Simps will See Dust 03

With fervid determination, I was still scribbling what was to be the last sentence of a test that had from the very first leaf drawn silent tears of desperation from me, when a tap on my shoulder startled and rose me to my feet in an instant. I proceeded to hand over my paper as I let out a sigh of deep resignation, not deigning to look into the face of its recipient. My heart was still clutched by an unrelenting spasm of agony that I was careful not to intimate by the wild supplication of clemency that was probably painted upon my countenance in that moment of embarrassing disillusionment; and that would obviously be spurned and rebuffed with a contemptible and derogatory indifference. As it was, I had strangely managed to maintain a streak of misfortunes and I was determined not to allow a disparaging verbal thrashing from a cantankerous lecturer add to the concatenation of humiliation and suffering that seemed to be sedulously pursuing me since morning.

And so it was that as I silently bemoaned my unenviable circumstances, I was unconsciously drawn into reverie. I regretted to think that if I was in some sense brilliant, then it might have been the most insignificant addition to the work and dedication med school demanded of me. It had been a little careless to forsake the indefatigable plodding that had been the most defining aspect of my academic excellence since primary school, and to allow myself to fall victim to the paralyzing and delusional idea of self-proclaimed intelligence. My high school success had been the sum moments of intense and beleaguering work that did not afford the space and time to yap to others. There weren't any promises to be made, there was only work to be done. But having allowed myself to drink so long from an inebriating siphon of praise and veneration, I had forgotten the diligence that had earned me a place among the smartest students in the country, and I was never ready for the precipitous fall from grace that would follow. I had taught myself to disdain any form of average performance, however, the struggle to keep afloat at this point now seemed to be most exacting, even traumatizing.

I had nursed that thought of perceived intelligence with unrelenting vehemence and was convinced of my abilities so that the unexpected awakening to reason and realization of the reality that I wasn’t as good as I thought made a personal reassessment of myself necessary and impossible to disregard. I could see everything that I thought to be but was not find perfect expression in a lady who even with the unmistakable grace of mien and soothing serenity in her air did not think herself uppity. With wonder and awe I watched my initial vilification thaw into great veneration and an inexplicably ardent feeling of adoration. It was as though scales had dropped from my eyes and I could now clearly see her endless beauty that always seemed to be chastened by a restrain of maturity; beauty that was not in her dresses, nor her earrings, nor her necklaces, nor her make up; but in her radiance, her movement, and her passion. There was nothing artificial in her eyes, instead they were windows of a heart so large and a grace so passionate, their depth seemed to exude a commitment to excellence that manifested itself in an impressive deportment that made it impossible for her colleagues not to instantly like her. At least I now knew, even accepted, that I wasn’t strong enough not to as well.

Yet I couldn’t help but wonder what it was exactly that my love meant. Was it even love, or was it the sparks and crackles of a fire that would soon go out? I had loved no one else, yet when I finally did love, it seemed to be shamefully and embarrassingly unrequited by a lady who would never compromise her principles to meet the whims of an unimpressive course-mate who was pining after her like a luckless idiot . Clearly, Brenda would never resign herself to regard any statements of fealty from a man who was yet to find his way in the world as sincere and dependable. And since nothing I would ever say would make a difference, it would be much better if I kept whatever I felt to myself.

“Henry,”

I knew that voice; the tone with all its refined propriety was definitely familiar, it could only be one person. I raised my head to confirm what I feared, and there she was, the organ of my veneration, with a dazzling piquant smile on her face. I wanted to say something, but I could not find my voice. I think I wore some kind of ridiculous look as she would not stop smiling as she looked at me. I had thought of how pleasurable it would be to have her attention all to myself, but I have never been as miserable and discomfited as I was in those few moments that I stood, silent and solemn, before the incapacitating gaze of the prettiest person in the world, my world.

“The lecturer needs your paper.”

“Oh!” I gasped.

Simps will See Dust 02

I squirmed uneasily in my seat as I struggled to bring my breathing to a calm rhythm. The incessant perspiration made my skin clammy and my apparel― the blue AMSUN t-shirt that every time I wore I would bump into the same people, which almost made me want to explain that it wasn’t the only clothe I had, even though that wasn’t entirely false― uncomfortable. With such poor ventilation the Examination Hall wasn’t so forgiving and I wondered why my colleagues who sat by the windows had not deigned to open them. But who had the liberty to worry about windows when the fear of unpreparedness and the likelihood of failure threatened to draw a holler of desperation from you. The promise to study at home was one easily reneged on except if you were Njoroge Maina, who from the look of his calmness and composure seemed prepared and ready for this exact moment of his life, I envied him. I looked up like a luckless idiot and irredeemable fool to the invigilator who was just handing me the list to sign my name, and as I was yet to recover from the traumatizing reality of almost missing my paper, I was unable to find the words to explain why I neither had my student examination ID nor my school ID.

“Write.” She instructed a little pensively but still firmly and in a peevish tone so unlike her beautiful and kind countenance that seemed to go ahead of her nasty and foul attitude excellently deluding single, desperate and miserable male comrades who for their apparent knack at mistaking kindness and courtesy from lady colleagues to be love, had been very disappointed and heartbroken in that particular frontier. I wondered why doctors had to be so irascible, or probably a beautiful face didn’t necessarily mean a beautiful heart. The moment she laid the paper before me, a drop of sweat broke from my chin and soiled it. Once again, I abashedly looked to her face, prepared to meet the most irritated and basilisk glare, but when she saw the expression of bewilderment and suffering that was painted all over me, she smiled; a piquant and reassuring smile that made me retract my irrational censure a few seconds ago. She handed me her pen when she realized that even my stationery seemed to have ganged up on me at that humiliating moment. With her stay extended at my desk, I could feel the piercing and questioning glances of my colleagues towards me. It was impossible to know what they were making of it.

