Never did I think I would find myself in an all-girls program. I looked around in amazement on orientation day as the 41 other first year students sat around me, chatting excitedly. They were all girls. According to the professors, this was typical. Despite that I'm also a girl, I'm not really what you would think of as a "girly girl." Anything further than the most basic concepts of make-up, accessories and style completely elude me. For example, I have a vague concept of what a cuticle is and I recently learned that blush and lip color are supposed to match. Who knew? Most days I'm content to wear jeans and a t-shirt-- occasionally, on a day when I'm feeling fancy, a sun dress with some sandals.
Of course, it wasn't a conscious decision; I had assumed that there would be more men in the AuD program, particularly at such a large, prestigious university. But I somehow wound up here, adrift and confused in a sea of fashion and other womanly topics that I could hardly share in a conversation about. Academics had always been more my specialty.
It wasn't that I disliked the girls-- I simply craved seeing a male face once in a while, and having a conversation with a guy. Guys always seemed easier to talk to, to me. I had a fiance, so I wasn't interested in finding a life partner or anything. I just appreciate seeing an attractive guy every now and then. Not to mention that my fiance travels frequently for work, leaving me lonely in more than one way... A handsome face would go a long way to get me through the lonely nights in my cold, small apartment. Perhaps that's why I started developing complex emotions toward Jay, the lone male professor in this estrogen fueled environment.
He wasn't particularly attractive; he had an ever widening bald spot on the back of his head, and even his loose fitting clothing revealed that he was not in optimal shape. Still, what hair he had left was dark, he had striking blue eyes with a strong jaw, and he really wasn't in HORRIBLE shape. He spoke both eloquently and quietly. Sometimes he joked sarcastically during class, and other times he snapped in an infuriatingly passive aggressive manner at the slightest provocation. There was a certain social awkwardness about him that I could easily relate to. In all, he was a complex enigma that I desperately wanted to figure out. I found myself inexplicably attracted to him, though I constantly resisted such feelings. Not only were they highly inappropriate, but he also had a way of destroying a girl's confidence in a few short words, which was a trait I found highly unattractive. So despite my attraction, I also hated him with an ever growing passion. It was the epitome of a complicated love-hate relationship.
I can still remember the first day that I had decided to wear a black skirt to clinic. It was pleated all around and fell below my mid-thigh. It was not particularly daring or sexy, but I would never get away with wearing anything remotely "daring or sexy" during my professional clinical duties. I wore with it a simple, purple sleeveless blouse and a pair of patterned, knit black stockings with black, open-toed heels. As I stood with a classmate discussing a case, I looked up briefly out of the corner of my eye to see Jay, standing from the doorway with a coffee in his hand. His eyes raked across my body from head-to-toe and an unexpected thrill coursed through my body. I looked quickly back to the case I had been discussing, before he had a chance to notice that I had seen him looking. For the rest of the day, I had tried puzzling out why he would have been looking at me like that. My initial thrill turned to worry and doubt. Perhaps my outfit had been inappropriate after all, despite that it had seemed fine to me-- he never mentioned it, though. He was married, after all, and despite working with many other young women who were much more beautiful than myself, he never seemed to express any kind of subtle sexual interest in anyone. He was strictly business, and quite frankly, seemed disinterested in anyone but himself.
After that encounter, I scolded myself when I blushed at his simple, rare compliments: "Great job on that test, Elle," and "Your haircut looks nice." Even comments that could be interpreted in a mildly sexual way were expressed in such a flat, expressionless, nonchalant manner that my immediate pleasure was quickly replaced by disappointment.
One bright, sunny Friday during class near the end of the second semester, our summer clinic schedules were given to us. I glanced at it, searching for my own name and quickly finding it. I sighed, realizing that I would be working under the supervision of a slightly flaky, erratic professor on Wednesday mornings, but bit back a small smile as I read my other clinic assignment... I would be working with Jay... alone... during the late night clinic on Thursdays.
The thrill of Jay was quickly forgotten as finals loomed ever nearer. The seemingly endless parade of sleepless nights and frustrating exams seemed as though they would never end, but finally they did, and we had a glorious week to ourselves before the start of the summer session. I went hiking in the Adirondacks with my fiance and visited friends and family at home. I had all but forgotten Jay until the first Thursday night that I would be working in the clinic.
When I arrived, I was upset. My fiance had left that morning for another business trip, and we'd had an argument about his travel schedule the night before. Depressed, I dragged myself into the clinic and miserably stared at my case file, not absorbing the information written within the pages. Compounded with my gloomy disposition, I knew that I would perform terribly-- in front of Jay, nonetheless-- if I couldn't pull it together and extract some meaningful information from the file. Suddenly, Jay's head popped around the corner of the door and he announced that my client had arrived.
"Let's not keep him waiting," he said, looking meaningfully between my face and the clock as I snapped the file shut, feeling flustered and rushed. We walked together in silence to meet the client while I smoothed my hair with my hands.
"Hello, my name is Elle and I'm a first year graduate student. I'll be working with you today!" I said in the brightest, cheeriest tone that I could muster. It did not match my mood in the slightest, but I hoped that my true emotions were not showing. The elderly man looked up at me and shook his head.
"A student?" He asked, eying me with disdain. I looked to John, uncertainly. Ever the professional, he quickly replied, "No worries, I'll be supervising. You should have been informed when you scheduled the appointment, however, that there would be a possibility that you would be seen by a student." He looked at me and I gulped. I guess I was supposed to call and let the old man know that...
The old man grumbled incoherently as he slowly rose, his knobby knees shaking with age. We slowly walked back to the therapy room, and I tried to elicit a conversation with him. He replied grumpily with little more than one word answers. Finally, we arrived at the room and I asked him to take a seat. Sitting down across from him, I asked him brightly what had brought him into the clinic today.
"I just filled out a bunch of papers, can't you just read them?" he snapped. With a small sigh, I realized that this was going to be challenging. I really didn't want to look incompetent in front of Jay, especially not with how badly the rest of my day had gone up until this point. Jay leaned against the doorway, mostly out of sight but keenly listening.
I cleared my throat and said, "Well, it will be good to hear it from you."
The old man glared at me and said, "I'm here to buy a hearing aid! What else does anyone ever come here for?"
I frowned, confused. I had thought that this would be a simple, half hour long appointment, but apparently it was a consultation, which generally lasted about an hour and a half. I certainly wasn't prepared for that. I could feel my panic rising.
