Ugana

Chapter 5

When we walked in the door my mother was already waiting, jubilance clear on her face. I feel the automatic smile plaster itself to my mouth and its nauseating. Heavy. My lips pull from my teeth, stretching into something beautiful and secretly sinister. I dont know what it is yet, but it's there. I can feel it. The doctors words run through my head, over and over, "keep it together," and so I open my arms as she moved forward, tilting my head as ive done so many times and we laugh together. Joyous and desperate, but no one will notice. These thoughts dont happen in Ugana.

"How was it? What did they say? How do you feel?"

The questions come quick, one after the other, pulsing through the air and the gun shots ring in my head. I step back, finding space and breathe deep as they wait.

It was good. It went well i think.

Do you think youll get into medical?

He better be right, for all our sakes. The woman voice is as clear now as it was before and I immediately realize that the one person I wanted to see most- i needed to see- is not in the room.

Wheres John?

Hes working late, my mother says, brushing it off and pouncing right back. A doctor or a nurse?

I smile again, lips so tight I wonder if theyll split open, "I dont know really. Hopefully a doctor."

"Imagine that. A female doctor from our own family, she says, reaching for my fathers hand in her excitement. I watch as he smiles back, but something is different. Off. Not right.

My fathers smile is my favorite thing about him. Id know it anywhere, and this isnt it. His smile plays less on his lips, and glows from his eyes. Today, his eyes are sad. His smile tight, and I recognize it as well as I do my own. Desperate. But why? When he catches me staring, he hides it well.

"Im sure today was tiring. Early night?"

"No, actually. A few of us are going to the theater."

"Oh!" The surprise in his voice goes unnoticed by the others. Its as if we are alone, pivoting on some other frequency, both uncertain of where the other will step.

"What film?"

"The 100."

"Havent you seen that before?" The answer was obvious, we all have. Something is playing in his mind but he doesnt tell me. Instead we engage in the word game. This and that. Here and there.

"We all have. Still, its a good enough reason to get out."

"It plays so often though, wouldnt you rather rest tonight? Im sure its been a long day."

"No, actually. I rested quite a bit after the testing. I think itll really help to get out and relax with some friends."

"Im sure youre right, anne," says my mother, stepping up and brushing the hair back from my face as if I am a small child again, and for a moment I find myself wishing I was. She kisses my cheek before stepping back and dragging my into the kitchen. "But of course, you need to eat first. Come on."

And the conversation is over, at least outloud, but it repeats in my mind the entire time. The interviewer. John. My father. The more I hear, the heavier I feel. By the time I walk out the door Im wondering if Ill make it to the theater at all, or if i'll sink right through the ground, coming out on the other side. What would I find there?

The theater isnt a far walk and so I dont bother with the bus, thought I do wish I had thought to bring a jacket. Its not yet winter, but its coming. I can feel the cool nipping at my skin, soft pinches here and there, and wonder how much longer we have in our light cotton button downs. Not long, I imagine.