\u201cT<\/span>ell me a little about yourself,\u201d the chair of the English Department says. A white cane with a red tip leans against his desk.<\/p>\n

Prior to the interview, I knew he was blind. Still, I carefully dressed as if to make a good impression: my hair, curled; makeup, understated, a pale pink gloss on my lips. I wear a white-polka-dot, slate-blue skirt with matching jacket. A string of pearls encircles my neck. Pantyhose, the first time I wear them in years, sheen my legs.<\/p>\n

I hold my vita, one crisp-white sheet of paper. I don\u2019t know how I should give it to him. It\u2019s barely even a real job, just an adjunct teaching position, paying $1,500 per course. A small job, almost pathetic, but the best I can hope for.<\/p>\n

Tell me a little about yourself.<\/p>\n

Should I say: I am twenty seconds out of rehab \u2013 well, technically, a few weeks \u2013 but it feels like twenty seconds. Should I say: If I don\u2019t get this job, earn some money, act like a respectable adult and wife, my husband has threatened to leave me?<\/p>\n

I decide it\u2019s wise to omit the fact I was in rehab for an eating disorder and a sexual addiction. Wise to omit the adultery, the Thunderbird Motel, a diet consisting of potato chips and carrots. Wise to omit my husband\u2019s anger. My shame. Perhaps even wise to omit mention of any personal life \u2013 or a life \u2013 altogether.<\/p>\n

Tell me a little about yourself.<\/p>\n

For previous job interviews, with men, I always wore slightly provocative clothes. Now, to say nothing of the fact that he can\u2019t see me anyway, I know better than to rely on appearance to fill the gaps in my vita. Yet I wonder: If he could see, would he be impressed with my new outfit, buttoned tight to the neck, perfect for the classroom? If only he could touch my face to know how carefully I applied makeup: not too much, not too little.<\/p>\n

I mumble the few details of a lackluster job record without outright lying.<\/p>\n

He explains the requirements to teach Composition 101 and 102. His right eye squints, almost closed, with scars around the lid. His left eye, more unnerving, is open, cloudy, opaque, like a clot of milk. I clasp my vita so tightly it wrinkles.<\/p>\n

Outside, late-summer Georgia heat presses against the air-conditioned windows. A film of moisture bubbles the bottom rim of glass distorting the oak trees in the yard. Inside, the fluorescent lights flicker.<\/p>\n

In these new professional clothes, purchased for the interview, I feel watched, conspicuous, ridiculous. What does he sense about me, unseen? Suppose a residue of the Thunderbird Motel \u2013 outside of town, off Route 156 \u2013 lingers? Who is this woman, after all, whose vita contains only dead-end jobs, sitting across from a man who is chair of an English department? Maybe I should have dabbed perfume on my wrists? A scent of gardenia or lilac. I wonder if there\u2019s any chance that, if he saw me, maybe he\u2019d recognize a newly forming woman trying to be respectable.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve been scrolling and unscrolling my vita. I smooth it out.<\/p>\n

\u201cI brought you my vita,\u201d I say.<\/p>\n

On the other side of the room is a small table upon which sits a machine. It seems to be a device that \u201ctranslates\u201d written words into Braille \u2013 or something like that.<\/p>\n

He holds out his hand. I slide it against his palm until his fingers grasp it.<\/p>\n

I want to trace my fingers across the pads of his fingers.<\/p>\n

He places the vita atop his neat desk beside a Ticonderoga No. 2 yellow pencil, brand new. I want to pick it up. I need to fiddle with something. I want to take it home with me. Or, I want to test if he can see even a little, whether he would know if I stole it. Might he feel a small stir of air if I lean across his desk?<\/p>\n

The thought of stealing his pencil causes me to sweat. Can he smell me? I inhale slowly.<\/p>\n

He thanks me for coming in for the interview. As soon as he confirms enrollment numbers, he says, he\u2019ll know how many adjuncts he\u2019ll need to hire.<\/p>\n

I don\u2019t quite know if this means, given sufficient enrollments, I have the job or not. \u201cThank you,\u201d I say. I tell him my phone number is on my vita.<\/p>\n

I open the door to leave but don\u2019t know if I should close it behind me. I glance at him. He gazes in my general direction, smiling. \u201cYou can leave the door open,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n

\u201cOkay,\u201d I say, smiling.<\/p>\n

In the corridor, I rush past students, changing classes, into the women\u2019s room. I stand by the sink, cold water gushing over my palms. I glance at my face in the mirror: makeup and hair still perfect. A young woman, beside me, teases her bangs until they poof out from her forehead. From the corner of her eye, she glances at me glancing at her. I turn off the water and dry my hands.<\/p>\n

Now, I\u2019m alone in the silent corridor. Just as I\u2019m about to head toward the parking lot, the department chair turns the corner, tapping his cane on the linoleum. I take a few steps forward, about to pass him. \u201cThanks again for coming in,\u201d he says. \u201cI\u2019ll be in touch soon.\u201d<\/p>\n

I want the job. I don\u2019t want the job. I wonder how, even if I get the job, I\u2019ll be able to stand in a classroom in front of thirty or so students, all of them staring at me.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

… it\u2019s wise to omit the fact I was in rehab for an eating disorder and a sexual addiction.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-2206","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-essays"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2206","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2206"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2206\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":2412,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2206\/revisions\/2412"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2206"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2206"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/ducts.sundresspublications.com\/content\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2206"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}