Even prospective killers like to talk about Star Wars

Suddenly, a hand reached out towards me. The elevator doors paused and re-opened, and the body belonging to the hand stepped on. He was a suspicious-looking individual-a stranger to me, dressed completely in black. He stepped on, moved into the opposite corner of the elevator, and kept his gaze focused on me. He did not push a button; he was going to my floor.

Since I am quite an apprehensive person, especially at 3 a.m. and especially alone on the elevator with such a shady character, I assumed, of course, that I was about to be killed. As his eyes burned into my side and his fingers tapped suspiciously against the wall, I thought about what a shame it would be if I was murdered before I got to take the stats exam.

All that studying would have been such a waste.

The elevator seemed to be moving in slow motion. I tightened my grip on the books and notebook I was holding. My pencil fell to the ground, bounced, and rolled in his direction. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him bend down to pick it up. Oh man, I was thinking. This is it. I held my breath, waiting for him to pull out a gun. He handed the pencil to me and opened his mouth to speak. I braced myself for the worst.

"Star Wars," he said.

My mind was racing. I was planning my escape route, my hand was moving towards the emergency button, my life was flashing before my eyes. I was picturing my first day of kindergarten, my first trip to Disney World, my first kiss. I was imagining my old swing set, sidewalk chalk on the driveway, birthday parties, Halloween costumes, scenes from Star Wars. I was picturing my parents and my best friend and my roommate and how upset they were all going to be when they found out ...

Wait ... Star Wars?

That guy - my killer, had just looked at me and said "Star Wars." That was it. That was all he said. He kept staring.

The elevator had almost reached my floor. He was waiting for a response.

"Um ... Star Wars?" I asked.

"Star Wars," he said. "Episode I. The Phantom Menace. Are you going to see it?" He spoke clearly, enunciating every syllable.

Why did my murderer care what movies I wanted to see?

"Yeah," I found the words to answer, "probably."

"Awesome," he said. "It's supposed to be really good."

We had reached the sixth floor. The doors opened, and we stepped off in opposite directions. I walked slowly to my room, allowing my heartbeat to return to its standard rate.

This guy wasn't a murderer. He didn't want me dead. He seriously wanted to talk about movies. He was probably just a friendly guy. Strange, but friendly. Maybe he was obsessed with Star Wars, and thought that I looked like the Star Wars type. Maybe he was returning from his weekly "People Who Only Wear Black" meeting, and was in a talkative mood. Maybe he was doing a psychology experiment: make someone think that you are going to kill them, and then ask them questions about Star Wars. Who knows. But there was no intention of harm.

I am usually not the type of person who expects the worst of others. But in the middle of the night, when the only people I've seen in the past hour are the ones who have fallen asleep in the study lounge, I'm not thinking very rationally. I tend to jumble my own life with images of suspenseful horror movie scenes and clips from America's Most Wanted. It wasn't that I looked at the guy and assumed him to be a criminal; I just kind of thought that being killed was the natural thing to happen to me right then. It's what would have happened in a movie.

I pondered it while I was brushing my teeth. I laughed about it while I was washing my face. The truth of the Star Wars guy was certainly more unusual than something someone could have made up. After that short elevator ride, I learned that real life can be much more interesting than fiction - and a lot less predictable.

I slept well that night, dreaming of Luke Skywalker and feeling good about reality.

-Jennifer Strausz can be reached over e-mail at strausz@umich.edu

Jennifer Strausz Jump Ship and Swim

09-10-99