Smart Girl

02.10.17

or when anxiety wins out.

the fotonovela played at the front of the room, projected onto the hanging screen. no matter how well my spanish was with pen and paper, the listening was what got me. even though their mouths did not move at an inhuman rate, their language flew past my ears, making me wonder if that language couldn't ever be one of my own.

i focused with all of might on the quick-tongued jimena or tia maría as they spoke of el día de los muertos, to no avail. what was worse, my fellow students were talking up a storm.

this was normal, of course, but my head throbbed at their voices, which mingled and muddled with those of the actors. i could understand nothing.

i rewatched it on my phone, then—with little knowledge of what had happened in the video—i proceeded to start answering the questions on the class work.

i read each sentence s million times over, but my head pounded at the sound of the voices, echoing all through my head. even though the few people behind me were whispering, it was too loud to bear.

a part of me wished to stand up, shout, "shut up!" at all of them.

i remained seated.

even when i put in my earbuds, their words crawled up my spine and through the nooks and crannies of my brain. i flinched every time; narrowly finished my work because of it.

no one bothered me about it, nor asked why i looked like i was taking a julietesque death.

course not. they only want to be number one.