sweet!” I giggle again.
“Exactly. So much for being cool.”
“Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I never thought you were cool in the first place,” I tell him, deadpan.
“So this was a pity date?”
“Totally. I felt sorry, so I made time for you.”
“Well, I’m sure the guy you bumped off the schedule to fit me in is crying into his drink at the Phyrst right now.”
“Him and all the others. I mean, you can see the line waiting to date me.” I gesture into the empty night air. He lets out a bellow of laughter at my self-deprecating humor and squeezes my hand again.
“They probably thought you were out of their league.”
I shake my head in wonder of his assessment of me. It’s not the fact that he sees me as out of someone’s league–it’s extremely flattering but not what catches me. He has seen me at my most vulnerable, in a disorganized mess in class and in a heaping ball of tears on his floor, yet he sees greatness in those experiences. It’s like he feels something for me because of the moments of vulnerability, not in spite of them. There is no
sign on the dotted line
contingency. There’s me. There’s him. It really is that simple.
We’ve already ignored the signs saying the grounds close at dusk. Our trespassing doesn’t bother me–not only because we aren’t going to do any vandalizing, but because somehow, tonight feels safe. Like nothing can go wrong. The pavilion, a contemporarily styled structure, looms before us. It’s similar to a Japanese tea garden pagoda, but for the angles of the roof that make me think of the Sydney Opera House. Billowing white curtains encase the terrace, our destination.
We sprawl out on the floor, a mosaic of stone, which feels cool in the autumn chill.
“Why do you want to be a lawyer?” I ask.
“You know, my dad is a lawyer. My grandfathers, both of them actually, were before that. It’s the family trade.”
“Is tradition really important in your family?”
“No, it’s more than that,” he says. “I love the idea of tradition, don’t get me wrong. I love the idea of upholding this business. My dad is the strongest man I know, and he has an innate sense of justice. I’d love to be like him. But eventually, maybe I could get a Ph.D. in bioengineering, and that’s something a firm could pay for, too. Then you can testify as an expert in trials and things.”
“You sound so sure of yourself.” For the first time, I wonder what it would be like to do something other than medicine, but I draw a blank. I wouldn’t know where to start.
“Aren’t you?”
“Well, yes… but… No. I don’t know. You have so many options.”
“Why do you want to be a doctor?” He shifts his weight forward and brings his knee up, his posture a more relaxed version of mine.
“I want to help people,” I usually say.
It’s the textbook answer, the same one you’d give a stranger on the street. I’m aware of how it sounds. People who don’t know me always say, “That’s so noble,” or “That’s wonderful!” I, on the other hand, inevitably feel like a fraud. Like I couldn’t come up with something… just mine. James would make a better doctor. His experience with Max would give him some credibility or drive for wanting to help people. My response sounds bland, even to my own ears.
You’re going to have to do better than that in your medical school interviews
. But it’s still easier than the truth, the truth I find myself wanting to tell James.
“I don’t know anything else.” It is the first time I have ever said those words aloud.
“You never thought about anything else as a career?” Like before, his tone is not judgmental or even surprised. It is inquiring.
“I think medicine is the right thing to do. I have to work at the sciences a little bit, but I find them interesting. I want to help the people who can’t help themselves, the ones who are suffering and who struggle. My grandfather got really sick in India
“Exactly. So much for being cool.”
“Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I never thought you were cool in the first place,” I tell him, deadpan.
“So this was a pity date?”
“Totally. I felt sorry, so I made time for you.”
“Well, I’m sure the guy you bumped off the schedule to fit me in is crying into his drink at the Phyrst right now.”
“Him and all the others. I mean, you can see the line waiting to date me.” I gesture into the empty night air. He lets out a bellow of laughter at my self-deprecating humor and squeezes my hand again.
“They probably thought you were out of their league.”
I shake my head in wonder of his assessment of me. It’s not the fact that he sees me as out of someone’s league–it’s extremely flattering but not what catches me. He has seen me at my most vulnerable, in a disorganized mess in class and in a heaping ball of tears on his floor, yet he sees greatness in those experiences. It’s like he feels something for me because of the moments of vulnerability, not in spite of them. There is no
sign on the dotted line
contingency. There’s me. There’s him. It really is that simple.
We’ve already ignored the signs saying the grounds close at dusk. Our trespassing doesn’t bother me–not only because we aren’t going to do any vandalizing, but because somehow, tonight feels safe. Like nothing can go wrong. The pavilion, a contemporarily styled structure, looms before us. It’s similar to a Japanese tea garden pagoda, but for the angles of the roof that make me think of the Sydney Opera House. Billowing white curtains encase the terrace, our destination.
We sprawl out on the floor, a mosaic of stone, which feels cool in the autumn chill.
“Why do you want to be a lawyer?” I ask.
“You know, my dad is a lawyer. My grandfathers, both of them actually, were before that. It’s the family trade.”
“Is tradition really important in your family?”
“No, it’s more than that,” he says. “I love the idea of tradition, don’t get me wrong. I love the idea of upholding this business. My dad is the strongest man I know, and he has an innate sense of justice. I’d love to be like him. But eventually, maybe I could get a Ph.D. in bioengineering, and that’s something a firm could pay for, too. Then you can testify as an expert in trials and things.”
“You sound so sure of yourself.” For the first time, I wonder what it would be like to do something other than medicine, but I draw a blank. I wouldn’t know where to start.
“Aren’t you?”
“Well, yes… but… No. I don’t know. You have so many options.”
“Why do you want to be a doctor?” He shifts his weight forward and brings his knee up, his posture a more relaxed version of mine.
“I want to help people,” I usually say.
It’s the textbook answer, the same one you’d give a stranger on the street. I’m aware of how it sounds. People who don’t know me always say, “That’s so noble,” or “That’s wonderful!” I, on the other hand, inevitably feel like a fraud. Like I couldn’t come up with something… just mine. James would make a better doctor. His experience with Max would give him some credibility or drive for wanting to help people. My response sounds bland, even to my own ears.
You’re going to have to do better than that in your medical school interviews
. But it’s still easier than the truth, the truth I find myself wanting to tell James.
“I don’t know anything else.” It is the first time I have ever said those words aloud.
“You never thought about anything else as a career?” Like before, his tone is not judgmental or even surprised. It is inquiring.
“I think medicine is the right thing to do. I have to work at the sciences a little bit, but I find them interesting. I want to help the people who can’t help themselves, the ones who are suffering and who struggle. My grandfather got really sick in India
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