“Some stupid people are
smart enough to hide their stupidity,” I say.
A twitter runs through the class. My classmates are laughing.
At Mekha and Meghna.
I stride past the twins
as if they don’t exist.
NOT ENOUGH
Jim gives me a long, serious look
when I next see him.
“Remember what I said
about having to make some big decisions?
The decision impacts you.”
My heart pirouettes.
“I’ve decided,” he says,
“to return to America.”
I bite my lip so hard it hurts.
“But don’t you worry.
I’ll be leaving you in good hands.”
Not
the hands I want.
“I’ll miss you,” he says,
“but every project comes to an end, you know.”
I should have known.
I can’t believe I was stupid enough
to think he cared for me.
That I was special to him.
“You’ll do great, kiddo.”
“I’m not a kid,” I mutter.
“I know. I know.” He pats the top of my head
as if he’s pacifying a baby. “You’re one special young woman.”
“Not special enough for you,” I blurt.
Jim looks as though an earthquake just struck. “What?”
Awkwardness
hangs
in the space
between us.
I wish the earth would spin backward,
erase the last minute and those words
I never meant to say to his face.
“Veda—I’m sorry if—if anything I said or did made you think—”
I shake my head. It was all me.
My mistake.
I read too much into everything.
Dreamed, imagined, and
let my thoughts get
as out of control as my body.
“Veda,” he says. His tone is kind, patient, gentle.
“It’s normal to get attached to your caregiver.
You’ll get over it soon.”
I sense he’s trying to make me feel better,
though it only makes things worse
to hear Jim say I’m as ordinary
as any other patient.
“We’ll meet before I leave. Okay, Veda?”
His forehead crinkles with concern.
Feeling more like a kid than when he called me kiddo,
I nod my head and
walk out the door he holds open.
BARE
The words not special enough for you ring in my ears
louder and clearer than when I actually blurted them to Jim.