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Day 7
“There’s something on the wing of the plane!” shouted the tv. Sharon looked over at it wistfully, but turned back grudgingly to her computer. Classic Twilight Zone would have to wait for after the finals for her.
Not so for her roomie, of course. With a double major in English (focus: Creative Writing) and Cinema, Rachel’s apparent goofing off was actually the sign of a focused mind at work. Her final was to take apart and analyze a short cinematic piece of less then an hour- part of the grade depended on the professor accepting that the piece was in fact worth the effort. But science fiction was not Professor Rothburg’s thing, and though Rachel had been able to suppress her urge to go over the great points of science fiction history with her, she wasn’t going to give up her last chance of bringing Rod Sterling into her academic career. It was the culmination of a lifelong dream.
“Okay, the action of camera is fairly static, but this functions to reinforce the viewer’s feelings of claustrophobia on the plane, at the mercy of whatever is attacking….” Rachel also muttered and couldn’t stand to wear headphones. Her relationship with Sharon was sometimes strained for just these reasons, but a shared love of geekery in all its myriad forms smoothed many a ruffled feather.
“Shar, do you think I can get away with saying that planes are inherently frightening?” Rachel’s willingness to discuss any and all minutia of her current thoughts also tended to have a bonding effect- there are only so many conversations one can have about the comparative visibility from within Godzilla suits versus Mothra suits without either goading one into a murder/suicide or an abiding friendship. As both women yet lived, love prevailed at the cost of sanity.
“If not in real life, (which I certainly think they are), at least in the realm of the movie, I think. Don’t the people who think he’s crazy think that he snapped from the strain of flying on the plane?”
“Ooh, point.” Rachel scribbled, and then unpaused the DVD to return to her scrutiny.
Sharon turned back to her computer again, and just tried to focus on Billy Collins. Ironically, her desk was covered in repeated prints of the same document, all wreathed in red pencil around the center text. “Marginalia, my ass. I’ve written a whole damned new book about this guy.”
“I thought you were going to write about Shakespeare being gay.” Rachel asked.
“Tried. The professor said too many people are picking that topic this year- something about a Doctor Who episode. I had to switch to a modern author. I thought this guy would at least be easy- I mean, poet laureate, he’s got to have something going for him.”
“Pah. You lost your heart to iambic pentameter- you don’t even see anything that doesn’t have a metrical system. Why bother?”
“I asked the professor, and he said I had to change it. It’s just the one paper.”
“It’s just your brain! If you don’t want to have to write about something, you don’t have to. See what I’m writing about?” Rachel gestured broadly at the tv. “I spent the whole semester writing about what the professor liked. This is my last chance to do what I want, so I’m going for it. Don’t just write about a modern poet just because of the grade. You had that gay idea first, and if you hadn’t gotten sick, you’d have already have registered it before all the That Girls got into it. It’s your damned brain- you want to think about Shakespeare? Do it!”
Sharon sighed and then smiled. Rachel was kind of wonderfully impractical at times. “Intellectual purity will not save my scholarship if the professor sacks me, kiddo. You take the high road, and I’ll take the low road, and I’ll get to grad school afore ye, for me and Bill’s gay love will often meet again on the muddy muddy banks of English Lit.”
Rachel gaped in awe at Sharon for a moment.
“… How long had you been storing that up?”
“Honestly? I’ve been doing variations on that sucker since high school.”
“Sharon. I says this with love: you are such a fucking geek.”
“Thanks, dearie. You too.”
“There’s something on the wing of the plane!” shouted the tv. Sharon looked over at it wistfully, but turned back grudgingly to her computer. Classic Twilight Zone would have to wait for after the finals for her.
Not so for her roomie, of course. With a double major in English (focus: Creative Writing) and Cinema, Rachel’s apparent goofing off was actually the sign of a focused mind at work. Her final was to take apart and analyze a short cinematic piece of less then an hour- part of the grade depended on the professor accepting that the piece was in fact worth the effort. But science fiction was not Professor Rothburg’s thing, and though Rachel had been able to suppress her urge to go over the great points of science fiction history with her, she wasn’t going to give up her last chance of bringing Rod Sterling into her academic career. It was the culmination of a lifelong dream.
“Okay, the action of camera is fairly static, but this functions to reinforce the viewer’s feelings of claustrophobia on the plane, at the mercy of whatever is attacking….” Rachel also muttered and couldn’t stand to wear headphones. Her relationship with Sharon was sometimes strained for just these reasons, but a shared love of geekery in all its myriad forms smoothed many a ruffled feather.
“Shar, do you think I can get away with saying that planes are inherently frightening?” Rachel’s willingness to discuss any and all minutia of her current thoughts also tended to have a bonding effect- there are only so many conversations one can have about the comparative visibility from within Godzilla suits versus Mothra suits without either goading one into a murder/suicide or an abiding friendship. As both women yet lived, love prevailed at the cost of sanity.
“If not in real life, (which I certainly think they are), at least in the realm of the movie, I think. Don’t the people who think he’s crazy think that he snapped from the strain of flying on the plane?”
“Ooh, point.” Rachel scribbled, and then unpaused the DVD to return to her scrutiny.
Sharon turned back to her computer again, and just tried to focus on Billy Collins. Ironically, her desk was covered in repeated prints of the same document, all wreathed in red pencil around the center text. “Marginalia, my ass. I’ve written a whole damned new book about this guy.”
“I thought you were going to write about Shakespeare being gay.” Rachel asked.
“Tried. The professor said too many people are picking that topic this year- something about a Doctor Who episode. I had to switch to a modern author. I thought this guy would at least be easy- I mean, poet laureate, he’s got to have something going for him.”
“Pah. You lost your heart to iambic pentameter- you don’t even see anything that doesn’t have a metrical system. Why bother?”
“I asked the professor, and he said I had to change it. It’s just the one paper.”
“It’s just your brain! If you don’t want to have to write about something, you don’t have to. See what I’m writing about?” Rachel gestured broadly at the tv. “I spent the whole semester writing about what the professor liked. This is my last chance to do what I want, so I’m going for it. Don’t just write about a modern poet just because of the grade. You had that gay idea first, and if you hadn’t gotten sick, you’d have already have registered it before all the That Girls got into it. It’s your damned brain- you want to think about Shakespeare? Do it!”
Sharon sighed and then smiled. Rachel was kind of wonderfully impractical at times. “Intellectual purity will not save my scholarship if the professor sacks me, kiddo. You take the high road, and I’ll take the low road, and I’ll get to grad school afore ye, for me and Bill’s gay love will often meet again on the muddy muddy banks of English Lit.”
Rachel gaped in awe at Sharon for a moment.
“… How long had you been storing that up?”
“Honestly? I’ve been doing variations on that sucker since high school.”
“Sharon. I says this with love: you are such a fucking geek.”
“Thanks, dearie. You too.”
