Connie, invited me to run with her on Monday morning, “It’s my rest day, so we can walk when you want.” I join her because I have nothing else to do and feel restless and anxious waiting to hear from John about the Dillard’s ad.
“You’ll probably hear from Margie today. I put in a good word.” Margie is the charge nurse at the hospital.
“Thanks. That was nice of you,” I am struggling to keep up, even though she is jogging as slow as she can and it still be considered jogging. “I didn’t realize I was so out of shape.”
“No worries. It won’t take you long to get some distance. When I started a year ago, I barely made it from one mailbox to the next.” We jog and walk and jog again. There is a point, the third time we pick up the jog again, that I feel a shift in the rhythm of my breathing, and suddenly it all gets easier. I stop gasping, and we keep jogging. When we get back to the house, I am exuberant and alive.
I hop in the shower and can hear the phone ringing while I’m in there. When I get out, Cici is awake and downstairs, pouring coffee.
“Interview at two,” she says. I look at her, confused. “The phone,” she explains, “Palomar Hospital, interview today at two,”
“Great. How are you?”
“Good.”
“What should I wear to my interview?”
Cici brightens; this is her realm.
We go through my meager clothes, and she tries to talk me into one of her outfits, but when I put it on, I feel exposed and too sexy for a job interview. Cici finally agrees that my best option is an outfit that Lola gave me, after someone had failed to pick it up at the dry cleaners. I wore it last year for Thanksgiving with my grandparents. It fits me better now than it did then. Of course, I was pregnant at Thanksgiving. The thought makes me feel hollow. I worry that the suit may be too much, too fancy for an interview, like I am trying too hard. I guess it’s better to look like I’m trying too hard than to look like I’m trying not enough.
I leave the condo and slide into the hot leather seats of my car and drive down Ted Williams Parkway toward the hospital. It’s too hot—the fabric of the suit and the weather—and sweat is pooling in all the wrong places. Perspiration drizzles along my ribs and gathers at the waist; more sweat follows, sliding in slick rivers down my sides. California is hot—already. Back home the buds would just now be coming to sprout on the trees, but here it seems that what grows just grows all the time, regardless of the season. Maybe there are no real seasons here.
If I get the job, I’m going to call Will and Barb this afternoon to tell them. They will be proud of me, that I have gone out into the world and secured a real job. I play through the future conversation. I can almost hear Barb’s voice over the line, calling out to Will that it is me, that I’m doing okay out there in “Californy.” I catch myself smiling. I let the daydream walk into the hospital with me, and it sits with me while I wait, and I feel less alone. When will I tell them about the Dillard’s ad? Will they be proud of me for that the same as for the hospital job? I think of the modeling as something frivolous, even superficial. It’s not something to my credit; it’s just an accident of birth, the way I look. I’m glad to have Will and Barb in my life, even if it is from such a great distance; it’s maybe better at a distance, where my life can be edited for content before sharing.
“Miss Hayes?” the receptionist calls out, and I step up to her window. “You’re going to go down this hall, and when you hit the double doors, push the button on the right and they’ll buzz you in. The charge station is past those doors and down the first hall to the right.” I nod and feel like I should shake her hand or something, but she has turned back to the phone, which started beeping halfway into her directions. I mumble a “thank you” that she doesn’t hear and do as she said. Somebody buzzes me through the doors, which open with a hydraulic hinge, admitting me into the sanctuary of hospital rooms.
I stop at the nurse’s station. “I’m Alison Hayes. I’m supposed to be meeting the charge nurse about a job.” The woman looks up at me through smeared, oval glasses. She is portly and red faced and may be the first not-beautiful person I have met since I arrived in California. She smiles, a warm, lovely smile, and I feel rotten for thinking she isn’t pretty. Cici is rubbing off on me in ways that don’t make me happy. I give the nurse my best smile, hoping my ugly thoughts don’t show on my face.
“Do you mind if we do this here at the station? I’m short staffed today.”
“No, that’s fine.” My mind goes blank for a second. Connie told me the woman’s name that I was supposed to meet, but it has flown out of my head.
