I am just waking up, having found myself sleeping awkwardly in an office chair at 5:30 AM, my face pressed against a cold lab bench. The clothes I'm wearing are the ones I keep here for all-nighter situations. I took a few moments to wipe my stinging eyes clear, and to tuck the dark curls of hair behind my ears. I felt myself all over, but I seem normal. In the office, I brewed a pot of coffee, which I now sip, sitting in front of the harsh light of my laptop screen. Last night, something happened that I can't believe. Like a dream, I feel as though I must write it down, before it slips away and is forgotten. What follows are my memories, as best I can recall, of yesterday evening's events here in the STEM Building at Northern State University.
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The monotonous whirr of the chemical fume hood and the clattering of the ventilation system added some company to the lonely atmosphere of the laboratory. It was nearly midnight, the digital clock on the bench told me, though with no windows, I wouldn't know if it was night or day outside. I like to work late when I'm nearing a deadline. Less people, less distractions. And boy could I do without distractions. I have a professional conference in less than a month, and I'm still gathering data to support my hypothesis. With the dangerous chemicals that I'm using, I can't be rushed. Not unless I want to dissolve my skin or breathe in a cloud of carcinogenic gas. No, I need to focus.
I suppose, for those who might read this, that I should mention my name. It's Trisha Bergman. Who am I? Well, I'm a graduate student here at Northern State, studying molecular biology with the hopes of understanding the stability of prebiotic polymers. I like to say that I'll be helping to address one of the oldest questions in science: How did life emerge? But as I worked, I was feeling as though I might never contribute to anything worthwhile.
On the bench behind me, I heard a gentle buzz through the din of the fans. My phone, gliding intermittently across the smooth surface as it vibrated, alerting me to a call. But I ignored it, carefully following safety protocols. I was completely covered in personal protective equipment: lab coat, safety glasses, thick neoprene gloves, and leather boots. In the process of lifting a heavy beaker of acidic solution, it was too risky to pause and glance over at the screen. Soon, the call ended, and then my phone vibrated once more to indicate that the caller had left a message. I let out an annoyed sigh, and continued my work, eyes never leaving the glassware that I was using. Several minutes passed as I finished my titration and observed the result on my system.
THUNK, THUNK, THUNK.
A loud slapping knock came at the windowless metal door. I jumped at the disturbance, glad that I hadn't been holding any glassware. Turning, I heard a few incoherent shouts followed by the metallic clatter of keys. I removed my gloves, leaving them resting on the edge of the fume hood, and stepped away from my work to watch the door.
A loud metallic clattering came from the hall. Whoever this was, they just dropped their keys and cursed loudly. Then came more jingling, and multiple attempts to find the right key. Who was trying to get in here at this hour? My advisor? The voice sounded feminine... it could be her, or maybe one of my other lab mates? I didn't think they ever worked so late. Whoever it was, I started to think that maybe I should open the door for them.
Finally, the intruder found the right key for the lab. I heard it grate into the lock, and then came the click of the mechanism turning over. The door crashed open violently, bouncing off the wall with a great "thud."
"Trishaaa! I know you're shtill in here, girl!" called a familiar, sweet sounding voice. Enter my friend Aria.
Aria Andrews is perhaps my only good friend here at Northern State. It's an unlikely friendship, and sometimes I don't truly understand how it formed. She's as unpredictable as I am singularly focused. But whatever brought us together, I'm very glad it did. Aria, I know, cares for me. Better, she constantly reminds me that there is life outside of my laboratory. But sometimes she can be a bit
too
assertive about it.
Let me tell you a little about her. She arrived here at the same time that I began my doctorate, coming all the way from Lyon, France. She has an incredible work ethic, and her research accomplishments here are nearly as impressive as my own. We're both expected to graduate on time, with 4.0 GPAs, and several published papers in high-impact journals. But where I am well known to be private and studious, Aria somehow manages her research without ever seeming consumed by it. I am respected, almost feared by the other grads, and hated by some who are jealous of my scientific findings. The men in the department won't consider dating me. But with Aria, it's just the opposite.
She's ever social, and even I admit that she's very attractive. I mean, she's a wonderfully fit young woman with a full smile, silky blonde hair, blue eyes, and an hourglass figure. If she wasn't a scientist, she could easily be a model. Combined with her penchant for revealing dresses and a soft French accent, the guys line up for her. She has dates left and right, but I'm alone in the lab every weekend.
Not that I mind. I don't really enjoy dating. I'm not a prude, but I don't generally have a pleasant experience going out for drinks or dinner. And my practical, reserved demeanor usually scares guys off anyway. When all you can think of to talk about is your work, men lose interest fast. Most of them at least. I'm no Aria, but I'm not homely by any standard. I'm tall, muscular from running, and consummately dressed, usually in several layers of professional clothing. I like my cosmetics heavy, to cover up the tiredness in my face, and my hair with its natural curls, neatly pulled back in a tight bun. My girlfriends tell me that I have a great bust, and a nice ass, and they probably aren't wrong. But there's something about me that keeps others away. I suppose I'm a little disconcerting.
But not to Aria. She decided, when she met me, to drag me out to the bar on a weeknight and pressure me into doing shots of tequila. I was totally incapacitated after just one. She had at least five. Not that I really remember. Aria is well known for her tolerance for alcohol, and her insistence that everyone around her indulge in a few drinks with her (that usually become a few more). That night, she walked me home and helped me into my apartment, making sure I hydrated before getting me into my bed. We've been good friends ever since, and we really can't even say why.
"Aria, you startled me! What are you doing in here this late? I'm just finishing up these titrations...," I said, greeting her as she came towards me from across the lab.
She waved away my explanation, giving me a look of exaggerated disappointment. "Trish, what're YOU doing in herr sho late?" Aria slurred, repeating me.
"Are you drunk, Aria?" I knew she was.
"...
oui
."
I shook my head, laughing, and turned back to my experiments. Typical.
"Aria, it's Wednesday night. And you know full well that I have work to do."
"Yeahhh, yeahhh. You always shay that, betchh."
"Hey, watch it. You know how I feel about that kind of language." I was joking of course, but when I'm at work, I tend to be polite and courteous to a fault.