Attendance

The teacher calls the name of the boy in front of me:

One of those long Italian names

(Well two, it’s hyphenated)

It has way too many syllables, but it rolls off his tongue,

Melting in his mouth.

I’m reminded of history class

The names of Renaissance artists

That my teacher says as easily as

“Book” or “apple”

Leonardo da Vinci

Not Vince-ee but Vinch-ee

Co-PER-nick-iss

And Michelangelo, Donatello

I think of the names of famous cities

We learn in geography

Like Barcelona and Ljubljana

And how we all laugh when we see “Djibouti”

The teacher is on to the girl next to me

She has a long Eastern European name

Five syllables

That he gets through in one long swoop

Her first name is Angelica

Four syllables

Now he’s onto my name

Five syllables, first and last

But when he sees the way the h stands next to a B

Not belonging there

He pauses

He only says two of my syllables

Then looks at me like my name is an impossible task

That I demand him to complete

I tell him it doesn’t matter

It feels like I’m apologizing for my existence

But he cuts me off

“I watched a movie about the place your name is from,

I couldn’t pronounce the characters’ names either”

For him my name is optional

But doesn’t he know

That I can’t live my life without it?

I look at the floor

Knowing my name is too much for anyone here

My classmates’ names are comfort foods

But mine is too spicy for them to swallow.

by RIA BHANDARKAR