In court Donkey stressed my writing abilities. Well, she’s a writer…she was writing when we got married…she’s a creative writing major…True…I was in college and it was required…I am an English Language and Literature graduate. I was also a Sunday morning radio host, a regular at the local pizza bar, and studying professional, essay, feature, and scholarly writing.
And I spent two summers studying in Oxford, England, earned scholarships and grants, won awards and leadership positions, and received the English Major of the Year Award and the coveted Faculty Cup nomination from the College of Arts and Letters, 1 of 5 graduating students recognized for academic, extracurricular, and community excellence.
I walked with honors from societies, the college, and the university. I walked with a graduate scholarship and acceptance into the Master of Fine Arts program at American University in Washington, D.C. I walked 5 months pregnant and married knowing I couldn’t begin graduate school in August, have a baby in September, and have any real chance at success at either. I walked knowing I couldn’t find gainful employment with guaranteed leave in 4 months.
Eleven weeks after I escaped I landed a career, in just a few days time, and not from any applications, submittals, or career fairs. My aunt worked at an eye doctor’s office. A recruiter from this company needed an appointment and this office had one available that day. I loaded the kids in the car and took them to the zoo to see the giraffes.
My talkative aunt and the talkative recruiter talked, and the conversation ended with the recruiter asking my aunt to ask me to send my resume, but to send it so he received it when he returned to the office because they were already interviewing.
My mom called because my aunt didn’t have my number at work. I told her we just walked through the bird house. She logged into my email and typed as I spoke, and pushed No in the stroller and begged Is to follow so we could get up hill to the giraffes. Done. Sent. HR called before I got home from the zoo, and I shopped for a suit that night, interviewed the next day, got the offer the day after that, and started the following Monday.
It is a professional writing career. Perfect.
I showed up in court in a suit, make-up, hair fixed, and with jewelry. I sat up straight. I made eye contact. I took notes. I assisted my attorney. I have a degree, I have a job, and I have strength (or at least the fortitude to appear so). I didn’t look the part. I didn’t fit the stereotype.
In court, Donkey stressed my writing abilities. In emails, Donkey blamed my skills for the tales I tell. In marriage, Donkey asked me to write when he needed to write.