best
.
I put down my pen and closed the booklet. Even writing what I had made me feel a little
unburdened.
I didn’t hear Matilda slip back into the room.
“How did you do?” she asked as she returned to her desk and sat down.
“Not very well, I’m afraid.”
She picked up the booklet. I had the strongest urge to rip it from her hands and hold
it to my chest.
“You know, it’s not the kind of test you can fail,” she said, a sad smile crossing
her face as she quickly scanned my answers. “All right, then. Cassie, come with me.
Time to meet the Committee.”
I felt welded to my big comfortable chair. I knew that if I crossed the threshold
of this room, another chapter of my life would unfold. Was I ready?
Strangely, I was. With each gesture, it felt more doable. Maybe that’s what the ten
steps would feel like. I kept reminding myself that nothing bad was happening to me.
Quite the opposite. I felt like layers of ice were falling away.
We left the room together and crossed the reception area, where Danica hit another
button beneath her desk. The giant white doors at the end parted to reveal a large
oval table made of glass, around which about a dozen women sat chatting loudly. The
room was windowless, and also white, with a few colorful paintings similar to the
ones in the lobby. There was a portrait at the far end, above a wide mahogany console,
of a beautiful dark-skinned woman with a long braid falling forward over her shoulder.
We entered the room and the women fell silent.
“Everybody, this is Cassie Robichaud.”
“Hi, Cassie,” they sang.
“Cassie, this is the Committee.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“Sit here next to me, my dear,” said a small Indian woman, easily in her sixties,
wearing a vivid sari and a very kind smile. She pulled out a chair and patted it.
“Thank you,” I said, and sank into the seat. I wanted to look everyone in the face,
and at the same time to look at no one. I alternated between clasping my hands tightly
in my lap and firmly sitting on them, trying hard to keep myself from fidgeting like
a teenage girl.
You are thirty-five, Cassie, grow up
.
As Matilda introduced each woman, her voice sounded far away and underwater. My eyes
floated from face to face, lingering, as I tried to memorize their names. I noted
how each was a different kind of beautiful.
There was Bernice, a red-headed black woman, round, short and busty. She was young.
Maybe thirty. There werea couple of blondes, one tall named Daphne, with straight long hair, and the other
named Jules, with short perky curls. There was a curvy brunette woman named Michelle,
with an angelic face, who clasped her hands over her mouth like I had done something
adorable at a dance recital. She leaned over and whispered to a woman sitting across
from me named Brenda, who had a toned, athletic body and was dressed in gym clothes.
Roslyn with the long auburn hair was next to her. She had the biggest brown eyes I’d
ever seen. There were also two Hispanic women sitting side by side, identical twins.
Maria had a look in her eyes that was determined; Marta seemed more serene and open.
It was then that I noticed each of the women at the table wore a familiar gold charm
bracelet.
“And finally, next to you is Amani Lakshmi, who has been on the Committee the longest.
In fact, she was my guide, as I will be yours,” said Matilda.
“So very nice to meet you, Cassie,” she said with a slight accent, lifting her slender
arm to shake my hand. I saw that she was the only one in the room wearing two bracelets,
one on each wrist. “Before we start, do you have any questions?”
“Who’s the woman in the painting?” I heard myself say.
“Carolina Mendoza, the woman who made all of this possible,” Matilda said.
“Who still does,” added Amani.
“Yes, that’s true. As long as we have her paintings, we have the means to
.
I put down my pen and closed the booklet. Even writing what I had made me feel a little
unburdened.
I didn’t hear Matilda slip back into the room.
“How did you do?” she asked as she returned to her desk and sat down.
“Not very well, I’m afraid.”
She picked up the booklet. I had the strongest urge to rip it from her hands and hold
it to my chest.
“You know, it’s not the kind of test you can fail,” she said, a sad smile crossing
her face as she quickly scanned my answers. “All right, then. Cassie, come with me.
Time to meet the Committee.”
I felt welded to my big comfortable chair. I knew that if I crossed the threshold
of this room, another chapter of my life would unfold. Was I ready?
Strangely, I was. With each gesture, it felt more doable. Maybe that’s what the ten
steps would feel like. I kept reminding myself that nothing bad was happening to me.
Quite the opposite. I felt like layers of ice were falling away.
We left the room together and crossed the reception area, where Danica hit another
button beneath her desk. The giant white doors at the end parted to reveal a large
oval table made of glass, around which about a dozen women sat chatting loudly. The
room was windowless, and also white, with a few colorful paintings similar to the
ones in the lobby. There was a portrait at the far end, above a wide mahogany console,
of a beautiful dark-skinned woman with a long braid falling forward over her shoulder.
We entered the room and the women fell silent.
“Everybody, this is Cassie Robichaud.”
“Hi, Cassie,” they sang.
“Cassie, this is the Committee.”
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
“Sit here next to me, my dear,” said a small Indian woman, easily in her sixties,
wearing a vivid sari and a very kind smile. She pulled out a chair and patted it.
“Thank you,” I said, and sank into the seat. I wanted to look everyone in the face,
and at the same time to look at no one. I alternated between clasping my hands tightly
in my lap and firmly sitting on them, trying hard to keep myself from fidgeting like
a teenage girl.
You are thirty-five, Cassie, grow up
.
As Matilda introduced each woman, her voice sounded far away and underwater. My eyes
floated from face to face, lingering, as I tried to memorize their names. I noted
how each was a different kind of beautiful.
There was Bernice, a red-headed black woman, round, short and busty. She was young.
Maybe thirty. There werea couple of blondes, one tall named Daphne, with straight long hair, and the other
named Jules, with short perky curls. There was a curvy brunette woman named Michelle,
with an angelic face, who clasped her hands over her mouth like I had done something
adorable at a dance recital. She leaned over and whispered to a woman sitting across
from me named Brenda, who had a toned, athletic body and was dressed in gym clothes.
Roslyn with the long auburn hair was next to her. She had the biggest brown eyes I’d
ever seen. There were also two Hispanic women sitting side by side, identical twins.
Maria had a look in her eyes that was determined; Marta seemed more serene and open.
It was then that I noticed each of the women at the table wore a familiar gold charm
bracelet.
“And finally, next to you is Amani Lakshmi, who has been on the Committee the longest.
In fact, she was my guide, as I will be yours,” said Matilda.
“So very nice to meet you, Cassie,” she said with a slight accent, lifting her slender
arm to shake my hand. I saw that she was the only one in the room wearing two bracelets,
one on each wrist. “Before we start, do you have any questions?”
“Who’s the woman in the painting?” I heard myself say.
“Carolina Mendoza, the woman who made all of this possible,” Matilda said.
“Who still does,” added Amani.
“Yes, that’s true. As long as we have her paintings, we have the means to
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