Oblivion

27| We need plenty more

JOSEPHINE

Dr. Bradford was watering his plants when I reentered the room after our short break. He smiled, and I sat down in one of the armchairs, watching him. I noticed that he wasn't watering all of them. "How do you know which ones need water and which ones don't?" I asked curiously.

"Oh, that's easy," he replied, putting the watering can on the windowsill. He seemed to have finished watering. "My husband tells me in the morning which pots need it. Do you see the different colors? The plants in the white pots need a lot of water, the ones in the wicker baskets need a medium amount, and the ones in the glass pots, for example, don't seem to need any and still thrive. To be honest, they are my favorites. But that's all I know; he can tell you more than I can."

"And how much do the other colors need?"

Dr. Bradford sighed as he sat down next to me. "Josephine, I have a PhD in psychology, not botany. But if you're really interested, I'll pass the question on and give you an answer next time." To my own surprise, I had to admit that I was really interested. Dr. Bradford seemed to notice and started to laugh. "My husband will be delighted. So it's a deal: I'll ask him if you tell me about your week in return. Your homeschooling started a while ago, and yet you're avoiding the topic. How is it going?"

"It's okay." School was definitely not my favorite subject. He didn't say anything, just leaned back and crossed his legs. He always did that when he noticed I didn't want to talk about something, which, in his defense, was often. I reminded myself that it was me who wanted his help, not the other way around, and sighed. "The teacher is really nice and always tries new ways to explain things to me, but I just don't understand it." 'Because I'm stupid. Because I'm so incredibly stupid.'

"Can there be any other explanation than what your thoughts are telling you?" He leaned forward again, and I avoided his gaze to stare out the window.

"Not if there is no other explanation. I'm just too stupid!" I said simply. Dr. Bradford wasn't there; he couldn't have known how dumb I was.

He nodded briefly, as if confirming something to himself—or rather as if I was confirming something. "Intelligence comes in many forms. According to Gardner's theory, there are eight different intelligences: linguistic, logical-mathematical, spatial, bodily-kinesthetic, musical, interpersonal, intrapersonal, and naturalistic. Each of these intelligences represents a unique way of processing information and solving problems. And even for those, he believed that there must be more forms of intelligence. What I mean by that is: just because you find academic things difficult doesn't say anything about how intelligent you are. I would even go so far as to say that you are very intelligent. So what could be a realistic reason for why you are finding learning difficult right now?"

'That's easy to say when you are so smart yourself,' I thought bitterly. I looked at him again, knowing full well what he wanted to hear. "Because I didn't go to school, and therefore I don't know the content."

"I'm delighted you anticipate what I might want to hear," he replied with an ironic undertone. "Let me rephrase my question: why does it stress you out?"

And I actually started to think. Maybe I was smarter in other areas, but what mattered was school and the grades I would get. I couldn't afford to be bad. If I was bad, Vito would see how bad I was, and then he would be disappointed, and then he would— "my mind keeps spiraling."

Dr. Bradford immediately understood what I meant and watched me as I stood up and went to the window to distract myself. The activity of the people below helped to ground me a little. For the fact that people scared me so much, they also gave me a strange sense of security, at least from a safe distance. "Why does this keep happening?" I asked.