“I’m Margaret.”
I pause. It’s not the right name. It’s not the person Connie mentioned.
“Margie,” she adds with a soft “g” in the middle, and there it is, the right name.
“Nice to meet you.”
She asks me to come around the counter, and she pulls up a rolling chair for me to sit in. The air conditioner is on full tilt, and the sweat that walked in with me has dried to a cool sheen, giving me chill bumps down my arms.
“Can you tell me a little about yourself?” she asks, and she pulls out a sheet of paper from a folder on the desk, my application.
“I’m eighteen. I just moved here from Illinois, and I need a job. Oh, and I completed CNA training in Missouri.”
“Do you move around a lot?”
“No, not really. I know it looks like it, but last year was odd.”
“How so?” she asks, not in an ugly way.
“Well, my mom died about a year ago, and I become an emancipated minor.” Her brows draw together. “It just took me a little while to find my way. You know.” I’m blowing it, I know I am. I’m telling too much of the wrong stuff. I shift gears and say, “I work really hard, and I’m a quick learner.”
“I’m sorry you lost your mom,” she says, and there is genuine sympathy in her voice, “I lost my own mom about three years ago. I miss her every day.”
I nod but don’t speak. I don’t know if I can say that I miss my mom, and that says something about me.
“I see this will be your first job in the medical field.”
“It will. I just got my license a couple of months ago.”
“Why didn’t you get a job right away? Most training programs offer placement.”
I blow air into my cheeks and let it escape through my lips, holding her eyes, not willing to tell her why I didn’t get a job right away. Explaining that would say way too much about me and the person I am. I am the girl who gets knocked up and makes somebody else raise the baby. Looking at it from this angle, away from the safe surroundings of Life House, it looks like a coward’s escape, like there is nothing noble in it at all. I gave her a better life, I say inside of my head. “It was a rough year. I think I just knew I wasn’t going to stay, you know, in Missouri, so I didn’t feel right about starting someplace and then leaving.”
She nods and makes a note on the application. “I see you’ve worked in retail and food service.”
“Yes, I have.”
“Would it be okay to contact those businesses?”
“Yes.” I swallow, knowing that the Croissant Roll will probably mention that I quit without notice. I shouldn’t have listed them, but one work reference didn’t seem like enough. Mr. Billups will give me a great reference, “And I have a couple of personal references, if you’d like.”
She nods. “Can you tell me why you want to work as a CNA?”
“Well, I wanted a job I could grow with, I guess, and I like helping people. I wanted something where I didn’t have to sit at a desk all day.” It’s true, but I feel like I’m lying to say it.
“Where would you like to be in five years?”
“Well, I’d like to get more education and become a nurse. I think there are a couple of community colleges nearby that offer nursing degrees.”
“That’s a good plan.” She smiles, making another note on the application. “That’s what I did. Palomar College has a couple of good two-year programs at their Escondido campus. The hospital offers some financial assistance for employees, too. There are also several scholarships available. I’ll give you a list. Probably want to start in the fall, get a summer of working under your belt to be sure it’s something you like.”
My hope rises.
“Of course, we’ll have to do your background check, but I doubt that will be a problem.”
My confidence wavers. “What does that consist of?” I ask, hearing the small squeak in my voice.
“Not much, just have to make sure you don’t have a criminal record, or a history of anything negative. You know. It’s just standard.”
Being questioned by the police isn’t the same as having a criminal record, is it?
She asks, “Is there anything I should know?”
“Well, no. Nothing negative.” She looks at me, giving me her full attention. “When my mom died everything kinda fell apart. I didn’t graduate high school. I got the GED, so that’s the same, but it’s not finishing high school.” I don’t want to tell her that I was questioned by the police, and I hope she thinks this is all, even though my application clearly says that I got a GED and not a diploma.
“Have you ever been arrested?” she asks, cutting through all the bull.
“No.”
“Then you’ll be fine.” She smiles again, and her confidence gives me confidence. How could I have thought she wasn’t beautiful? Relief washes through me, and I know she sees it. “It will take about four days for that to come back, so I’ll be in touch on Friday.”
