**Work in progress. And Noah, shush!**

            Keva Stephenson sighed and scrawled B+ and Unique passion, but it was very stilted-not enough of YOU! on David Greene’s composition. Her assignment to her English class was to write an essay about a passion or insight of theirs about life or themselves. Keva rubbed the bridge of her nose and shut her slightly bloodshot eyes briefly. She didn’t know which was worse; having to read numerous typed essays so they all blurred together or having to struggle through individual and most likely, messy handwritings.

            Keva shifted on the chair of her dining table, not that there was much space to move. She glanced at the next essay and saw that it was Sharissa Wolfe’s essay. Sharissa was either loud and always passing notes or she was silent in class and she watched her classmates intently, which frankly unnerved them somewhat. She was someone Keva thought was inclined to emotional extremes. However, her work was usually very intriguing though sometimes a bit rushed.

Keva read the yellow Sticky Sharissa had attached to the front of her essay:

Ms. Stephenson, I hope it’s all right that I mixed several styles of writing in my essay. I find that this will make it easier to read and imagine. Certainly, it is now less boring to read

                                                                                    -Sharissa

Lifting an eyebrow, Keva took a gulp of warm water (she had learned how cold water wreaked havoc on her students’ assignments and her table) from her glass, fumbled to place it on the crowded table and settled down to read.

Imaginings

When people ask me what career I want to pursue once I finish high school, I say “medical doctor” and they look impressed  but I can see they’re also skeptical of whether I can achieve this  ambition.

Skeptical I know because I am not reputed to be hard-working, though smart. After all, how far can smarts get you through medical school? I’m known to be a procrastinator, not a trait admirable in a doctor!

Skeptical because I never showed an interest before in medicine. In fact, due to my past of having to visits hospitals, the sight of a needle would send me into tears, even right up to the age of thirteen.

Skeptical because I do not know simple first-aid. If someone had a nose-bleed, I’d be hanging in the back, watching in concern, but not taking charge.

Skeptical because I have no finesse, no sensitivity in my fingers when it comes to holding a scalpel, a knife, a needle. I detest cooking (I can’t cut straight), I detest sewing and my biology experiments in dissection leave a lot to be desired.

Skeptical, most of all, because of my personality…

I am the youngest of my family and because of that, I suppose I am a bit more spoiled than my sisters and brother. No doubt, my siblings were the ones who usually had to do the comforting. What problems my sisters had, they did not indulge them to me and it was very rare I saw them cry. And my brother and I barely acknowledge each other  except for him to perform his “brotherly duties” and scowl at guys who whistle at me while walking in town. However,  I remember once when I was the only person Nadine (the younger of my older sisters) could turn to….

I turned my sister’s doorknob and took a step forward, only to crash into the door which somehow did not open. I frowned and knocked on the door. Usually the only times my sister locked the door was when she was taking her shower and I just saw her with freshly shampoo-ed hair getting a drink from the kitchen before “nesting” down in her room to study for her exams.

“Hey, Nadine! Nadine!! I’m coming in!” I unlocked the door, swung it widely open dramatically and bursted in. It’s a rule in our house that the keys for the bedrooms and bathrooms have to be kept in the lock in case there was a fire or some sort of emergency. You ask me, that defeats the purpose of even having a door, but it’s also a common practice to knock and wait for an answer before entering if the door’s locked. Except I didn’t in this situation because I knew my sister wasn’t indecent.

“I’m just here to get a book to read and I’ll just vamoosh outta…” I trailed off when I noticed my sister was curled up on the bed and I saw the shaking shoulders and heard the muffled sounds. Oh, God. She’s crying. Oh, shit. What do I do?

I stood there in the doorway uncertainly, blinking. “Nadine, what’s wrong? Did some jerk at school do something? Was it Nakimi, that b*tch? Did she say something again?”

I shut the door and approached the bed slowly, as one would do with a cornered animal. I sincerely hoped it was because of something someone did or said because then I knew I could cheer her up by getting VERY mad and declaring several ways of getting revenge. If it was something else, I knew I was a goner.

After gingerly sitting on the edge of the bed, I waited for my sister to respond in SOME kind of way and arranged the papers and notebooks on my sister’s desk until all the straight edges were perpendicular to each other. C’mon, c’mon…talk to me. You know I can’t leave you like this!

After an eternity, my sister took her face out of her blanket. “I know…I know… I won’t be able to pass the math exam. It’s Higher Level and my grades through school has been only 5’s! How can I even hope to finish a paper, much less get 6 or above! I don’t understand anything! Anything!” She ended on a shriek and started crying again.

Helplessly I rubbed my sister’s shuddering shoulders and soothing said (or hoped for a soothing tone), “I’m sure you’ll do fine, Nadine. You’re hard-working. You might not get a 6 but you’ll definitely be able to finish each paper and at least get a 5. That’s not so bad, right?”

She shook her head and continued crying. After a while, my eyes darted around in panic. Oh, man…I hate it when people cry. I don’t know what the hell to do! “Hey, Nadine, do you, uh, want me to get you water? Or…” I trailed off, hoping for inspiration. “Or food! I can get you food! You know…comfort food and all!” I looked optimistically down at her obscured face and gently moved the blanket away from her face so she could breathe. She just crushed it back to her face. “There, there.” Aghast at myself, I made a face after looking away from my sister. There, there! What the hell am I? Some granny???

I just stayed there, patting my sister’s back and trying to ignore my growling stomach. I caught myself tapping my foot against the carpet and stopped, hoping Nadine hadn’t somehow heard or that would’ve conveyed my impatience. Why couldn’t it have been someone else’s fault for her tears? Then I could’ve talked about hating that person or punching/kicking him…that would’ve been easier to handle!

“Sure you don’t want me to get food? Remember, eating food is one of the ways to cope with emotional crises and I’m sure you won’t get fat, Nadine. I mean, you’re thin, you probably got a high metabolic rate and all. So…water? Food?” I asked hopefully.

Nadine just shook her head and finally turned her head and looked at me. “It’s…it’s okay. I’ll be fine. You can go.”

I blinked, not sure if this was some “sister” test, like how girlfriends “test” their boyfriends by asking them about hypothetical situations. “You’re…sure?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine.”

I got up and nodded sagely. “Right. Okay, Nadine. I’m sure you’ll do fine in your exams. You’re hard-working.” I watched her roll over again, leaving me to stare at her back. “Okay.” I grabbed the book, then quietly locked the door while exiting the room.

This is one of my personality traits that are not suitable for doctors: my lack of empathy and sensitivity and intuition. Seeing someone sad or depressed or cry sends me in a panic and I get very stiff when trying to talk to and comfort  the person. The line I always end up using is “Do you want some food? You know, comfort food?”

Who would want a doctor who “freaks out” whenever they see someone crying or in emotional/physical pain? Isn’t that what being a doctor is all about – helping someone through their pain?