Punk'd, geek edition (cont'd)

[Oh, Muse, forgive us procrastinators who sometimes go weeks without writing....]

I'd prepared myself to let the prank go. My original mark was five rows in front of me -- in a spot too visible for me to feel comfortable sitting next to her -- and class was starting. And without my grad student friend RMK next to me, who'd get a laugh out of my posing as a freshman anyway? But with the arrival of my new Asian "sister" who sat next to me in the second to last row in the room, the prospect of the prank had been revived. (When I was young my parents often urged me to consider other Asians of similar age as siblings, even when they were only distantly related. Through the years I'd found the habit hard to shake.)

My mind raced -- What was my opening line again? Dammit! I reached beneath my chair and fidgeted with the zippers on my backpack. I spied a pack of gum in the front pocket and got out a piece, unwrapped it, popped it into my mouth. Spontaneously, I offered one to sister too: Want some gum? She looked at me -- I saw her eyes for the first time -- and she said, No thanks.

That was it for sure, I thought. I've reached the end of innocent conversation. I couldn't say anything else and not appear aggressive or just plain creepy. God, I suck at this!

But a minute later, sister turned to me and said, with hand extended, My name's Teresa.

Pseudonyms crossed my mind -- Bob? Frank? Why do I only conjure 1950s white American names under pressure?! -- but all seemed fake. I'm Stewart, I replied and shook her hand.

What year are you? Teresa continued. Sister was relentless.

Uhhh, it's complicated, I replied. I'd hoped she didn't notice the hesitation. I wasn't expecting a frontal attack.

What does that mean? She said suspiciously.

Well, I'm a grad student.

The Frost poem about paths diverging in the wood came to mind, except in this version, I saw lies to the left and innocence to the right. At that moment, I could have gone either way. Mentally I felt the edifice buckle. Merde, I'm wretched! I felt badly for us both.

Actually, there's more to it than that.... I started to tell her. I'm not a grad student here. I was out here visiting some friends for the weekend and thought it'd be fun to sit in on a class. Floodgates, I was opening them all. I was supposed to say stuff like, This class looks really easy! I chuckled to myself, as if to seed her own.

Sister just looked at me. What was that, astonishment? Hurt? She opened her mouth, I'm just a little freshman. I thought you looked older -- Hey! I interjected -- but I probably would've believed you.

To the relief of my conscience, she didn't seem overly injured by being the target of a near-prank. Hell, she'd probably been through worse during orientation. I gave her a reassuring smile. I felt my guilt untwine into something like protectiveness toward this suddenly small-looking creature.

The rest of the fifty-minute class period passed without incident, save a nervous moment when the professor asked, How many of you are on the waitlist? in perfect, Indian-inflected English. About a dozen people raised their hands. The professor scanned the crowd and then asked, How many of you are neither on the waitlist nor registered for the class? I looked at sister, half-raised my hand, noticed no one else was raising a hand, and put mine down. Sister and I shared a laugh over that, or at least I'd like to think that we did.

In the end, I really meant her no ill will. As the class ended and people started to pack their things, I wondered what I should make my parting shot. I'd likely never see her again, and facing that thought was a bit like facing the prospect of death itself. You know, how do you want to be remembered? As people filed up the aisle next to me, I turned to sister and said, Well, Teresa, I hope you have a wonderful college journey. And I really meant it.

Sister turned to me and said, Okay, I'll see you later. Probably not, but thanks for the thought.