Arts
Tough Love (pronounced with short vowel sounds)
by Yolanda Powell-Barnett, SUNY Cortland, March 14, 2008
Cordelia practiced her vault drills as she raced from her dormitory room to the Main Administrative building of SUNY Cortland’s colossal campus. A text message from her best friend, Rosie, was like a signal from the Batcave. It was written in Old English which meant the sender and women over thirty could decode the message. Somehow, eighteen year-old Cordelia read between the characters and felt an overwhelming sense of urgency.
"Damn Caddy, what took you so long to get here!" snapped Rosie.
"I respectfully requested that you refer to me as Cordelia," she snapped right back.
"If your Daddy met your Mama at a Shakespearean play, then I'd call you that. However, he met your Mama during a business trip to Syracuse. I’m gonna continue to call you by your given name which is CadillacIesha..."
"Hello, darling. We've been waiting on you. Do you know who I am?" interrupted the petite woman clad in Vera Wang.
"Yes, you’re Dr. Attune," Cordelia replied. She really wanted to say, "You're somebody important and I'm somebody important. We should get together, professionally of course, and rule the world. Girl power rocks!" But, that would be an excess of words.
"Pumpkin, that's correct. As the Cranium of the Department formerly known as “the accessible language of the majority", I have certain responsibilities. One of those responsibilities is to identify students with problems and get them help at the taxpayer's expense," she explained.
"You’re a consonant junkie!" hollered Rosie.
"Now, now. Let's not get too excited. We must use our inside voices. What was I saying my little candy corn piece? Oh yes, sometimes bad things happen to good people such as yourself," Dr. Attune stated.
"For crying out loud, you proof read the New York Times!" yelled Rosie. Suddenly, a sun kissed face peeked around the corner.
"I don't want you to get all Nadia Comaneci on me but I saw you perform a floor exercise to a Joyce Carol Oats audio reading," Yolanda added. Cordelia's bottom lip began to quiver. It was as if twenty syllables were left to balance themselves on a thin pink beam.
"Everyone is overreacting. Dr. Attune, it's like Baldwin as a young writer."
"Stop creating excuses and similes. You have a problem," said the patient Doc in a stern tone.
"Tell them how you secretly write adverbs on your underwear. Tell them about your 'las palabras' tattoo. Tell them everything Caddy!" Rosie shrieked.
"I can stop anytime. I just need a transitional phrase to get me through the day," begged Cordelia.
"They can give you a sonnet to take the edge off. Nothing stronger," an anonymous voice injected.
"Cordelia, will you accept this help?" the group asked in unison. There was a long pause. Finally, she whispered, "unequivocal".
Yes, Cordelia “Caddy” Twain got the last adjective.
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