Chandra’s forced to keep her on the team,
walks past me.
“Hey, Veda, I was pretty lame today. Wasn’t I?” She giggles.
Her twin, Meghna, peals with laughter.
As they walk away, I hear Mekha say,
“Veda’s so sensitive!
Are we supposed to stop using certain words
because she’s handicapped?
Should we give cricket stumps
a new name now that she has a stump?”
The girls fall on each other, laughing some more,
and their taunts echo loudly in my head
long after I leave the field.
NAMES
Chandra stops by in the evening. “Why did you leave early? Without telling me?
What happened? I was worried.”
Words spill out of me, fierce as tears.
“I’m sick of being a cripple.
I hate hearing people talk about me.
And even when they’re not talking about me,
ugly words are always around:
stump, lame, handicap.”
“If people are calling you names, I’ll take care of them.”
Chandra makes fists.
“You’re just more advanced than we are.
I saw this TV show about how, maybe, in a hundred years,
we’ll all have implants to make our bodies stronger.”
I slap at a crutch. “This isn’t an implant.
It only enhances my weakness.
I’m going to drop out of school.”
“Veda, you never give up.
Not even at cricket,
which you don’t care much about.
You know why our team won so often?
Because you inspired me.
However desperate a match seemed,
I could read in your face
that you refused to accept defeat.”
She’s right, but her words surprise me.
“How do you know?”
“Maybe others can’t see your feelings.
I, however, have X-ray vision.” Chandra makes a funny face,
sucking her cheeks in and rolling her eyes.
My teeth feel stuck together
like I’ve been chewing cashew candy,
except my mouth tastes bitter, not caramel sweet.
It’s work to get my jaws unstuck and laugh
but I’m used to challenging the muscles of my body.
I do it for Chandra’s sake. Because friendship is about laughing
when the other person is joking to make you feel better.
Even if you don’t find her joke all that funny.
EXPOSED
Dr. Murali removes my stitches.
I make myself stare
at my
bare