all of it could 
possibly be used in one experiment.  And why did we need so many 
college texts.  I knew my student liked Steinbeck, but what was 
literature doing in a chemistry and physics set-up? And why did 
she want me to bring books? My books, the ones I treasured, the 
ones that had kept me company through those boring hours of 
useless high school lecture.
  No matter.  I ran around the labs and library for the next 
forty minutes, gathering beakers from one lab set, test tubes 
from another, batteries from a third physics kit I knew the 
professor would never use again.  I brought them all back to my 
computer desk, looking at the stacks of supplies looming over 
that small pad.  Then I flipped to the eighth page, and read:

Be HERE Friday night.  Prepare to stay late.  You won't be 
missed.

  I wouldn't be missed? What was my student trying to do? 
Saturday morning was our lab date, the highlight of both our 
weeks, I was sure.  And she wanted me to spend the night in my 
office, in an uncomfortable chair? What was she thinking?

  "What are you thinking!"
  The gruff man standing behind the counter barked the question 
at me, his face glowing red, as if a girl even had the nerve to 
ask for this stuff.
  I held my ground.  "Yes, I'd like these supplies and the plane.  
How much?"
  "I'll give you that bucket of bolts.  You'll only have to pay 
for fuel and the dried food you wanted."
  "Fair." My tone remained cold; I had to be with this guy.  "Can 
I have two more of those ultra-light tanks as well?"
  "Making four?"
  Wow, he could count.  "Yes, four total."
  "Listen, girlie," he said as he moved around the outdoors shop, 
collecting the two tanks.  "Who's going to fly this thing for ya? 
It takes a lotta maintenance, these planes.  She'll still take 
off for me, but I don't know ''"
  "I am."
  Now he laughed derisively.  "YOU are!" He dropped a tank and it 
clanged on contact.  "That's ridiculous.  A petite thing like you 
ever flying.  Wait'll I tell the guys."
  "I'm serious.  I learned to fly at nineteen, but the airlines 
won't hire me, so I went to college for an astrophysics degree." 
My tone was serious, emotionless now.
  "Astrophysics! I can't even spell that.  No wonder the airlines 
won't work with you.  You're too smart for your own good.  All 
right.  I've been trying to get rid of that plane forever, so 
I'll give you the tanks.  Just pay for fuel and food."
  I did.  He took his post again behind the counter, accepted my 
currency, then led me out to the plane.  It was an old prop, just 
big enough for four seats, silver, but it had not gleamed in 
awhile.  I smiled at the woodsman shopkeeper.  "It's perfect."
  And it was, for what I needed it for.  I strapped the packets 
of dried food into the backseat on the right, stowed the 
auxiliary tanks, and took the left pilot's seat.  Then I started 
her up, waved to the man standing outside his shop, and took off 
into the gray sky.  The guys who had driven me to this barren 
place would not be picking me up again.  I had transportation to 
spare now.  Freshmen couldn't have cars, but the university had 
said nothing about juniors having planes.
  But did I care what the university said? No, not anymore.  In a 
few hours, the word university would be the furthest thing from 
my mind, but right now, I had to find a place to set this winged 
wonder down on campus.

  As stated by that all-knowing yellow pad of paper, I appeared 
in my office that Friday evening, with the dusk falling and the 
stars just poking through the atmosphere.  I sat in front of my 
computer, decided not to turn it on, put my arms up on the sides 
of my chair, and settled in for a night of late office work.
  Though I wasn't actually working.  Anyone could see that.  I 
was waiting.
  But for what?
  The unexpected.
  Would she come?

  What time was it? I couldn't see my watch; its light was not 
powerful enough in the pure darkness of the lab.  Not even the 
computer was alive.
  But that was all for the better.  Nothing would look out of 
place.
  I found the supplies I had requested--including exactly twenty 
kilos of books--stacked around the monitor, next to my 
instructions and Prof.  Simms's sleeping form.  I took the books 
first, then the wire and hosing, then a brief case (presumably 
full of clothes), then the lab equipment, and finally, Prof 
Simms, out to the small plane, loading each carefully and making 
multiple trips.  On the last one, I shut the office door.  For 
good.
  Neither of us would be coming back.

  I was being lifted.
  But somehow, I didn't resist.
  My muscles knew not to resist, to stay safe.  That I would be 
safe with whoever had just gently and quietly separated me from 
my chair.
  I was carried for a short distance, then heard metal creaking, 
then felt a soft material, almost a cushion of sorts, underneath 
me, then a click.  I lifted my hand subconsciously as a slightly 
familiar voice said, "It's all right, there you go, we're getting 
out of here."
  And I couldn't help but think the word: Experiment? Was this 
still part of the experiment?

