Page 90 of Drowning Erin
Except, apparently, it’snot.
“We need a different group of kids for the cover,” Timothy says, flinging a brochure about the Mitchell Scholars Program on mydesk.
I run my tongue over my teeth, searching somewhere inside me for a calmness I don’t feel. “These are the kids who actually won theaward.”
“They don’t project the image we want. And we need morediversity.”
“How much more diversity could you possibly want? We’ve got ten award winners, of whomfiveareminorities.”
“Well, the minorities you chose are not a good representation of theschool.”
He has really picked the wrong week to piss me off. I don’t have it in me to even feign civility at themoment.
“I have no idea what you’re trying to tell me,” I snap. “And I didn’t choose them. These kids all won Mitchell Scholarships. How are they possibly not a good representation for theschool?”
“Well, to be perfectly frank, none of them look that smart. And the African-American boy is too…urban.”
Patience, Erin. You are not Olivia. You are not Harper. You don’t get to lose your shit with impunity.“How exactly can someone be toourban?”
“The jeans, the T-shirt.Sneakers.” He rolls his eyes as if this is obvious, when nearly every kid featured is wearing some version of that. “I want something more like this.” He hands me a brochure for affordable housing, which features someone lighter-skinned than the kid who won the award, wearing a button down and a bow-tie.
Patience, Erin. Patience… No, fuck it.“The kid in this picture is one of the ten best students in the school, and he’s dressed exactly like the other kids. So basically what I hear you saying is that anyone other than Carlton fromThe Fresh Prince of Bel Airlooks like a criminal toyou.”
“I think you need to bring it down a notch,” he says, his nostrils flaring, bleaching the skin white around the base of his nose. “As you are well aware, you’re already skating on thin ice. And I’m not asking for your opinion, Erin. I want a newcover.”
I slide the brochure back to him. “I’m not doingit.”
“If you don’t do it,” he says, “you have nojob.”
“Then I guess,” I say, standing and grabbing my purse, “that I have nojob.”
I stride out of the office feeling enraged, full of indignation. It takes me only two seconds after the door’s shut behind me to wonder what the fuck I’vedone.
* * *
Ispendmost of the evening certain I’m having a panicattack.
“It’s going to be fine,” Harper assures me. “God, I wish I could have seen hisface!”
“It’s not going to be fine,” I insist. “I have no savings, and now I’ve got no job. And no boyfriend. And nohome.”
“Of course you have a home. When my roommate gets back, we’ll figure something out. And you don’t want a boyfriend. And you don’t wantthatjob. You never did. Just wait,” she says. “This is the start of something amazing. Your life is going to be so muchbetter.”
I guess I have to agree with her there, because I’m not sure it’s possible for things to getworse.
* * *
Iwakethe next day with a splitting headache, thanks to the shots Harper insisted I do. “Cheer Me Up Shots,” she called them. I’m officially adding her to the list of people I no longer take suggestionsfrom.
I begin to look at want ads, and any enthusiasm I had for the prospect of getting a new job dims. Promoting nicotine patches, computer programs, or energy drinks holds no appeal for me. I want to care about the product. I liked promoting my almamater.
Which leads me to wonder if I made a mistake yesterday. I know, via Harper, that Timothy’s been stopping by my cubicle all morning to see if I’ve arrived. Around mid-morning he leaves me a message saying that as long as I’m in by noon, we can move past this, though “some disciplinary action will, obviously, benecessary.”
I can’t say there isn’t part of me that glances at the clock, that doesn’t imagine rushing off to put on work clothes and pretending none of this has happened. Except that job was a lot like a long run; I reach the end certain I could keep going if necessary, but once I’ve stopped, once I’ve thrown myself down in the grass and kicked off my shoes, the idea suddenly feels impossible. If my life depended on it, I don’t think I could get up and go back to work for that man. In fact, I have no idea how or why I stayed as long as Idid.
* * *
Rob asksif he can take me to dinner “as friends” after I tell him about my job. I begin to say no, and then stop myself. Whatever we might lack in excitement, Rob can be a good sounding board. Plus, being around him reminds me of a time when I wasn’t miserable, and that little reminder soothes me—if it was possible to not hurt once upon a time, it’s possible it can happen again. It’s wrong to allow Rob to ease some of the pain Brendan caused, but I allow it anyway. I’m that desperate to begin piecing myself backtogether.