Power?

Power?

My watch reads one A.M. as I leave the Molecular Biology building after work, locking the door behind me. It has been a long night, one of those that stretch into morning. I look around cautiously as I walk through the tree-lined campus on my way to the parking lot. I feel exhausted but exhilarated. I enjoy working at night. The lab is peaceful and quiet, and I can lose myself in my thoughts without being interrupted by a curious graduate student asking inane questions. There is nothing to interrupt the music, the rhythm of my work, just the humming of the centrifuge, the flickering of the UV light, the occasional sound of the incubator when the thermostat kicks in. My gloved fingers move nimbly over the rows of tiny plastic tubes, transferring microliters of precious liquid from one to another, clicking the used tips from my micro-pipette into a waiting basin to be sterilized. Here I don’t have to put on the pretense of being Professor Allen, no lectures, no explanations; I am just Sandra, a scientist, an explorer. I am always curious, searching, employing my one true gift, the ability to plan and execute a flawless experiment in genetics. I’m a good cook too, but chemistry in all its forms requires the same talent. A flawless pastry or the gelatinous mass of an agarose gel, either can be a scientist’s medium. One sustains life; one manipulates life, both are significant in their own way.

It is late October, the vivid colors of autumn have come and gone, leaving the dull browns of winter behind. Dry, cracked, leaves blow around me in the bitter wind, making skittish, scratching noises as they drag along the ground. My long hair blows across my face and plasters itself against my mouth. I reach up and tuck it behind my ear. It angers me that I feel fear as I am walking to my car, that slight but relentless feeling of anxiety that ebbs and flows in my spine, giving me goosebumps when I hear an unidentifiable sound. I calm myself, I try to be rational, only to give in to that instinctive feeling of dread. Rumors of a campus rapist have put us all on edge. All of us with a double dose of X chromosome that is. I have worked so hard in life to attain power and status with my education. My labors in science have been acclaimed worldwide. By all accounts I am a powerful woman. I can exert my influence in the realm of science, but on this dark sidewalk, this night, I feel vulnerable, I am vulnerable, small and insignificant, like any woman, physically inferior. Oh, I’ve taken the University’s self defense classes; I know the safety rules. I park by the street light, look under my car before I get in, lock my doors. I don’t talk to strangers. I don’t pick up hitch-hikers. I live in fear. It makes me angry. I walk alone at night. What choice do I have? I won’t give up my freedom, it is my right to feel safe, my right to go where I please, when I please. I shouldn’t have to apologize or explain that. I shouldn’t have to feel afraid. I deny my fears, I am strong, I convince myself that I am invincible.

As I pass the library there are a few stragglers filing out of the giant doors of the cold, stone, monolith. Closing time. I feel relief that there are others on the sidewalk. I am not alone. The students are laden with backpacks filled with the inevitable tomes of their area of study. I look at them one by one, I play a little game with myself trying to guess each one’s major, there goes a computer scientist or an architect, sometimes I identify a lit major or a laboratory scientist like myself. Like the varied cast of a real world theatrical production, we all give off little clues to our interests, subtle, but I am a master at this game. I’m smiling to myself as I place my bets. Of course I’ll never really know if I’ve guessed correctly, so I’ll just assume that I have. The crowd thins again as I cross the street and head toward the faculty parking lot. There are not many members of the faculty here at this hour. Most of them are home with their families. I have none.

I hear footsteps behind me, someone running toward me, my heart beats faster, and my pace quickens as I look backwards over my shoulder. Relieved, I recognize the source of the footsteps, it’s Jamie Walker, a student I’d uncharacteristically offered a position in my own lab, he impressed me that much. From the first day of class I recognized how brilliant he was, but he had no interest in pathogenic bacteria, my line of study. His eyes were on the big prize, the human genome project. He never wavered from his decision. Now he seems agitated, he slows his pace to match mine now that he has caught up with me. “Professor Allen”, he croaks breathlessly. I smile at him, wondering if he has changed his mind about the position I offered him. “I saw you walking by the library“, he stops for a moment panting, ”I’m embarrassed to ask, but my car won’t start, could you possibly give me a ride home? I’m just two miles from here; it won’t take long.” Disappointed, I agree to take him home. I’m not really in any hurry. It is just a couple of miles out of my way. It will be my good deed for the day, I think to myself. And I will have a chance to talk to him about the position. Jamie seems to have regained control over his breathing. Tall and thin he is actually very good looking. The glasses he wears look like they are just for effect. They give him that preppy, intellectual look, but underneath he seems athletic and far too good looking to be a science nerd. He has a killer smile and his muscular chest is just slightly visible under his wrinkled flannel shirt. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not offering him a job because he is good looking, if fact in spite of it. All of that could be distracting to me, and forbidden fruit after all. Relationships with students are strictly forbidden. No, I will just take him home. He did not ask me to help him get his car started. I don’t have any jumper cables with me and I don’t relish the idea of spending much time outside in the cold, working on a car. I don’t offer to help. Why should I?

