Steve, The Doctor

Steve, whose real name was Mayu, was a doctor. Most of his days at work he was content to do his medical duty, but every now and then he worried about his name. Surely "Dr. Mayu Rajadurai" was a more serious name than Dr. Steve. The title and name "Dr. Mayu Rajadurai" conveyed an exotic gravitas that short and stubby "Steve" could not. The syllables in the former were longer, more oval, and sounded better when rolled across a woman's tongue.

On these days Dr. Steve would spend the majority of his lunch breaks in his office, looking into a small mirror that hung over his desk. "Hello, I am Dr. Mayu Rajadurai," he would say, with great solemnity. "I am afraid you have renal failure." Or, "Good morning madam, I am Dr. Mayu Rajadurai. I am very pleased to meet you and I am sorry to tell you that you have broken your hip in two places." He would practice these scenarios until he only had five minutes left, and then he would gulp down his lunch and wash it down with a bottle of water. After this, he left his office to once again become Dr. Steve.

Sometimes when he was with his colleagues he would look at them and scrutinize each of their names. There was Dr. Brandon Foster who had brown hair, a wife, two kids, and a dog. The trick about his name, Dr. Steve decided, was that "Brandon" was strong, and "Foster" was solid. Combined, the two names created a rock-like persona of support and help. Hearing Dr. Brandon Foster tell you that you had cancer would almost be soothing, Dr. Steve thought. "I have cancer," you would say, "but Dr. Brandon Foster is taking care of it." Brandon Foster was a security blanket, a father, a patron, the homeland. There was nothing that you couldn't face with him at your side.

There was also Dr. Thomas Hsiang. The genius of his name, Dr. Steve concluded, was its clever mixture of the East and the West. It would be different if his name was "Yao-lun Hsiang." Then it would be difficult to pronounce, and therefore off-putting and unfamiliar. And patients didn't like the unfamiliar, especially when sick. No, when they were feeling ill patients needed comfort. "Thomas" was comfortable. Yet "Thomas Thornby" or a moniker like that would also be as strange and alien-like. Patients, upon seeing this Chinese man, would not expect "Thomas Thornby." They simply wouldn't remember it, because it wouldn't seem right. And no one likes a doctor that you forget the name to. No, no, Dr. Steve thought. Thomas Hsiang was perfect.

Dr. Steve would try to console himself by saying that "Steve" wasn't a bad name itself. It had punch, and it came from the more dignified "Steven." "Dr. Steven Rajadurai" was missing something, however. It must be all those vowels, the two "e"s and then the three "a's" and the lone "u". There was just too many of them to contend with in "Steven Rajadurai." There was always the French version, "Etienne," but "Dr. Etienne Rajadurai" was even more ridiculous. Dr. Steve wasn't remotely French, for God's sakes. He was Sri Lankan.

Dr. Steve couldn't remember how he started being "Steve." His birth certificate said Mayu Rajadurai, so there must have been a change somewhere between then and now. Perhaps it was when he started kindergarten, and the teacher had too much trouble with "Mayu." Or perhaps he himself had felt awkward being the lone "Mayu" in a forest of Billys and Calebs and Jimmys. Or maybe it was even later, when he had a crush on some girl and felt that "Steve" would make his chances better than "Mayu." In any case, it was too late now. Even his own family recognized him as "Steve" now. "Mayu, who's Mayu?" they would demand. "Oh, oh! You mean Steve. You know, he's a doctor now."