This is Danielle. She is a social worker.

"This is Danielle. She is a social worker."

My heart skips a beat and I want to correct her.
This is Dani. She is a student.
Or perhaps more accurately: This is Dani. She is crying, bleeding, and scratching to get a degree. Any degree at this point, really. She thinks she might like to be a social worker, but she really has no clue what she's doing in life. She's here for an assignment and is painfully uncomfortable with old people. Good luck - to both of you.

The coordinator tells me that the woman was once an actress, and that I would love to hear about it over the next ten weeks.

"Honey, that was 51 years ago. I hardly remember it myself."

Honey.
It's as if she can see right through me.
It's as if she knows.
Knows about the reflections I'll write about her, the time log the coordinator will sign, the grade I'll receive.
Knows that in this moment I want to crawl under a rock and hide, and switch my major to chemistry where the subjects don't talk back, don't have feelings, don't have a spirit.
Knows about the discomfort I feel. I'm completely out of my element.

Social workers help people. I leave my dirty dishes in the sink for days at a time.
Social workers wear dress pants. I prefer scantly washed skinny jeans from the thrift, or an old pair of leggings worn down at the knees.
Social workers are ready for any crises at any moment. I have to set alarms to move my car before street sweeping.
Social workers are non-judgmental and moral exemplars. I watch The Bachelor.

This is Dani. She is a social worker.
The title is big and uneasy. Heavy and awkward.
I'm like a toddler trying to walk around in my ma's heels.
It's cute and charming, but I'm a danger with a title twelve sizes too big.

But for today it will be enough, for tomorrow has enough woes of its own.
If a social worker helps people, then today I will let this woman show me her sketch book.
If a social worker is ready for any crisis at any moment, then I will leave my phone in the car.
If social workers are non-judgmental and moral exemplars, then well, we'll still work on that one.
Today I don't need dress pants and my alarms are set and my roommates aren't yet home to notice my spaghetti pot from last night.

Today I am sitting with a woman, spirit to spirit, and listening to her life unfold like the card table we sit at.

Today I am Danielle, the social worker.
It's new and it's awkward and it's dangerous and I have a few arguments about title protection to throw around, but today it is enough.