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A Time to Dance(79)

By:Padma Venkatraman






Ironing the hem of my school skirt,

            I tell Chandra about the three tickets

            akka gave me for the concert.

            “You’ll come, won’t you?”


“So I can hold one of your hands while Govinda holds the other?”

            Suppressed laughter leaps in Chandra’s eyes.


The iron hisses. “I’m not sure he likes me that way, Chandra.

            He’s always busy. Studying.

            Maybe I mistook Govinda’s feelings for me

            like I misread Jim’s.

            Imagining there’s something between us

            though all Govinda sees in me is a friend.”


“Studying for college entrance tests is tough, Veda.

            What d’you think I’m doing when you’re off dancing?

            Working as hard as I can to make good grades.”


“You still make time for me.

            Govinda cancels classes. Or comes late.”


“He’s probably just having trouble

            fitting things into his new schedule.

            I’ve given up cricket so I can study every spare minute.

            Govinda could have given up your classes together,

            but he’s trying to manage everything, isn’t he?

            Studying for college, teaching you,

            and keeping up with his own dance lessons.”


The skirt has a stubborn crease.

            I press it out with my steaming iron.

            Chandra’s right.

            Govinda has done—is still trying to do—a lot for me.


Chandra folds my shirt, puts it away.

            “Are you having fun teaching?” she asks.

            I tell her about Uma.

            “I’m sure her parents are too poor to pay for an operation.

            She loves dance, but doesn’t do it right

            because she’s trying so hard to hide her mouth.

            I wish I could get her to feel

            safe enough in class to not worry.

            But I don’t know how to help her. I’m a useless teacher.”


Chandra marches to my dresser. Rummages through.

            Yanks out the short blue batik skirt I bought

            last time we went shopping together.

            When I had two real legs.

            She fingers the price tag. “Brand-new.

            You’ve never worn this skirt?”


My iron splutters. I turn it off.

            “What does that skirt have to do with anything?”


“You’re always covering up your leg

            but you want to teach Uma she’s not ugly?”

            Chandra throws the skirt at me.


The silky fabric is rumpled

            from being squashed in the back of a drawer.

            I smooth out the wrinkles,

            spread the skirt flat on my ironing table.

            Turn my iron back on.





STRENGTH





Govinda arrives

            only a little late.