My suede pants are suffocating my buttocks.
The chair’s leather padding ensures that the sweat in the seat of my trousers fuses my skin to the uncomfortable fabric. I try to wriggle my cheeks free, but squirming is unbecoming of me right now.
The main culprit, the reason for my discomfort, is seated across from me behind a gigantic mahogany wood table. His name is Cal Murthy, and he is the dean of the university I have always dreamed of attending.
But dreams are not enough for securing a seat in such a prestigious institution. Years of studious devotion and single-minded focus make me a worthy candidate, a deserving brain and name to add to the student list.
My certificates and documents lay untouched in the black folder that has been pushed to one side. Carl Murthy’s interests lie not in my merits and grades but elsewhere. My application form rests beneath his palms.
He asks me the same question, only his words differ.
‘Are you really Suzy’s boy? She was quite a stunner.’
I shift in my seat. The moist leather emits a deep farting sound. I am more embarrassed by the man’s fixation.
‘Suzan Rodweinerheim Lobo is my mother. Yes, she is quite pretty.’
In silence, I swallow his insult. The man’s insinuations regarding my ugliness are abrasive.
‘But how do you know her?’
I squeak like a mouse. He chuckles and winks at me.
‘She and me go a long way back. More than buddies.’
I want to vomit, but it could ruin my chances of being selected. So I laugh like the funniest joke has been cracked. Mr. Murthy frowns upon it. His hand reaches for my folder.
‘522-5547. Suzan’s number. Just call her.’
I swap my mother for a confirmed admission. I am a die-hard opportunist.
She’s been scratching for weeks. The rash is getting worse. She wants to see a doctor. The Face On My Leg makes her change her decision.