heard of most of these careers, it feels different looking at them now. I could do one of them, any of them. The possibilities are endless too endless. Paralegal. Medical transcription. Social work. Teacher. Journalism. My head starts to spin. Can I see myself doing any of these?
When Lyndsay walks in, she finds me facedown on her bed. She throws her purse on my legs and I jump. I throw her a scowl and shove my face back down. She says, “You do realize how bizarre this is, don’t you?”
Bizarre? You have no idea, Lyndsay. No idea. I am eighteen years old and not only career-less but also struggling to pick out an alternative. I ask, “What is bizarre?” only it sounds like, “Wuhf ith bishare?” through the covers.
Her bed squeaks as she sits at the end by my feet. “Between the two of us, I never imagined that I'd be the one who went into nursing while you didn’t.”
I turn my face to the side and smile. “Life is funny that way.”
“How are you going to tell your mom?”
“I’m going to play the sympathy card and mention almost fainting.”
“That may work.”
“It probably won’t but I need to stay positive.”
She scoffs. “You’re doing a great job there.” I smack her thigh with my hand. “Ow! I was only teasing.” She rubs the spot where I hit her. “You didn’t miss much though. It was mostly a bunch of formalities, a tour of the place and where everything is... There isn’t too much I can do until I take the nurse’s aide course.”
“Well, at least you’ve got your foot in the door.”
“True. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Guess what?”
“What?”
“I got an interview tomorrow at The Community Market.”
The Community Market is the small grocery store Ben works at. Ever since he started working there, Lyndsay has been hoping for the opportunity to apply. I almost forgot about her working there. “Really? That’s great, but won’t they be worried you two will be making out in the frozen-food section when you’re supposed to be at the register?”
“More likely the produce department,” she replies, not missing a beat. “It’s good the nursing-home work is only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, that way I have more availability. My mom told me the more flexibility I have, the better.” She picks at her finger. “I hope I get in. I could use the extra money for school this fall.”
“You do. I mean, you will. There’s no reason they won’t.”
“Thanks. Hey! Maybe you could work there too.”
I’m not sure my mom would be excited to hear that idea, but it's an option. “Maybe. I’ll ask.”
I stay there until I know my mom will be done with work. On the drive home I work on the speech I’ll give. With every stop sign and every turn, my nerves kick in more. The anxiety is keeping my mind from putting the right words in the right order. Mom, I know how much you want, I mean… Mom, on my walk down the hall I got dizzy and, wait… Mom, I don’t want to…
This isn’t coming out the way I want it to at all.
My mom is making dinner when I walk into the kitchen. I watch her stir sauce for a moment. It reminds me of the days before the divorce. Mom cooking dinner, dad kissing her cheek before he set the table. Simpler times when their daughter was too young to be concerned with college and only needed dolls to survive. Why can’t it just stay like that? Simple, with no complications. When she sees me, her whole face brightens, causing my stomach to sink. “Hi sweetie! I have been so anxious to see you.”
Funny, I’ve been anxious to see you too, just not for the same reason. I feign a smile, which fades when I smell what she’s making. “Is that…stuffing?”
“Yep! I decided to make you your favorite tonight in honor of your first day. Stuffing and ravioli with red sauce. What do you think?”
I look at the stove in an attempt to avoid her eyes. Out of all the nights she could do this, she had to pick this one. My stomach turns
When Lyndsay walks in, she finds me facedown on her bed. She throws her purse on my legs and I jump. I throw her a scowl and shove my face back down. She says, “You do realize how bizarre this is, don’t you?”
Bizarre? You have no idea, Lyndsay. No idea. I am eighteen years old and not only career-less but also struggling to pick out an alternative. I ask, “What is bizarre?” only it sounds like, “Wuhf ith bishare?” through the covers.
Her bed squeaks as she sits at the end by my feet. “Between the two of us, I never imagined that I'd be the one who went into nursing while you didn’t.”
I turn my face to the side and smile. “Life is funny that way.”
“How are you going to tell your mom?”
“I’m going to play the sympathy card and mention almost fainting.”
“That may work.”
“It probably won’t but I need to stay positive.”
She scoffs. “You’re doing a great job there.” I smack her thigh with my hand. “Ow! I was only teasing.” She rubs the spot where I hit her. “You didn’t miss much though. It was mostly a bunch of formalities, a tour of the place and where everything is... There isn’t too much I can do until I take the nurse’s aide course.”
“Well, at least you’ve got your foot in the door.”
“True. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Guess what?”
“What?”
“I got an interview tomorrow at The Community Market.”
The Community Market is the small grocery store Ben works at. Ever since he started working there, Lyndsay has been hoping for the opportunity to apply. I almost forgot about her working there. “Really? That’s great, but won’t they be worried you two will be making out in the frozen-food section when you’re supposed to be at the register?”
“More likely the produce department,” she replies, not missing a beat. “It’s good the nursing-home work is only on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, that way I have more availability. My mom told me the more flexibility I have, the better.” She picks at her finger. “I hope I get in. I could use the extra money for school this fall.”
“You do. I mean, you will. There’s no reason they won’t.”
“Thanks. Hey! Maybe you could work there too.”
I’m not sure my mom would be excited to hear that idea, but it's an option. “Maybe. I’ll ask.”
I stay there until I know my mom will be done with work. On the drive home I work on the speech I’ll give. With every stop sign and every turn, my nerves kick in more. The anxiety is keeping my mind from putting the right words in the right order. Mom, I know how much you want, I mean… Mom, on my walk down the hall I got dizzy and, wait… Mom, I don’t want to…
This isn’t coming out the way I want it to at all.
My mom is making dinner when I walk into the kitchen. I watch her stir sauce for a moment. It reminds me of the days before the divorce. Mom cooking dinner, dad kissing her cheek before he set the table. Simpler times when their daughter was too young to be concerned with college and only needed dolls to survive. Why can’t it just stay like that? Simple, with no complications. When she sees me, her whole face brightens, causing my stomach to sink. “Hi sweetie! I have been so anxious to see you.”
Funny, I’ve been anxious to see you too, just not for the same reason. I feign a smile, which fades when I smell what she’s making. “Is that…stuffing?”
“Yep! I decided to make you your favorite tonight in honor of your first day. Stuffing and ravioli with red sauce. What do you think?”
I look at the stove in an attempt to avoid her eyes. Out of all the nights she could do this, she had to pick this one. My stomach turns
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