Soumya

It's 3:43 AM and I'm awake because of a dream. I'd gone to get water, and on my way back to bed, instead of falling back asleep, I found myself lying there with my eyes open, thinking about second grade. My class was small, the kind of age where you naturally know everyone around you, and they know you. Some of the best teachers I've ever had, looking back. There was a girl in our class named Soumya. She was often unwell, though none of us -- kids that we were -- really understood with what. There was a delicate, fragile look about her, the kind that made it obvious something wasn't quite right even if no one said it out loud. She had curly hair with a slight oily sheen to it, looked good on her. She was tall too, taller than some of the boys, definitely taller than me. And she was pretty. I don't think any of us would have said that out loud at that age either, but I remember thinking it, even then. Some weeks she just wouldn't come to school at all. And I remember certain afternoons…