On June 5, at 4:45pm, I got hit by a bus.
On July 5, at 10:00am, I hit my cast.
"Ew." I scrunch my nose as I lift my hand, revealing the squished fly beneath. I peel off the bug's dead body and expose a spec of blood on my signature-covered cast. My eyes travel down the white plaster coating my right leg from hip to toes. The cast on my arm is just as bulky, but still allows me to grab my tea cup from the end table beside my bed.
The rising steam fogs up my glasses as I sip and refresh the browser on the computer perched on my lap.
It's still there.
My heart drops, but it's a good drop. The kind you get at a first kiss or right before you plummet off the first peak of a roller coaster.
The subject line of the email screams: 'CONGRATULATIONS! YOUR STORE, 'A FAR BETTER THING,' HAS ITS FIRST SALE!'
I click on the item sold. It's an art print depicting a young woman in a red blazer parachuting through fog out of a towering grey and neon-green office building into a galaxy of stars below. I drew it a week after the accident, minutes after turning down both JellyBy Advertising Agency and Satis Publishing House. It's entitled 'The Leap of Faith.'
The great thing about being on mandatory bed rest for three months is, you've got a lot of time to design art. You also have a lot of time to research how to purchase a website domain for an online store as well as a platform, and to think of a witty title and theme for your store...and, as of today, to make your first sale.
I tap out the necessary arrangements on my keyboard for the art print to be shipped, then stretch my arm to the end table, grabbing a creased sheet of printer paper. I unfold it and feel a clench in my gut as my eyes travel down the invoice, past the inflated hospital fees—$55 for two aspirins, my foot—and the line that reads 'Insurance Provider: N/A' to the very bottom: 'TOTAL AMOUNT OWED: $7,500'
My hand trembles as I cross out the astronomical amount and replace it with '$7,465.'
I place the invoice on top of my checkbook on the nightstand and make a mental note to ask Ben to drop the payment into the mailbox when he stops by after his shift.
At last, I carefully remove the sold art from its place in my new portfolio and admire it. I think it's my best work yet.
I begin to package it up, but pause. My left hand gropes in the blankets beside me until it clenches around a felt-tip pen.
I press the inked tip to bottom corner of my art print, adding one final touch: A signature to the bottom right corner that simply reads, 'Malika.'
END
YOU ARE READING
Bleak Expectations: A Tale of Two Interviews
Short Story"On June 5, at 4:45pm, I will be hit by a bus. On June 5, at 9:05am, I get hit by a door." Malika is a recent college graduate in desperate need of a job (and health insurance). The corporate world, however, is not what she expected. Two satiricall...
