Page 66 of Brave
She felt sick. She swallowed convulsively, fighting not to throw up.
“I wondered.” Writing the name in on her application, the librarian smiled. “It says here that you held an assistant librarian’s position while you were in college. Tell me about that. What were your responsibilities?”
Sweaty palms pressed her legs, Cynthia failed herself. It wasn’t that she hadn’t heard the question. She had, but when she opened her mouth what came pouring out was a completely inane, “M-my name is Cynthia Reynolds.”
The woman arched her eyebrows, and Cynthia stared back helplessly back at her. Sweating, hands frozen mid-twist, she jumped up from her chair. “Excuse me. I’m sorry.” She walked quickly out of the room.
She was a mess.
She wasn’t just a mess, she was inept and now everyone in the library knew it.
It was a shorter distance to flee to the bathroom, than it was to get outside where Carlson was waiting in the car, expecting success, a ready smile on his face and that encouragement that had done absolutely nothing to help her.
The bathroom was mercifully empty. In her haste to hide, she accidentally slammed the door and then pressed herself against it, bowing almost in half as she burst into futile tears. The storm of them was as brief as it was hopeless.
Straightening with a gasp, she caught sight of herself in the mirror by the sink. She stared at her blotchy, tear-streaked reflection, hating it with a depth of passion so extreme that for the first time in a long time—if only just for an instant—she almost wished she was dead.
What are you afraid of, whispered in the back of her mind.
She didn’t even know anymore. She had been afraid for so long the habit of it was insurmountable.
Habits can be broken, you just have to work at it.
But this one had gone on for so very long, she didn’t even know where to start. She stared at herself, hating the paleness of her face tinged with that blush of humiliation. She hated the shaking, the fluttering knots that strangled at her stomach and squeezed her chest, suffocating her until it hurt. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to stand here.
It hurt to try.
It hurt even just to look at herself, all the while hearing that hateful voice whispering over and over in the back of her head, “…good enough for me… broken, broken, broken starts with B.”
How useless and pathetic she was, because in spite of everything, she could hear Carlson’s voice too, still trying so valiantly to make her believe: You’ve got this.
Except, she didn’t have it, and she never would. Not unless she could figure out a way to get past this. This self-sabotaging thing inside her that drove her until here she was, hiding in the library bathroom, glaring at herself.
You’ve got this.
Yanking open the bathroom door, Cynthia ran out again, this time back the way she’d come. She almost crashed into Miss Halstead just venturing out of the interview room with the young man and his briefcase in tow. They all three startled. Flashing a smile that was mostly cringe, the young man excused himself, leaving her to face down the surprised librarian on her own.
Squaring her shoulders, Cynthia recovered first. She stammered horribly, her voice shaking so badly she almost couldn’t understand it herself as she said, “I know I’ve ruined my chances. I’m sorry if I wasted your time, but… if it’s not too late, could I please start over?”
Jaw clenching, the senior librarian glanced once into the reading nook where two more applicants sat waiting. Looking next at the floor, it was several long seconds before she managed to meet Cynthia’s gaze. “When I was twenty-three, my husband of eight months broke my jaw, punctured my eardrum, and put me in the hospital for four nights. I told myself he would never touch me again, but he did. It took two more years before I plucked up the courage to run.” When Cynthia gaped, the other woman’s face softened. “I remember your picture from the news last year. I watched the trial. I don’t think I’ve ever cheered so hard to see someone go to prison. He was a lawyer too. A civil rights lawyer. He knew better.”
What was Miss Halstead trying to tell her? Cynthia stared at her, watching her mouth as she spoke, watching her eyes for signs of lying. Why was she telling her this? Was this even real? Try though she could to twist it, she couldn’t think how any of this could be warped into a weapon to hurt her. She also couldn’t think how to respond.
“I-I’m sorry for what happened to you,” she finally stammered, at a loss for words.
“I’m sorry for what happened to you too,” Miss Halstead replied. Drawing herself a little bit straighter, she walked around Cynthia to open the door to the interview room. “I understand you held a job as an assistant librarian while you were in college,” she said, motioning for her to enter. “Nothing is ever too late… Cynthia was it? I’d be happy to hear your qualifications.”
* * *
The interview took forty minutes longer than it should have, not because she kept screwing up, but because Miss Halstead just seemed to like talking to her. She’d never felt so comfortable in the presence of a woman who wasn’t one of her sub-mates. When it finally came time to leave, for the first time in a long time, Cynthia wasn’t scared.
The drive back to her mother’s house took seven minutes longer than the interview because traffic in D.C. was horrible. But Cynthia didn’t care. The whole way there, she felt as if she were flying. It was surreal. She was still shaky, but it was a weird, almost happy kind of shaking. It felt victorious and she hadn’t really done anything momentous.
“We should make a decision by the end of the week,” the senior librarian had told her. “I’ll call you either way, I promise. And thank you for coming in.”
For the first time, Cynthia didn’t hear that as sarcastic. It sounded and felt exactly as Miss Halstead had likely meant it, as sincerity.
She kept thinking about it, replaying it over and over in her head, the whole way home. Happy in the silence, the knowledge that she’d done it coursing through her like warm summer’s honey. She wasn’t so stupid as to think she actually got the job, but she’d made it through the interview and she was so proud of herself. That was something that hadn’t happened in a very long time.
