She is taking her exam now. I am so nervous that I can't keep my thoughts and emotions straight -- they run into each other, one moment a prayer, one moment a plea, one moment a whine, one moment forgetfulness. Like an anxious parent, but at the same time, so much so much more than that, I live through her experiences -- Mrs. Richards, may I please examine you? Take a deep breath and hold; can you repeat after me, "Ninety-nine"? -- she becomes me as I listen to my steps on the tile, cold stethoscope against a white belly, black, white; sanitised. -- Mrs. Richards, what is your address? Do you live alone? Is there a lift landing on your floor? -- Please God, grant her -- Is your family well? -- favour.
Monday, June 20, 2005
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