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A Time to Dance(34)

By:Padma Venkatraman


            He even guesses my thoughts sometimes.”

            “So he’s cute?”

            “Not cute.” Cartoon characters are cute. “He’s . . . really manly.

            Tall. Strong. He’d lift me out of the wheelchair easily,

no problem.

            He’s got brilliant blue-diamond eyes—”


“Not cute, only drop-dead gorgeous?” Chandra squeals.

            “Youlikehim, youlikehim, youlikehim.”

            “Are you crazy?” I say. “He’s probably thirty years old.

            It’s not like that.

            Jim’s really nice. That’s all.”

            “Don’t get mad.” Chandra giggles. “I’m only teasing.”


She pops a chickpea into her mouth. “Just be careful, okay?

            My eldest sister’s been dating a boy on the sly.

            A rich boy and not even our same caste.

            She said she was flirting for the fun of it,

            to pass time until my parents arranged a husband for her.

            Now she’s gone and fallen in love with him.

            You and your doc—it’s a lot different, I know—but

            he’s attractive

            and you’re together a lot.

            Don’t lose your head over the wrong guy

            like my sis.”





CRUTCH FREE





Walking almost noiselessly,

            free

            of the clomp of crutches,

            walking on my fake leg,

            arms free to swing,

            I feel as happy

            as a pinioned bird whose wings are finally growing.


But every night, before taking off my limb for sleep,

            I need to keep my crutches within arm’s reach.

            I’ll never be completely

            crutch-free.





NO

Longer

CENTER





Queuing up behind my classmates

            the first day of exam week,

            I realize no one’s staring at me anymore.

            Either because I blend in better without my noisy crutches

            or because everyone’s wrapped up in their own worries

about doing well.

            A few of my classmates mutter prayers

            as the doors of the long exam hall open.

            “Good luck,” Chandra and I wish each other.

            Chandra’s so anxious about exams her voice shakes,

            though, as I tell her, I’m sure she’ll excel.

            The exam supervisor assigns me a seat

            beneath a whirring ceiling fan that does little to ease the heat.

            My residual limb itches with sweat.

            I click my leg off under the desk,

read the question paper, scribble nonstop.

            Three hours later, the exam supervisors announce,

“Drop your pens. Now.”

            Hungry for lunch, I spring halfway up on one leg,