Letter from Placida to _________

I’m sitting in the bar right now. I’m not sure why. I don’t have anyone to talk to here or anybody to think about. I don’t have any work to do or anywhere to find work. All I can do is wait. I came here the night before too.

I sat and drank, hoping my application would be accepted. I remembered what my father had said. “Just because you care doesn’t mean you can become a scientist.”

He was right. The testing area was filled with smart women from the city itself, and the test itself was far more difficult than I had thought. Half of the terms listed on the written portion were obscure jargon I had never heard of and the vocabulary was barely readable.

After the results has come up on the display, I felt my heart fall. Standing in the clearing all alone, feeling the stares that came with being an outsider, a rarity in the higher echelons of the world.

Those stares stayed there, but the reason had changed. After doing the practical, I felt much more confident. The kind proctor had made it seem like my simple feats were impressive, considering my stature.

The proctor.

Remembering to this point I had taken a swig from my cup while in the bar, emptying it. I knew the water wouldn’t take away my frustration, but the motion of swigging the cup and gulping down my drink felt like it would.

After the practical results had come out, I enjoyed a small smile in the face of the difference I had climbed. The smile had turned into a grin when I saw that the proctor was looking.

The proctor was a handsome man with dark, wavy hair and straight smile that shined back at me. He walked down the center of the courtyard towards me, and I didn’t have to look to feel the stares on him, and then me. The only difference was that the stares didn’t hurt now.

Looking back on it now as I write, I can’t describe any one person that was staring at me. If only I had realized that I was imagining my gap from the rest of the girls, and if I hadn’t antagonized them, I wouldn’t have been singled out by the proctor then.

The proctor came to me and reached his hand out. “My name is James. Your performance on the practical was excellent.”

I shook his hand and replied.

“Placida. I appreciate the compliment.”

His hand was warm and soft, unlike the callused, rough hands my dad and I were dealt working in the farm.

Realizing the difference, I pulled my hand back abruptly, before he could realize how rough they were.

With a small laugh, James put his hands back into his pockets comfortably. He stood looking at me, as if he had something to say. Before I could speak, though, he hurriedly spoke.

“Oh! Would you like to walk with me? I wanted ask you something.”

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The chatter in the bar distracted Placida from her memories. Gathering a long table, the drinkers were cheering as two brothers downed shot after shot, their elbows together. Money flew everywhere as people bet on who would win. Not caring for the idiocy of drunkards, she thought back again to that proctor.

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