I went to a job interview today. The University that I graduated from last year wanted to hire me full time because the Grimaldo twins had passed their classes with flying colours, and I was offered a position as assistant professor. Someone who does the grunt work for the actual professors. Mostly, I’d be helping the rather slow students understand the assignments, working with professors to grade exams and papers, posting grades, things of that nature. It was cold today. We got snow last night. Dennis took me to the University, and told me he would be returning in two hours, so I’d better be ready. He was in a bad mood. I don’t know why. He parked so damned close to the curb and in the shadows. There was a glare of ice on the ground. I nearly did the spits getting out of the car. Grumbling, I slipped and slid to the building, not even looking back.

Once inside, I took off my coat. Bad idea. I’d forgotten about the track marks on my arms that were now infected wounds. I looked as though I had been bitten by a rather large vampire. Of course I’d chosen to wear short sleeves. There was nothing I could do to cover up the wounds. I sighed, signed in at the University front desk and made my way to the second floor where the interview was going to be held. I was sweating. My resume was going to be ruined because I had chosen to print it at home. I sat down in the small waiting area. Doc. Bishop called me in. We made small talk as he went over my resume. I noticed that he looked at my arms. He said that I was more than qualified for the job, why did I want it? I made a joke that I was going to a free clinic for the time being and couldn’t afford good health care, and I desperately needed the money. He raised an eyebrow. I’m sure he knew that I was smacking and just needed the money to support my habit.

After what seemed like an eternity, he smiled and said I was the most qualified that had come in today and if no one else could beat my resume, I was hired. As if anyone more qualified than I would even waste their time as a University Assistant Professor. Most people with my degree level were working in pharmacies or high-tech labs curing cancer and the common cold. Me? I was stooping. I smiled back, we shook hands, and I left his office.

Wandering the halls of my old University, it seemed like an eternity since I had been there the first time. I remembered I had been in that same office for my interview to get in the University as a student. I was seven months pregnant with two very jittery babies. It was a hot August day and I remembered running from one building to another with Chris. Arms linked, we ran the entire length of the court yard, and then I vomited when we got to the door. I just puked my brains out. We weren’t expecting to be at interviews that day, and we weren’t dressed for it. We looked like hobos. Torn jeans. Hole-infested t-shirts. I think Chris’ shirt said SCISSOR SISTERS on it. We were caught off guard, told that it was the last day of interviews. Chris hurried in the building and came back with bottled water and a sandwich for me from the vending machines. I sipped water and ate part of the sandwich. I remember he told me there was no time for chewing, we had to get inside and in line for an interview before five that evening. Some how we made it. We were accepted. We had done it.

That seemed like a lifetime ago. Was it really just a little over three years ago?

The thoughts of Chris made me smile. Since I was on the second story of the building, I searched for his name amongst the thousands that had graduated. When Chris died, he was immediately put his name on The Wall, his name painted with a platinum coloured paint. I found his name. I traced the letters with my fingers. I remembered being there when his name was engraved in The Wall. I remember standing there, tears streaming down my face. I had been there when Chris died. I had gone through the files at my last job and read his obituary. I had insisted on being there when he was autopsied. I had gone to his funeral. But seeing his name on The Wall of Ghosts somehow made it all final. Chris was gone. My best friend had died.

“Did you know him?”

The question made me jump. “Sorry. I thought you heard me say hello.” A guy about my age stood there in the hall. “He was my best friend,” I replied with a smile. “Oh.” We chatted for a few moments. The man was waiting for his interview time. I was waiting for my ride home from my interview. He was applying for the same job, but he barely had an associate’s degree in teaching. I felt guilty. He was supporting his two older brothers, a niece and his mother who was dying of heart failure, and there I was, with the PhD, and had already blown him out of the water. I didn’t say anything about the interview. I wished him good luck, glanced down at my watch and said it was getting late and I had another appointment. He wished me well, and said he hoped to not miss the 3pm bus back to the main terminal to get on a third bus home. I cringed at that. Selfish, selfish me. I secretly wished someone with a PhD and a clean background would come in and blow me out of the water. But that isn’t going to happen. Someone slap me. Hard.