Saving the Heart

♥ Interview ♥

♥Interview♥

           I sat alone in the hallway, my hands in my lap, thumbs fiddling as I thought over everything I would say.  I swung my shiny shoed feet back and forth, back and forth.  This is what I had been working towards for so long, but now that the moment was here I was completely tongue tied in disbelief.  It had worked, my essay had worked.

           “Ms. Shoemacher.” A man called as he opened the heavy oak door beside my bench.

           “That’s me.” I told him, rising to my feet and giving him a smile.  “Kennedy Shoemacher,” I extended my hand and he took it, giving me a firm handshake and a smile.

           “Step right in here please,” he gestured to the door and I nodded in understanding before entering the tidy office room.  “Take a seat please.” I did as instructed, sitting down in the plush red chair as the man rounded his desk, sitting across from me.

           He pulled out a folder with my name on it and opened it, revealing my application, my essay, and several letters of recommendation.

           “Your essay,” he started.  I took a deep breath, trying to relax in my chair.  “Was extremely well written,” I exhaled.  At least I was off to a good start.  “But it lacks any originality in the aspect of who you are.  It states what you would contribute to this college and what you would accomplish in your future with an education from Harvard Med, but that is just it.  Empty promises.  Here at Harvard Med we strive for students with individual characters who not only look forward to their future contributions to the school and the world, but individuals who can take a more…creative viewpoint on much discussed topics.” He leaned forward, clasping his hands together.  “What I’m saying is…tell me about you.”

           “Me?” I asked in disbelief.  This interview was a make or break about me being accepted to Harvard, and he wanted to know about me?  “Um…I’m a hard worker, I was a volunteer at-” The man sighed, leaning back in his chair.

           “I already read the essay Ms. Shoemacher.”

           “I participated in HOSA for my entire high school career…”

           “And the application,” his eyes flashed down to my paper as he picked them up and began to flip through them.

           “I’m sorry, I don’t know what you want me to tell you.  Everything I do, have done, is written in those papers.”  The man shook his head, picking up a paper and pushing his wire rimmed glasses up his nose.

           “It says here that you are married?”

           “Yes…I can explain that.  I just gave him the papers recently, I’m waiting on them to be signed.  Any day that will be over.” I nodded as if it was nothing, for it was nothing.

           “And you’re,” he looked up at me, dropping the paper.  “You’re seventeen.”

           “Yes.”

           “And you are married.”

           “In the process of getting a divorce.” The man sighed, straightening his tie that was peeking out under his sweater vest.

           “Look, Ms. Shoemacher, this is what I mean.  Tell me about you, not your essay, not your application or your qualifications, just you.  How about we talk about this.” He pointed to my background sheet.

           “Don’t you feel that me talking about my…about my marriage is a little, you know, too personal?”  His eyebrow rose.

           “You have an hour.” He said, reaching over and starting an old school kitchen timer.  “Impress me.”