University hid it well; the rigour of formal education all but erasing the last discernable parts. Like a stone left to the elements, erosion – constant wear, the ever so soft and perfect disassembly – would reduce the weight, but more slowly and less carefully than before. Always there would be the remains, the corpse in the desert factually pointing with unerring accuracy to the guilty.
White gold earrings – hoops nonetheless, large and round as tea saucers – dangled from ears punctured by a single, perfect, centred, hygienic piercing. Nails painted surgeon clear. Perfectly smooth, without crack or chip. The gleaming white ends accentuating long and sculpted keratin-art. Dark mascara professionally applied in symmetrical arches across large, round eyes.
Her clothing addressed the role perfectly. Slimming, knee length pants in a non-khaki khaki colour looked of fashion forward thought and late blooming spring. An off-white blouse, two buttons down, revealed pimento coloured skin. Her posture was impeccable, hers legs crossed in confident elegance. Youthful streaking of brassy blonde in the black rows of hair cut in arrow straight bangs whose diligent maintenance is a necessity. And she spoke.
It was almost too subtle to catch clearly. It would not be unreasonable to attribute it to incorrect hearing or an unfortunate physical malady; too late a night the night before, or a small and temporary excess of saliva at the back of the throat. There it was though, too minor to be a disability, too regular to be temporary – the slightest lisp on esss’, a barely detectable tonal drop on the aiches. It was her voice that told you where she was from, what her background was.
She was native; well spoken, intelligent, and professional. And she hid the reservation, the baggage, the stereotype so well one might have thought her asian. But her voice, that immovable lisp and dragging h, pulling at the seams of her designer clothes and creasing the parchment of her papers of conviction. The ever-so-slight and almost-controlled tone in her speech, that indelible ink forever labelling her indian, drunkard, underprivileged, spoiled, needy, abused, lazy, overcompensated, a taker of handouts and government programs, pagan.
I sat close enough to hear every imperfection. And a tinge of sympathy filled the void left by her voice when the mask became the model and a history the burden.
White gold earrings – hoops nonetheless, large and round as tea saucers – dangled from ears punctured by a single, perfect, centred, hygienic piercing. Nails painted surgeon clear. Perfectly smooth, without crack or chip. The gleaming white ends accentuating long and sculpted keratin-art. Dark mascara professionally applied in symmetrical arches across large, round eyes.
Her clothing addressed the role perfectly. Slimming, knee length pants in a non-khaki khaki colour looked of fashion forward thought and late blooming spring. An off-white blouse, two buttons down, revealed pimento coloured skin. Her posture was impeccable, hers legs crossed in confident elegance. Youthful streaking of brassy blonde in the black rows of hair cut in arrow straight bangs whose diligent maintenance is a necessity. And she spoke.
It was almost too subtle to catch clearly. It would not be unreasonable to attribute it to incorrect hearing or an unfortunate physical malady; too late a night the night before, or a small and temporary excess of saliva at the back of the throat. There it was though, too minor to be a disability, too regular to be temporary – the slightest lisp on esss’, a barely detectable tonal drop on the aiches. It was her voice that told you where she was from, what her background was.
She was native; well spoken, intelligent, and professional. And she hid the reservation, the baggage, the stereotype so well one might have thought her asian. But her voice, that immovable lisp and dragging h, pulling at the seams of her designer clothes and creasing the parchment of her papers of conviction. The ever-so-slight and almost-controlled tone in her speech, that indelible ink forever labelling her indian, drunkard, underprivileged, spoiled, needy, abused, lazy, overcompensated, a taker of handouts and government programs, pagan.
I sat close enough to hear every imperfection. And a tinge of sympathy filled the void left by her voice when the mask became the model and a history the burden.
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