No ssSH Spoken Here

She spoke mildly, conversationally, yet the sting of her words remained. She repeated the question. Slowly this time. Do-you-speak-and-write-English? Did I hear her correctly? The smile disappeared from my face. My skin suddenly felt unnaturally brittle, over-stretched.  Yes of course! I heard myself croak out the reply. How well? She persisted. Quite well. I insisted. My voice sounded shrill. Her eyes expressed doubt. I felt myself laid bare, diminished. I saw her mouth move but I blocked out the rest of her questions. I felt chilled and saw spots pop within my line of vision. A long forgotten fear hit me. I dug my nails into the soft flesh of my palms. I felt my blood retreat to a place unreachable to me. Please no, don’t let me faint now! I hugged me to myself and concentrated on the uneven slabs of stones that lined the floor of the quaint restaurant, the Heart In Hand inClifton, Virginia, and made a mental note.

Yes, I can speak and write English. I am not a native born American and my journey from a prickly insecure girl who was mired in academic sinkhole to a woman willing to take on the book world took decades, but I detested this woman’s assumption. Her role was not to question my competence anyway. She was there to swear in the incoming officers for Dominion Valley Garden Club, my ersatz sorority as my second daughter calls it. I was to be the new Secretary. I was properly vetted.

I lost face but I stifled the urge to leave. My early exit would have given me immediate satisfaction. In my native Philippines, loss of face (nawalan ng hiya) is a sacrilege.  Amor propio or self esteem is protected, sometimes irrationally, and its loss can result in violence. I was tempted. I felt she deserved a cat fight. My palms started to sweat. My face felt on fire. I wiped awkwardly at the wetness that appeared on my forehead. Concerned faces glanced at us.

A better plan was starting to form in my head. The dare was on. You and I will revisit this moment. I promised silently.