  With the plane loaded to its maximum takeoff weight, I was the 
last item.  I entered quietly, trying not to wake my professor.  
She was still asleep, which was good (I did not want her waking 
until we had gained some distance in both the horizontal and 
vertical directions) in the copilot's seat to my right, her hand 
lightly grasped over a formula sheet.  I smiled as I started the 
engine, thankful to Carnot that it was both efficient and quiet.
  I looked over my instruments, flipped a switch on Prof Simms's 
side (she barely stirred), and saw that everything was go.  I 
gently pushed the throttle forward.  The engine purred.
  As we accelerated, I cracked a window, and cold night air 
rushed in.  Now that we were in motion, I didn't care if Prof 
Simms awoke; I would tell her soon enough.
  Within minutes, I felt the plane becoming lighter, all my 
stresses and worries left behind on the ground.  I was intent on 
my flying, but there wasn't much to it: exhilaration, adrenaline, 
being aware of your surroundings, and watching the numbers.  
Physics and flying went together; they were just as easy and just 
as rewarding.  One assisted the other, and as I activated my 
navigation unit and saw my acceleration turn to positive, I 
sighed with relief.  We were going to make it.  We were speeding 
toward freedom.

  I awoke for a moment, felt cold air, saw brilliant stars, 
thought how invigorating it would be to be up there.  I was 
close.

  Within two hours, I knew we were close.  Not only did my GPS 
tell me, but there came a feeling, a gravity of belonging, if the 
term can be so stretched.  The green of the GPS showed ocean, and 
this one tiny island.
  Then I saw the mountain, and took her in.

  Was this still part of the experiment?
  I awoke to bright sunlight.  I could tell we had stopped 
moving, but where was the voice, the presence?
  I saw sand outside, and water, and trees far off in the 
distance.
  But no young daughter.
  We had crashed!
  But I would be hurting somewhere if that had occurred, and I 
felt fine.  I checked the instrument panel: for a powered-down 
ship, everything was in order.
  So we hadn't crashed.
  It was beginning to get warm in the cockpit.  I unbuckled 
myself, unlatched the door, and dropped down onto the hot ground.
  I turned around ...  and stared in shock at the sight before 
me.
  An island, an ocean, already I could see, filled with 
creatures, an undamaged airplane.
  I deduced my student's scheme quickly enough: she had flown me 
here for research.
  But what about the hot plates and hoses and biology books? Why 
had she wanted me to bring all that?
  At the moment I wasn't sure, hoped that she would soon return, 
and set to work unloading some of the supplies.  If we had the 
same mind (I wholeheartedly believed in the "Great minds think 
alike" theory), she would be on the mountain I found gleaming in 
the sunlight, searching for water.  But if she didn't find any, I 
would be ready with a makeshift lab set up for electrolysis.  The 
ocean would be our water in both the literal and figurative 
sense, our joy in body as well as intellect.

  Conveniently enough, I heard a stream between green vegetation 
on the mountainside.  Sweat poured from my face as I made my way 
to its source and plunged a bucket into its cool depths, feeling 
the weight of the water as I hauled it back to the surface.
  I carried two buckets back to the beach easily, and saw Prof 
Simms getting out of the plane with something in her hand.  She 
went over to the ocean, seemed to fill it with liquid, and 
return.
  Her auburn hair blew in the breeze, taking on the ocean 
currents, but in wind instead of water.  Her shirt perfectly 
matched the color of the sea.  Her skin smiled.
  I immediately knew.  She was free.
  "Great minds think alike, don't they?"

  I had not even seen my student come out of the trees, she 
blended in so well.  When I heard her voice, I nearly dropped the 
sample I was holding.
  I smiled.  "Apparently so.  How fresh is that water?"
  "I don't know yet.  I'm about to find out.  Care to join me for 
a little chemistry?"
  How could I resist? We both knelt down in the sand, digging out 
one of the equipment sets and testing each sample of water for 
density and salinity.  As we worked together, I thought again of 
the relation between teacher and student: each learning from one 
another, each blending.  We were scientists, doing our pure 
science as well on a beach on some island as in a university lab.  
Nothing could change that.
  We could make our own lab.

  When dusk was falling, I stretched and told Prof Simms I had to 
leave.  She agreed.

  I knew where this young woman was going '' her destiny, where 
she inevitably had to reside.  This was why she had left the 
aircraft first.

  Trudging to the summit of the small mountain, just slightly 
above the trees, I found my telescope, fully charged, on the 
plateau.  The cool breeze swept off the ocean, evaporating any 
traces of moisture from the day's toil.  This was my home.
  The air was clear here.  So was the sky; no earthly light or 
atmospheric disturbance disrupted me from my work.
  I was free to think again.
  And as I gazed and wondered, like so many astrophysicists 
before me: "What is up there?" I could only stand on that 
mountaintop, coming closer to them, and take in the full beauty 
and majesty of the stars.
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