The next day I wore my business outfit that I had purchased just for moments like these. My hair was pulled up into a tight bun, my clothes clean and wrinkle free and my makeup flawless. I was early, and sat in my old car with the windows down, trying not to look too obvious, while at the same time trying not to kill the car. The sun beat down from the sky and made the temperatures skyrocket from the October day it was to a day in July.
I looked up to see what stood before me, the building is beautiful, apparently new and state-of-the-art and was easy on the eyes as I sat staring at it. Something in the back of my mind hinted that this building was more than just another fancy building, but I could not figure out what it was. After a moment it hit me.
It was when I was fifteen years old, if that, and was with my dad as we drove up to Huntsman to visit my aunt. Road work prevented us from getting up there in a timely matter so my dad made an early turn and headed up the hill. We were talking about what I wanted to be when I grew up. Ignoring his question I asked him what ‘Orthopedics’ was, reading the sign as we passed it. My dad explained that it was a profession of medicine that studied muscles and joints. I sat back in my seat and thought about it, about casting, and physical therapy and surgery, then smiled and told him I wanted to work in ‘Orthopedics’. He laughed and made a wise crack about my grades, but when I returned to school the following week I was determined.
I had thirty minutes til my interview and could not wait any longer to get into the building, so I locked up my 86’ Volkswagen Jetta and headed in, feeling completely out of place as my heels clicked against the tile. Physical Therapists and patients alike turned heads, all apparently disapproving my choice in footwear.
The second floor was all clinics and I walked into the elevator as I had done before, pressing the ‘1’ button that would lead me down to the surgical floor. As I rode by myself I started to feel my heart race. The elevator dinged and the door slid open, releasing an aroma I knew I was in love with, the smell of sterile, clean, bloody, gory surgery.
Checking my watch I knew I had time to burn, so I called my mom and tried to shoot the bull with her, instead questions about my feelings from yesterday came up. I grew quiet, not wanting to talk about it.
“Did you remember to buy Halloween candy?” I asked, changing the subject.
“Yes I did.” She replied, catching on. “Have a good interview.”
Walking into the surgical lobby I walked confidently up to the front desk and told them I was here for an interview. They told me that Manager would be right up and I sat down, holding my head high. Being a person who believes in signs I felt like the stars were aligning for me, the timing, the building, and even the job itself.
Manager was a sunny woman with short brown hair and a big smile. She too wore heals, making us both stand out like sore thumbs. Getting me with a big smile she led me back to her office, which was right next to the O.R. As I followed her I saw the surgeons, tall strong men walking past me in blue scrubs, the Nurses, also in blue scrubs but had cute scrub caps. Manager knew all their names, and they knew hers. We sat in the office for about two minutes before she led me back to the inpatient unit. As we got to the unit she introduced me to two of the staff. I smiled and shook their hands politely, curious as to how many other potential aides had been introduced to them today. The rest of the venture around the Orthopaedic center with Manager went well and she requested I leave at least three of the four resumes I brought with her.
On the way out she told me that she would call me tomorrow, and then mentioned that I need to let my employer know that I got this job. I smiled and used all my energy to hold back the dance I wanted to do.
When I got home that afternoon I was met by my brother who had beaten me home by about five minutes. He asked how my interview went. As I started to make some food for the both of us I went over the details of the day, finally ending the story and both of us sitting quietly.
“Are you okay?” He asked me, looking quite serious. I paused, biting my lip.
“No.” I said honestly. “But I will be.” He nodded and shifted uncomfortably on the stool he was sitting on. “I have to face the fact that he is never coming back. All of his stuff is gone. All of it.” I paused as I sat down on a bar stool also and we began to eat. “He didn’t want to work it out. So I got to clean up this mess before it gets worse.” Taking a bite of the Mac ‘n’ cheese I made I sighed and shook my head. “89 freakin’ days.”
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