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.