"Why should we hire you?"
I'm staring at my foot, which is tapping all by itself. I don't think it's stopped tapping for the past six months. After a moment of silence, I look up, realizing I've missed something. "Excuse me?"
The man raises an eyebrow and half-smiles. He's sitting on the other side of a large desk, and I don't think he realizes how enthroned he looks to me. I dressed up for this interview, of course; dragged myself into a pair of slacks and put on some jewelry, so maybe he's deluded into thinking I am not a homeless, starving pauper. "I said," he begins again, "why should we hire you? What's special about Jessica Grosland?"
I feel a fluttering of weak-willed wings as something inside of me tries to get up. I need to say something. What's my answer? I know I rehearsed this in the car . . . .
The thing flops down again. Too tired.
"I don't know," I say.
The two people taking notes on either side of the main interviewer stop writing. After a moment's hesitation, they glance up at me, then look to their leader for guidance. He's scrutinizing me with an odd look on his face. "What?" he asks, politely.
"I don't know," I repeat, emphatically. Being honest makes me feel a little stronger, so I sit up in my chair a bit as I continue. "I mean, the last twenty-two guys didn't, so I can't really think why you should. I'm out of answers for you here."
The man's eyes go wide. All traces of a smile are gone from his face, but I've let the leash on my mouth loose and it's off to the races. "I mean, I've always tried to be a really good employee," I say. "Responsible, dedicated - but in the last few months it seems that I have lost everything I once was and now I have nothing to offer. I'm the girl nobody wants to take to the prom. And I guess it's because my dirty secret's out!" I laugh harshly. "I'm a nutcase! Whatever it is that makes it so people can get through the day, I don't have it. I lost it, and I'm not sure it's ever coming back.
"I thought that maybe if I got back into the world, tried doing all the things I used to do, maybe I'd come back to myself and be okay again - but no! The world doesn't want me anymore! Every time I get up off the floor, I'm pushed back down again. So I have to assume that this is where I'm supposed to be. This is where I belong now - at the bottom. Watching people like you do the things that matter. Why -" Now I'm gripping my fists so tightly my nails are gouging my palms. "Why do I have to be filled with these stupid ambitions when I'm trapped in a body that can't handle them?!"
My jaw clenches as I go silent. I'm breathing heavily now, glaring at my clenched fists. The not-crying that replaced crying so long ago feels heavy in my eyes.
After a moment, I hear the man cough. "Alright," he says. "We still have a few more interviews to do today. We hope to have a decision by the end of the week."
I nod, grabbing my purse as I stand up. "I look forward to your call," I say, and I walk out the door.
