Chapter 3: The departmental retreat.

In our department, there was normally a formal reception for the incoming students. In addition, later in the school year, the professors usually gave a presentation of their individual research topics in order to help the new students select a thesis lab. This year, the chairman had the brilliant idea of combining the two, getting the whole department involved, and holding it at a resort in western Maryland.

By then, I had mostly eased off the agonizing over Liz, and resolved to get better acquainted with... well, other people in the department. We had a fair amount of free time between presentations, and I did my best to circulate. I tried, really. Honest. Unfortunately, the people I ended up hanging with were either people I knew already, or people I normally didn't run into, and probably wouldn't see much of after the retreat. The presentations weren't that tedious; they were rather succinct and to the point, and one professor even gave a presentation on one of his pet hobbies--the history of watch-making. Later in the evening, some of the students and faculty did a few skits poking fun at some of the eccentricities of said people (and, considering how small the department is, we sure do have a lot of weird people, myself included). Everything was in good fun.

I found myself mostly circulating away from Liz, if only for my mental health. There was enough of a crowd that it wouldn't have seemed obvious. Besides, I wasn't actively avoiding her. Just not spending any significant time in her presence. I don't do well in crowds, and she was usually in one. Mostly, the retreat helped to reinforce my idea that I wanted Liz as a friend, and I wouldn't freak out in the meantime. After we came back from the retreat, things went back to normal. When Liz changed labs (she was required to work two lab rotations at Hopkins), I naturally started dropping by her new lab. I've never tried to hide my visits, though I usually stopped by when few people were around. Mostly to keep from being underfoot--she worked in fairly large labs. Since none of my friends better anchored in the gossip grapevine have asked me (even in jest) why I'm hanging around Liz like a puppy dog, I guess that the infrequency of my visits made it sufficiently un-newsworthy.

After the New Year, she started dropping by my lab from time to time. Never that often, but I thought of it as a good sign. Still, I was perfectly aware that our lives only overlapped with regards to Hopkins. Though I'd like to make them overlap more, something within me questions the wisdom of such a move. What I know of her now--her scientific interests, goals, ambitions, and the activities I knew of--already intimidates me to a fairly significant extent. She may not know exactly what she wants or where she's heading, but she's doing a good job in trying to find out. And she's enjoying herself in the process. In comparison, I spend most of my time living other people's lives, dreaming their dreams, interacting with the results of their imagination, and rewriting history. As you might be able to tell, I have definite creation issues. I love to copy, emulate, and modify, but come up with anything original? Once or twice in a blue moon, perhaps. Mooching off someone else's creativity is something I enjoy and am reasonably proficient at. Goodness knows I've already stolen too many of Liz's (and admittedly, many other people's) pet phrases to count.

But life goes on. I give up on getting my experiments to work, and start preparing for my comprehensive exams. She breezes through finals. We continue chatting every so often. We head home for winter break, and I successfully fight the urge to e-mail her 'just to say hi.' After returning, we both conclude that the vacation was too short. I start walking her back to her apartment. And so it goes.