Engineering Faculty

Posted to Stories on the topic of Work on 6 April 2007.

by William C. Burns, Jr.–Age 53–Greenville, SC

Initial Contact

In this dream I am a clown by profession. I make tense situations easier for people. Situations like learning, biomedical engineering, differential equations applied to electronics, the usual clown stuff.

I turn my beat up ‘84 Buick into the faculty parking lot. I get out of my car and head for the tent.

Dancing the Real Slow Dance

House lights down, pin spot up, I take the stage. Tada! I make hand shadows in the sawdust, saying things like , “The electrical signal we measure is the result of charged bodies migrating across the membrane barrier . . .”

Suddenly there is a light. Up there in the back row. The light has come on over that girl’s head, she understands. She is whispering to the guy next to her. His light sputters into existence. It’s spreading, a river of candles in the darkness.

I bask. It isn’t the light of a solar flare, or a Holy Conflagration, it is the simple light of human understanding. It is enough.

The little voice in my head considers for a moment, then asks, “This pleases you. Why?”

“This is the real slow dance; it’s the only dance that matters,” I answer. It’s not enough, but its the only thing my speaking brain can offer.

The Leach

The leach is in my office. This is no surprise. I slap it on the head and it hisses. “Give me your time,” it commands.

“Get your own,” I snarl back in leach-speak.

“Why do you hate me? I only want to exist. I don’t want all of your blood, just enough.”

“Get a life.” I wish I still smoked. They say if you stick a lit cigarette on their heads they will fall off.

The voice is silent. “Live in a swamp, you gotta pick up a few leaches,” I say to no one in general.

A Day’s Energy Spent—Coin of the Realm

I light a candle, pour a shot of red wine (my mother-in-law says it’s good for cholesterol), and lean back in the sofa. My wife moves around the room to a place near to me.

“Little voices in your head?” she asks.

I nod.

“I understand,” she says.

I can see them in her eyes again. These tiny little lights behind her eyes. Soft, warm, amber-chocolate lights. She does comprehend. I am a very lucky person.

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