Chapter Text
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
-Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
For a few short days, Samira feels entirely free.
There is something exhilarating about quitting your sensible, well-paying job before you’ve even started it. Twenty years of dedication and single-minded drive suddenly thrown out the window. Samira has never done hard drugs, never had the impulse to even try them, but she imagines the headrush that accompanies terminating your contract rivals a cocaine high. Goodbye, to the partner-track to-do list meticulously noted in her near-empty bullet journal. Goodbye, New Jersey.
She told her landlord months ago that she wouldn’t be renewing her lease. Her tiny one bedroom that she’s called home for the past six years will have a new inhabitant soon. A new student will be able to call it home, pass out on the couch after a long day at work or a long night out. They’ll stare into their own bloodshot eyes in the bathroom mirror before rallying to do it all again. They too will knock their hip against the kitchen counter and wince. The apartment she’s felt terrible for neglecting all this time is barely hers anymore. The weight of that guilt falls away. All she needs to worry about is painting over the scuff she left by the front door.
On the phone with her mom in late July, Samira’s voice is floaty. It belongs to someone she doesn’t even recognize. A woman with no clear plan. “I’ve been looking into a few fellowships on the west coast,” she says. “Toxicology, Pediatric EM, Sports Medicine. Dr. Al recommended a Geriatrics fellowship in Chicago.”
“Geriatrics?” Her mother asks, her own voice tinted with amused interest. “Does that come with standard office hours?”
Samira picks at her microwave dinner. It’s a pasta bowl from Trader Joe’s that she pulled from the very back of her freezer. It’s still too hot. Everything is too hot right now, the daily temperatures are regularly spiking into the nineties. There’s only so much central air and a tank top can do. It seems fitting that her last Pittsburgh summer is the hottest she’s ever endured. The city is sweating her out. “I think so. I haven’t actually applied anywhere yet, I’m just looking.”
“Chicago is very nice.”
A lot of places are very nice. California and Hawaii and New York City and St. Louis are all very nice places with fellowships and opportunities. With bars she could frequent and book stores she could peruse. Gravity doesn’t push against her shoulders as fiercely.
Samira could go anywhere.
Days bleed into weeks. Relief turns to dread. Samira has never been adrift before. The last time she sat down and really considered what she wanted she was comparing pre-med programs in her childhood bedroom.
Her gut fills with lead. And so, Samira sinks. Allows herself to slip beneath the lapping waves of work, sleep, work, sleep, work. The world unfurls in front of her, countless untrodden paths. Lives she has yet to live. It’s too much for any one person to work through at once. She can’t find it in herself to consider any of them. To plan a life that may abandon her at any moment. By the time she surfaces, pulls herself out of the pitiful spiral she finds herself in, it’s too late.
There is no sports medicine fellowship. No geriatrics program waiting for her. But, there is an Email.
The subject line simply reads: Opportunity.
The body of the Email isn’t much longer. Samira imagines Robby driving down a long stretch of empty highway, one hand on the handlebars of his motorcycle the other scrolling through his inbox. The wind whips through his hair as he struggles to press send with his thumb. A bug flies into his mouth.
Next year. Early Sept. to late January. Buddy of mine from residency is Chief of Emergency Med at Carson Creek. Looking for long term attending fill in. Can put in a good word. Details below.
Best, Michael