Our progress is slowed by the fact that I have worn high-heeled pumps. Outwardly this must be the only feminine aspect of my appearance, but it was not intended as such. Already an imposing height by nature, I find that being taller aids me in developing an authoritarian relationship with my students. Looking down on them makes me more credible as their teacher. They do not question my authority.

Now Jamie is acting strangely, like he is in a hurry. I can’t walk any faster; I ask him what is wrong. He says he’s just upset about the car. That’s understandable, but it doesn’t quite fit. As we approach my car I start to make small talk about the class I am teaching, then about the cold weather, to no avail. There is an uncomfortable silence between us. Finally we reach my car, I push the button on my remote to unlock the passenger door as well as my own. Once inside and I follow Jamie’s directions toward home, his home. We drive through a rather run-down area, decay and neglect my overwhelming impression of the neighborhood. I wonder if it is an apartment he is leading me to, or if he lives with his parents in the house where he grew up. He tells me to pull over. I wonder which house is his; none of them look very welcoming. There are no lights on anywhere. He bends down to pick up his backpack, I start to wish him a good night, already anticipating my route home.

Suddenly he is on top of me, kissing me, when I try to pull back, I see the shiny steel of a knife in his hand. Soon it is pressed hard against my throat. My entire body is shaking as I realize my predicament. I’m so surprised I can’t think. Like a caged animal, I am at his mercy. Weak. The instinct of survival starts to take over as my eyes dart from side to side in search of escape. I am afraid to move. Rational thought escapes me. The slightest twitch on my part strengthens his grip. I am powerless, completely at his mercy.

I feel the knife press hard against my fragile skin. I know that he has finally reached the point of no return. Blood starts to trickle from my wound. I stare at Jamie, unable to speak, unable to scream, he seems to be somewhere else. He is not really looking at me. I have given up. I wait for the inevitable. Moments pass. Minutes? Hours? I have lost all concept of time. I feel weak, dizzy. I concentrate on my breathing. I am surprisingly calm now. I am waiting for it to end. A loud noise shocks me, bringing me back to the edge of consciousness. It must be Jamie’s cell phone, ringing in his backpack.

Sandra opened her eyes; she was so tired. She reached over and pushed the snooze button on her alarm clock, another sleepless night. She wished she could remember what she had been dreaming about. These nightmares were getting out of hand, she was drenched in sweat. Her therapist said it was anxiety. Well if so, this was the day she had been anxious about, the first day of the semester, teaching at a new school. She got up quickly, showered and dressed putting on her highest, high-heeled pumps for effect. Perhaps if she were taller this would garner her some measure of respect. She would be teaching human genetics at 8:00 A.M. The new teachers always get the early classes she supposed. Well maybe her students wouldn’t be awake enough to notice if she stumbled.

She decided to drive in early, no point in eating breakfast, her stomach would not have allowed it. There was no point in staying home obsessing either. She used her key to open the empty building. At least her office was familiar. She had been working in the lab here all summer. It was the lecture hall that she found intimidating. She imagined the expectant faces looking up at her. She hoped she would have the courage.

There was a knock at the door, perhaps another member of the faculty here to wish her luck on her first day, or the custodian, unaccustomed to the unlocked door, making sure everything was alright. When she opened the door she was surprised to see a tall attractive man in his early twenties. “Hi, I just came to introduce myself”, the stranger began, “I’m Jamie Walker”.