Page 90 of The Thorne at My Side
"I'll make a resolution to respond to you when you reach out," CJ elbows me in the side. I laugh even though I recognize that he just put the full responsibility for building a friendship on my shoulders.
“Is it weird to be home?” I ask him.
“Yes and no,” CJ says with a shrug.
“Explain.”
He laughs, “I guess it is but I think the weirdest part is how disconnected I feel. Like going home is fine, that’s family dynamics and I can handle about a day of it before I want to get back on my own terms. But I don’t feel much of anything as I drive through town.”
“Yeah, I think I get that.” I don’t admit that being home for so long without a clear end date has actually turned me onto the place. The town is cute, the people are friendly, and I appreciate slowing down a little bit. “Do you like your job?”
CJ looks at me, “What’s going on with you Maggie?”
“I dunno, I need to figure out what to do next. I’ve been working for years to get to where I was and the rug got pulled out from under me and I’m in free-fall.”
“Well, as a medical professional I can tell you that you’re handling this prolonged anxiety attack way better than mostpeople.”
I can’t tell if he’s joking. “Thanks?”
“You’re welcome.”
“But you didn’t answer my question,” I say as I bump my shoulder with his. “Do you like being a doctor?”
“I love it.”
“Really?”
“Yeah Maggie, I get to help people through tough shit. Sometimes that’s serious wounds, heart attacks, or severe dehydration. Somedays it’s the lonely old lady who is inventing pain so she can come in and talk with us. But no matter what, I provide care. I’m there for them.”
“I didn’t realize you were such a teddy bear.”
“Don’t tell anyone, I’ve worked hard on my arrogant doctor persona.” He laughs. “But seriously, when I’m on the floor nothing else exists. I’m working, and I’m helping people.”
“Was it rewarding when you got promoted?” I ask.
“Honestly? I couldn’t care less what my title is. As long as I get to be a doctor I’m satisfied.”
CJ’s love of his work, not his job, sticks with me through the rest of the night. As I kick my heels off and walk up the carpeted stairs to my childhood bedroom, I try to hold the existential crisis at bay. I can feel my breathing speeding up and there is a distinct pinch in my chest. I rub at the spot.
I have never felt this completely lost in my entire life.
As a kid, every day was about helping my family.
In high school, I focused on getting into an Ivy League school and remedying injustices for my peers.
College was to get to law school.
Law school was to get a job.
That first job wasto get the next one and so forth.
Each chapter of my life has been a stepping stone to bring me one step closer. But to what?
I slump down onto the floor and my bridesmaid dress bunches up around my waist. The fabric constricts my breathing which is shallow already. I’m just tipsy enough to have this conversation with myself.
What is my purpose?
What am I supposed to do now?
