7 – Allyson
“Full name?” Dr. Mahesh asked, her pen pressed to the sheet in the manila folder, eyes on Allyson.
“L’Tasha Allyson Mosley.”
“1126 North Clark Circle in Borah.”
“L’Tasha, do you know why you are here?”
“My name. It’s Allyson. No one here calls me L’Tasha.”
Dr. Mahesh frowned. “Why not?”
“Because it’s too black.”
“I see.” The doctor wrote notes on her intake sheet, glancing up every few seconds to gauge the teenage girl’s interest in what she was writing. Allyson stared ahead, but it wasn’t a glazed, fixed stare, the kind she’d seen too many times from patients who had threatened or attempted suicide.
Allyson finally looked over at the doctor behind the desk. “Do you?” she asked.
“Allyson, I’m an Indian doctor in southern Idaho. When I’m not at work, I wear a plain sari and receive odd and sometimes unpleasant stares from others. On special occasions, I wear a Paithani, a special, very colorful sari with little bits of cosmetic glass and beads. I imagine that even you would stare at such a sight.” Dr. Mahesh’s voice was soft, her accent very light, and her expression was one of genuine sympathy. “I’m too dark,” the doctor continued, looking down at her hand, “so I have a good idea of where that leaves you.” Continue reading →