by Niyathi Chagantipati
Dear [to whomever I may concern],
Unfortunately, the apocalypse of
apocali took place last night. I remember
crossing my fingers and hoping to die last
time I wrote to you in this same place of
desperation, but the absolute worst of the
worsts beat me over the head. And golly
gosh does it hurt a lot now (so I’m even
more disastrously upset as I write this —
though the ‘disaster’ is the state I’m most
familiar with).
Basically, the TLDR is that I was
talking to him — you know, the really
pretty green-eyed boy that sometimes
makes me green with envy both from his
charisma and calm and access to the couch
in the lounge that I really wanted to sit on
— or more accurately, I was talking at him.
He may or may not have wanted to go back
to reading his book or outlining a paper
he’d never write, but truthfully, he needed a
break.
And so, it was, naturally, my duty as an
upstanding citizen of total anxiety (you
know that I was a Brownie right? Though I
did eat more cookies than I sold and sobbed
when my sister wouldn’t lend me her
allowance to pay it off. I had already spent
mine on the Justice mood bracelet that
always seemed to think I was in love…) to
break the ice and break him out of his vice.
Obviously, I started with a good ol’ “how
much does a polar bear weigh? Enough to
break the ice!” which didn’t melt his glare
and so I moved onto the weather and how I
seemed to only have fair-weathered
friends. Maybe he could turn my weather
fair?
My invitation was declined and so I
hit him with the
let’s-talk-about-what-comes-next. I don’t
know why he seemed to hunch over more
and start fidgeting with his book cover (I’m
going to be an international spy, by the way:
spinning lies, learning slang and curses, all
the time in disguise, flirting on the job) — I
bet it was because he’s shy, and I was finally
breaking him out of his shell.
But then, no good-edly and
somewhat atrociously (someone should
really keep me from opening my mouth
because my filter doesn’t seem to be
functioning quite so well), I shot myself in
the foot and all my chances to hell: I
messed up a most common idiom because I
am fully an idiot.
I tried to ask him for a book
recommendation and used the phrase, “can
I pick your ear” instead of “can I pick your
brain”! The alarms sounded and he looked
dumbfounded and so I rushed from the
library, left my books and bag behind and
mulled and regretted and cried out in
random spurts of angst and
embarrassment (first and second hand)
while recounting the event the rest of the
night.
In short, I was not able to finish my
assignment in your class and meet the
midnight deadline. Could I have an
extension? It was, truly, a family
emergency. I mean he could’ve become
family one day.
Stressfully yours (as I am not his),
Lullaby Freak
Niyathi Chagantipati is a Senior at Harvard College studying English with a secondary in Global Health & Health Policy. She started writing poetry a few summers ago after researching Asian American Poetry and having spent most of high school competing in Poetry Out Loud competitions. She is now a member of The Harvard Advocate’s poetry board and executive board as well as the Spoken Word Director for Harvard Ghungroo. Her work is primarily in critical conversation with novelists and poets as well as being centered around disability writing.
Hyades Magazine 