Pretending

I remember as soon as the sun would peak over the jungled hills, it was like my body knew without having seen it. The perspiration would soak into my punjabi shirt no matter where I was. I'd try to pretend there was no sun, trick my body, so I wouldn't get that embarrassing streak down my back. The other teachers and students would come to school with their umbrellas so they'd have shade everywhere they went. Maybe it helped, but for me, an umbrella would be just one more thing to keep track of. Also, why would I want to go outside? An umbrella indicated that I had plans to go out, and I had no such plan. I had never experienced that awful feeling of melting before. But to me, there was nothing worse. I'd lie face down on the stone floor to absorb the cool-ish-ness until it was gone and then slide to a fresher, cooler spot on the floor and rotate onto my back. All day long, all around the floor, until the sun went down.

I made a routine of waking up at 4:00 to run through the villages, and I'd pretend I could beat the sun. It was a fun game. I'd watch the sky lighten from black to blue, then purple, pink, red, and orange. Everyday was a push to see how far I could go before the sun caught me. I just wanted to trick him. No way would he stop me, lock me up all day and keep me on the stone floor.

Yesterday, it might've been 60 degrees. With my built in thermometer I would estimate 60, nothing like India. It was a little breezy, but sunny and cloudless. I saw people walking their dogs, running, riding bikes. From my seat in the car I'd ride past with my window rolled down, the wind in my hair and pretend I was them. I could imagine for a mile or two, but eventually regret swiped all those illusions and the champion runners were smudgy blurs past the water in my eyes. How many dreaming days do I get for every dream-dashed day? Or how many fighting days for a single cowardice day? How many more days do I have to pretend? 'Cause I don't wanna pretend anymore.