From out in space, looking down on the earth, green and brown floating in oceans of blue and covered with swirls of white, it's hard to imagine what ties people to it. Why would you want to stay? What would compel someone to make that choice? When the view from above is so very glorious, why tie yourself to the ground?
"Ms. Swan, did you hear what I asked?" And with that I was pulled out of my reverie, forced again to pay attention to the mind-numbing hour that is Introductory Research Methods. The picture of earth hanging in space on the cover of the textbook was much more satisfying. And it was also hard to pay attention to classes at night. Why again had I signed up for this?
"I'm sorry, ma'am. Will you please repeat the question?"
Dr. Cullen repeated herself in a sweet, but also with a bit of a condescending, tone. "Question 4, page 173. You are given the equation Y= 4 + 2X. Interpret 2."
"Oh, yes, sorry. A one-unit change in X produces a beta unit change in Y. Four is the intercept, or estimated alpha, and 2 tells us how steep the slope of the line will be, and is the estimated beta coefficient," I replied.
"Very good. Class, let Ms. Swan's example be a lesson to the rest of you. You don't actually have to pay attention to my lectures if you simply read and prepare the practice problems in advance." And with that she moved on to how to interpret the results when the independent variable is a dummy variable.
I mused on the turn in her lecture. Life is sometimes like a dummy variable. You're either on or you're off. You're in or you're out. Dead or alive. Everything is dichotomous. Life is binary, like writing computer code or being part of the justice system. Guilty or not guilty. Black or white; no shades of gray. Or at least that's what my life seems to be like. Everything in its place; everything as it should be.
It wouldn't surprise me if that's what she was trying to teach us, really. Everything is linear; every problem has a solution. If I dared speak my thoughts aloud, which I wouldn't, but if I dared to, I'm sure she would tell us something like, "While Positivism has been largely rebuked as an impossible dream, the lessons of the approach to understanding the world are important. Though we cannot completely control for our biases in research and our endeavors to understand the world around us, we must take great aims to be as cautious as possible, to eradicate error and noise in order to arrive at the optimal, or best, solution possible." And then she'd lose everyone in the class.
Dr. Cullen is an interesting woman. Unusual looking. Young and far, far too beautiful for a professor. At least she is compared to the rest of them. Except maybe one or two of the Spanish professors that the guys go crazy over. But she isn't like them, either. She is average height for a woman, I suppose. But her features are angular and perfect. She has brown hair, slightly lighter than my dark hair, but it's hard to tell how long her hair is because she always wears it in a twist at the nape of her neck. And she wears the oddest contact lenses—changing the color every week or so, honey to black and back again. She probably shouldn't be teaching night classes, either, because the purple bags under her eyes always make her look tired. But other than that, she is really quite stunning.
Stunning. I wish I was stunning. I've gotten better looking in the past couple of years, I suppose. More of a woman's figure than a girl's. But my coloring is mostly ordinary, or at least ordinary for the Pacific Northwest, or maybe the Arctic Circle. Brown hair, brown eyes. My skin is almost as pale as Dr. Cullen's. She must never get embarrassed, though, because she never blushes. I blush—bright red. It's so humiliating, and it happens all the time. A boy once told me it was cute; I'm still not sure if he was making fun of me.
At least my complexion finally fits in with everyone around me. This university isn't known for its bronzed beauties, as the climate in Seattle doesn't lend itself to sunbathing. I grew up in Phoenix, home of bronzed beauties. Ugh. I moved half way through my junior year because my mom Rene's new husband Phil got signed with a farm team in Florida. 'She' homeschooled me (legally, at least—I was really in charge of my education), and I got ahead so fast without the distractions of changing classes, gym, and obligatory social events that I finished high school early. So I came out here to give them a little time alone.
Seattle isn't too far from my dad Charlie's house, at least comparatively speaking. Four hours is a lot closer than across the country. My mom Renee left with me when I was just a year old—she couldn't take Charlie's hometown, Forks. He stayed—he had a promising career, a home and life long friends. I was forced to visit every summer until I finally cried uncle and insisted he and I vacation elsewhere together. Forks is nobody's idea of a vacation. I guess I could've gone there to finish out high school, but I didn't want to miss out on Florida and away games with Rene, and I knew I'd be out of their hair soon enough.
Away games were the most fun. I never imagined that the rest of the country was so diverse. I'd been to Phoenix. I'd seen Forks. I'd even been to California a couple of times with Charlie. But beyond that I had no frame of reference. Florida itself was pretty interesting, though it was far, far too humid for me. Pretty much the whole South is. But I enjoyed some of the towns, and I loved figuring out the different accents and cultural quirks. Bar-b-que is one of them. In some places the slaw is creamy; in others it's not. In some places the sauce is mustard based, in others it's ketchup based. I never ate much of it regardless, but it was still interesting to sort out. Kind of like a puzzle that needs to be solved.
But here I am in my second semester, though it's the fall and a new group of freshman just started, sitting in my mandatory research methods course. (Sort of mandatory, I should say. It was this or a class on probability theory, and this class seemed like it might be slightly more useful than probability theory given that I'm planning to be an English major.) At least Dr. Cullen is interesting. It could be worse.
Actually, it was going to get worse in about 20 minutes. Ugh. I opted to take Astronomy over Biology or Chemistry. Big mistake. I figured we'd just go look at starts two nights a week—ha! This subject is so complicated I simply can't make heads or tails of parts of it. For example, I just now figured out why the North Star seems to stay in place while the others do not, and it's the fourth week of the semester. It never even occurred to me to think about that before this semester began. It just was. Black or white. Things either are or they are not. Life as dummy variables.
And so in 20 minutes I will drag myself to my first remedial astronomy lesson. Professor Soren "highly recommended" the sessions to me after our first test. I don't think I've ever performed so badly on anything before. And now I will go to astronomy not just on Monday and Wednesday nights, but on Thursdays as well. Torture. Have I mentioned that I hate night classes?
I take them because I need a job to help cover expenses. Charlie and Rene have pitched in to cover tuition and books, and I'm paying for room and board—and I don't want to do it through student loans. So I work every morning from 7:45 until 12:45 at the school bookstore. Fortunately they have a real literature section, and that's where I work. That leaves just enough time in the afternoons for two Monday, Wednesday, Friday classes, one Tuesday and Thursday afternoon class, and then my evening classes. I spend my weekends catching up on studying. I don't think my roommate even knows who I am.
And now I've successfully managed to wile away the research methods lecture. But this did not go unnoticed.
"Ms. Swan, may I presume that you already understand what happens to the intercept when estimating an equation with a dichotomous explanatory variable, and that's why you weren't paying attention in class tonight?" Dr. Cullen asked. Again, sweetly, but with a bit of a bite.
"Oh, yes ma'am. I didn't mean any disrespect." (I picked up ma'am-ing when I lived with Renee and Phil in Florida—it's kind of fun.)
"There was none taken. But you seem preoccupied. Is there anything on your mind that I could help with, dear?" Dear, huh? Does this mean she likes me or she's being passive-aggressive? She seems sincere.
"No, ma'am. I just already know this material. And I work all morning and then take classes in the afternoons and evenings, and sometimes it's just a little hard for me to focus. Especially at night. And speaking of, if you'll excuse me, I have to run off to remedial astronomy now. Thanks for asking about me, and sorry again if I offended you." She gave me a knowing smile, and with that I ran through the doors and across campus to my astronomy lesson.