The professor’s face was set amongst pleasantly rounded features – stub nose, soft cheeks spread across the gentle slope of his jawline, topped off by a pat of fine ginger hair and a pair of affable eyes that rested lazily under slightly-smudged and overlarge glasses.
We had been discussing my future as a graduate student. I mumbled something along the lines of “kind of” to one of his inquiries about my academic intents and ambitions.
“‘Kind of?’” he responded, laughter pulling those features into sharp, fine lines. “You’re either pregnant or you’re not.”
That sentence haunted me for a really long time. Months, weeks and so on. Even today, I think about it still.
That, and my response, which was simply a listless and non-committal, “Yeah.”
God. Damn. It.
So many other things that could have been said in that seconds after “you’re not.” So many things that should have been. Among these:
- “Only if I don’t know who the father is.”
- “Schrödinger’s pregnancy!”
- “Sir, I am pregnant until I’m not. And I’m not until I am.”
I think I have finally realized what happened, way back then. I missed it.
I had missed my shot.
Other people had said similar things to me since.
But it’s not the same.
Besides, the universe is not to be trusted when it comes to do-overs.
So many regrets in this life. In the end, what’s one more?
One more yeah.