Wet Indian Girl

It had been years since I'd watched her sleeping. For a while I dared not move; I had only a few days to see her this way. My brain ached with the question: How could this woman, this grown woman, so lovely, so intelligent, so accomplished, appear so childlike as she cuddled in sleep beside me?I lowered my head to barely touch my lips to hers for a moment. As always, her flesh seemed to melt into mine.Knowing I would not fall asleep again, I slid carefully from the bed and crept into the kitchen, where I rummaged for coffee and set the percolator brewing. Then I found a pen and some paper and sat at the dining room table. I gazed at the window in the living room where Martha had confessed her thoughts and feelings early Saturday morning.I began writing, one word or phrase at a time. At fifteen, what could I say to allay the anxieties she expressed? Did she see me as a man, as a boy, or as a man who happened to be less than sixteen? How could I have expected her to respond to me in. A parametric function.”“What is it, sweetheart?”Raising her head and holding her slim shoulders back as if she was about to sing, Ananya intoned:x = 16 sin3 ty = 13 cos t - 5 cos(2 t) - 2 cos (3 t) - cos (4 t)As she looked at us with obvious pride Zuri and I gazed at each other helplessly. “We’ll ... we’ll have to plot it in a takamakura,”, my sister finally confessed. “Neither of us have your aptitude for math.”Ananya’s bright smile never faltered. “I thought you might. That’s what makes it a surprise.”“Thank you, darling.” Leaning forward, I kissed her gently. “I look forward to seeing it.” Leaning to one side, I looked at her sister. “And thank you, Hotene.”The rapidly falling dusk almost obscured my daughter’s curt nod. I held back a sigh. Even when circumstances should have been ideal, every effort I made to reach out to Hotene lately felt clumsy and ineffectual. No matter the approach, every interaction with her inevitably led to an uncomfortable silence lying somewhere.
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