Andrea told me she was studying at Loyola Chicago this summer and would make a short trip to DC. I told her I would be in DC in July and we agreed that we should meet up.
I was so surprised by our conversation. I had written Andrea off long ago for reasons now unknown and not worth remembering. Yet this entire time she had kept a stellar opinion of me, but I had never taken the time to understand her.
I don’t know why I keep forgetting this. This undeniable life truth that everyone invariably has an interesting story worth listening to. Even the “boring” people have interesting stories—for how did they end up to be so boring? (Joking, a little) It’s easy to write someone off when you don’t immediately gel with his or her personality. But then again, it’s boring to always get along with people. Just like life is boring without a little slips and stitches, pain and tears. If I hadn’t fallen, I wouldn’t have found out that Andrea was exactly the fascinating person she is.
“This needs stitches,” the doctor told me, and I freaked out a little inside because I have never gotten them and the idea completely grosses me out. “Will it hurt?” I asked. Everything was setting me on edge. Andrea comforted me with stories of other TBC students who didn’t feel the stitching when they got them. I was skeptical.
“Sing for her,” the doctor said. “I can’t sing,” said Andrea. “I only sing twice a semester, and it’s really bad, but I will sing for you,” she told me. I smiled nervously as the doctor unfolded a towel and I caught a glimpse of several sharp pairs of scissors. “So many sharp objects going towards my knee right now,” I said and focused my wide eyes on the ceiling.
“Hold her hand,” the doctor told Andrea. “It will help.” Andrea grabbed my hand. “I’m here for you,” she told me. “Tell her stories,” the doctor said. Andrea told me about a friend who had a turtle. One day the turtle’s eyes were red so she asked people on Renren (Chinese Facebook) if they had any “turtle eye drops.” Andrea laughed at her story and I couldn’t help but join too, laughing as nervous tears clung to my eyes. The doctor himself chuckled. “That’s a good story,” he said.
The doctor (Chinese) asked me where I went to school and I said Georgetown, which is in DC. He said he lived in Baltimore and I commented on how strange an interesting connection that was. We had lived in around the same area and now he was stitching up my leg in China.
The world is small.
Continue reading…Part Four