When she finally walked away, I heaved a sigh and shut my eyes as I rehashed the events of the dream that had so risen my hopes only to dash them down again. I felt broken and cheated to be denied something that I had desperately yearned for eons now. I had thought myself an alexithymic and the most apathetic and socially awkward yet contented person who had no need for love, believing Medical School to be engaging and demanding enough, and to have myself pining and simping after someone was not something that seemed prudent to me to do. However, I knew it in myself that this was a disposition inspired by timidity rather than priggishness, and afraid even of the opportunity to fail, I wittily avoided such miasmic musings regarding romance. That was until I met Brenda. No. Until it became impossible not to love her because I know I hated her first. But did I, really? Her graciousness had infected and soaked every atom of my life. She had broken into the parts of me I had been embarrassed to face and admit; that everyone needed love in one way or the other. Even those people that had been hurt and disappointed, those who had been betrayed and repugned, who were used and abused, they needed love to heal and be whole again.

“When I feel like not studying, or this or that, I stop thinking about it and sit down and study.” I overheard her explain to Kelsi one day as we were coming in for our Histology Practical. Since that time when it had turned out to be insufferably difficult to rid myself of the thought of her, I had always hovered around her like a hungry vulture around the carcass of a buffalo, only that I never came down to have a taste of the meat. So, even though I never told my love vocally, if looks had language, even the merest idiot would have surmised that I was head over heels; and I have occasionally been tempted to think that behind her bedazzling and incapacitating smiles, she understood me― but I would always shrink icily into myself, like a snail, and tear away my glance from her eyes that seemed endless and intense in their depth in a manner that was so hypnotizing. Even though it hadn’t been real, the thought that she had accepted my proposal made me want to see her desperately.

“You have half an hour to go!” boomed a stentorian voice from the other end of the hall.

What! I gasped as I looked at the Pathology essay paper I had barely begun, and it slowly dawned on me that my infatuation would be my nemesis; aside a broken heart, I would be carrying a failed grade back home.

Simps will see Dust

From the look in her eyes, I could tell that it was bad news. The expression on her face was disturbed and anxious. Her lips were half asunder as if she meant to speak; and she drew a breath, but it escaped in a sigh instead of a sentence. She raised her winsome eyes to mine and gave me a kind of solemn and distressed gaze that immediately sent tendrils of paranoia down my spine. My heart exploded into a frantic crescendo of beats that forced an embarrassing gasp out of me. The world around me had descended into the sadistic and stifling silence of a graveyard at midnight. I desperately searched for assurance in those dove eyes that seemed resolute on dashing and annihilating whatsoever form of equanimity I was struggling to evince.

Still, I was unable to understand how fast I had moved from detesting this angel of a person to desperately yearning for her in every second of my existence. The first day we met at our Anatomy Dissection Table, I loathed with perfect passion the sight of her imposing figure and the impressive mien of control she exuded. In contrast to her riveting poses and carefully worked out intonations that made her explanations astoundingly succinct and wonderfully apt, I hated how I would drone on incoherently while struggling to put together the scrappy and expatiate points in my argument. Her smile and graceful nods then were unsettling and would plunge me into an abasing abyss of discomfiture, as if to emphasize her own indubitable composure set against the backdrop of my pitiful confusion.

Even though I had expected her to be haughty and hubristic, her replies to questions from our table mates were kind and down-to-earth. She was witty and humorous in a manner that disarmed every soul that engaged her in a conversation and made it impossible not to love the salubrious and rejuvenating air she effortlessly infused into her surroundings.

“Henry,” she calmly called out to me one afternoon while I tried to clarify the difference between Crohn's Disease and Inflammatory Bowel Disease. I grunted something close to a reply as I tried to find sobriety at a moment that suddenly seemed so critical. Excepting her glossy hair that was usually held by a black velvet band with a spray of white pearls in front, she preferred to showcase her beauty au naturel, jilting all the overtly adorned features, outfits and elaborate ostentatious styling that was typical of the repulsively coquettish ladies in our class. I did not know for how long I had been lost in the heaven of such incomparable beauty until I had that sweet and familiar voice again.

“You agree with me, right?”

“Yes!” I whispered in my mind, unaware of what she meant. “I agree that I am in love with you!” I shouted silently as a sheepish smile spread over my face and drew the flabbergasted gazes of my colleagues.

For six years of Medical School I surrendered myself at the mercy of insatiable riptides of love and infatuation that lurked beneath the veneer of what seemed to be a placid demeanor. I saw Brenda return her adoration for me in furtive glances that lingered and brief smiles that became the highlight of my long, arduous and exerting days in Medical School. I was only starting to realize how wrong and blind I had been while I knelt before her, having voiced out a proposal that was not a little bit romantic as I had envisioned now that I was being roused to a horrible awakening of my unrequited love and the misery that would mark all my forthcoming days. She shook her head apologetically and I watched her lips settle in shape as I prepared myself to confirm her say the “NO” I dreaded hearing.

“Yes!” She enthused, “I will marry you Henry!” The heart-rending surprise at my sudden felicitous turn of fortune was enough to startle me out of the dream I had been having.

“Oh my goodness!” I gasped involuntarily as I sprang out of bed. When I realized I was an hour late for my Pathology end of year exam, I knew it wasn't Brenda's pretty face I was staring at but the unnerving grin of a Supplementary Exam.