Yes, My Accent Is Real by Kunal Nayyar Page A

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A Thought Recorded on an Aeroplane Cocktail Napkin

The Girl I Went to Mass For
    ALLISON WAS STRONGER THAN ME. A really strong girl. Muscular.A jaw like a linebacker. She had calluses on her hands and feet. She played soccer. She wore a cross. She always smiled. And she had eyes that were a shade I had never seen in my life. Gray. Gray eyes. I loved those eyes. I loved those calluses and those triceps. She was nice to me, too. We would take walks on campus in the evening. Sometimes she would wrap my arms in hers. I would later go home alone and . . . you know . . . I was alone. I asked her to be my date to the college dance. It was on a boat. Why are all college socials on boats? I wonder what they do when schools aren’t near a lake or the coast. Hmmm. I borrowed a black jacket from my brother. It was a nice black jacket, way too big for me. He is a few inches taller with broad shoulders, so all his hand-me-downs were like wearing a blanket.
    On the bus to the college dance, Allison and I were sitting together. She was always a close talker. Always. I never minded. Her breath always smelled like mint. We were close talking, and I was telling her about India, and she was so interested in it all. Not “Do you have camels?” interested, more like, “Wow, how many cousins do you have again?” The more we talked the closer her face got to mine.She asked for a mint. I thought I had some in my left pocket, but I didn’t. What I did have in my left pocket was something that my brother had left there “by mistake.”
    â€œWhat’s this?” I said, holding it up. A condom. A ninety-nine-cent condom. She was aghast. My mind racing, I searched for the right thing to say, but I think what came out was one big “Uhhhhhh.”
    â€œWhat kind of girl do you think I am, Kunal?” (You know you’re in trouble when they use your name.)
    â€œUm, it’s my brother’s jacket. I had no idea. I’m so sorry.”
    â€œWe’re not even dating! How could you think of me like that?” And then she said those dreaded words, “You’re like a brother to me.”
    A brother? A brother? Was she about to tie a Rakhi band on my wrist? What about the close talking? And the loving-India thing? And the asking for a mint? Of course I said none of this. I just apologized. Truth is, it wasn’t my condom. I didn’t actually think I was going to get laid. I just wanted someone to treat me like I wasn’t this weird skinny Indian guy aimlessly navigating his way through social etiquette. Someone to treat me like a person. I had found that person. And her name was Allison. But I pulled out a condom and showed it to her. She went and sat in an empty seat on the bus. I was surprised how upset she was. I mean, seriously, what’s the big deal? So I thought you were beautiful and loved you and wanted to make sweet love to you (apparently). Why create such a fuss? Just accept the apology and move on.
    I sat on the bus contemplating whether to go on the boat with the rest of the group. I tried making an excuse about getting seasick. But the bus driver wouldn’t allow me to sit on the bus during the dance. Some policy about safety, he said. Plus all the guys andtheir dates were looking at me weirdly. So I just got on that stupid boat, and I went to that dance alone.

    â€œWould you be willing to go to Mass with me?” Allison asked me a few weeks later. She said that she had prayed about it and that she was willing to forgive me. I thanked her and apologized again. Yes. Of course I would go to Mass with her. I would have climbed Everest naked for her.
    We went to Mass. It was lovely. I find pretty much all religion lovely. After the service, everyone was asked to speak about something positive in their lives. I spoke about this “angel” in my life. About how she had saved me. I made most of it up on the spot but it felt true in the