Chapter two - Zee
1140 Words
I had decided to start a new phase of life. I called it New Zee. At the beginning of the week, I applied for ten different jobs I was underqualified for. There were a few openings for technical writers, which I was qualified for but not excited about, and a slew of other copywriter jobs that I almost fit the profile for—but not quite.
In the process, I managed to jam up my dad’s printer that I’d used without permission and spill toner powder on the white rug. I tried to clean it with water, which was a terrible idea. Yeah, my mom is going to have my head for that.
But I was standing firm on the “New Zee” ground.
The rest of the week really tested that theory.
I landed five—five—job interviews, which thrilled me. I felt like I was going to have a job before Trey even realized that I’d left the city. I was going to be gainfully employed before my mother even had a chance to interrogate me for hours on end about my progress. Hell, I’d probably have multiple offers to choose from, right?
Wrong.
Because at each of the interviews, I came down with verbal diarrhea.
At the first one, I accidentally mentioned the fire. When I was asked why I’d moved, my mouth had betrayed me and dispensed the truth instead of the generalities I’d carefully practiced. Mr. Holtings, my interviewer, looked at me over his readers and said, “Fire?”
And for some reason, trying to explain it made me giggle. I started describing what had happened, and I couldn’t stop myself from smiling while I said it.
“There was, um, a fire, and my apartment building burned down.” A stifled snort escaped.
And sadly, with each sentence I spewed, I could hear the ridiculousness of the words and how nuts my laughing made me sound. Which, of course, struck me as more and more hilarious, and I lost all control.
“It wasn’t my fault. I was being careful.” I bit my lip to keep from smiling. “But this possum came out of nowhere and knocked over the bucket.”
I had to pause to wipe at my tears of laughter.
I was definitely not getting the job.
At the next interview, I accidentally mentioned the Beaty Best part magazine and then tried to backtrack and say I hadn’t worked there.
“Wait.” The very nice woman narrowed her eyes. “You worked for BBP magazine? How come you didn’t put that on your résumé?”
“Oh, I, um, I didn’t really work there.” I smiled, and my brain short-circuited. I actually said the words, “I was just kidding.”
Regardless, I was killing myself with my ability to speak. If I could just get a job, I knew I’d make any employer happy. Because I was a good writer. I could proficiently communicate almost anything on paper.
But I had to somehow get through face-to-face meetings first.
At the next interview, I tripped over a chair and reflexively grunted out a semi-loud “f**k me” as it happened. But the two interviews that followed actually went fairly well. I didn’t get a callback, and I didn’t become buddies with the interviewers, but the fact that I didn’t destroy my own chances was a good sign, right?.
I was lying on my bed, music playing softly from my phone while I stared at the ceiling and thought about how spectacularly screwed my life was.
“Zee, honey, could you come down and help me with the dishes? I have friends coming over.”
“Coming, Mom!” I shouted back with a groan. Great. My unpaid internship as Mom’s personal assistant continued.
“Hey, Siri, stop the music.”
“Is someone in there with you?” my mom called.
“No, Mom. What do you mean?”
“Who’s Siri? Do you have a friend over?”
She poked her head into my room.
I laughed so hard my stomach hurt.
“My phone is Siri, Mom.”
“Whatever. Come help me.”
I followed her downstairs.
By the time we finished cooking, every pot in the house seemed dirty and every surface was covered with food. Then the guests started arriving.
Mrs. Hensley came first.
“Shelly, I’m here, and I brought casserole!”
She stopped in the doorway and adjusted her glasses.
“Zee? Darling, is that you?”
“Hi, Mrs. Hensley.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” Her face fell. “I heard what happened,you shouldn’t have .”
Heat rushed into my cheeks.
She wrapped me in a hug before I could escape.
“Bless your heart.”
I stared over her shoulder and mumbled, “Thanks.” More guests arrived.
Then Mrs. Martin walked in with two women from the neighborhood. The moment she spotted me, her eyes lit up with judgment.
“Zee honey how are you ?, I know a man for you. He’s a gardener, but he’s a good man.”
The other women smiled. I felt every pair of eyes turn toward me. My smile froze.
“That’s… nice.”
I looked at my mom.
She suddenly became very interested in wiping an already-clean counter. I headed upstairs before anyone could say anything else.
The second my bedroom door clicked shut, my shoulders sagged.
I sat on the floor beside my bed and pressed both hands over my face. The tears came before I could stop them.
I cried until my eyes burned and my head hurt. Eventually I crawled into bed and fell asleep.
A soft knock woke me up.
Mom stood in the doorway holding a plate covered with foil.
“Hi, honey. There’s some casserole left.”
“No thanks.”
She lingered. “Zee—”
“Mom.” My voice cracked. “You told everyone.”
Her fingers tightened around the plate.
“They would’ve found out eventually.”
I laughed once. It sounded awful.
“So you decided to help them?”
“That’s not what I—”
“Mom, please.” The room blurred.
“Can you just leave?”She stood there for another second.Then Dad’s voice came from the hallway.
“Sweetie, come on.”
Mom lowered her head and walked out and Dad stepped inside.
Without saying anything, he sat beside me and opened his arms. I folded into them. For a while, neither of us spoke.
When he finally got up, he pulled the blanket over me, smoothed down the corner that had twisted underneath my leg, and pressed a kiss to my forehead. The knot in my chest loosened a bit just enough for me to breathe again.
- Writer
