I look at the people sitting around me. A small girl is gripping her mother’s phone, the bright cartoon reflecting in her big blue eyes. An older woman with silver hair twisted up in a bun is using navy yarn to knit something that makes me think of home and looking into the vast midnight skies, waiting for a star to make a wish on. There’s an older man to my right in a worn suit with a pen and a newspaper, circling what appears to be job listings.
I scoot over closer to him.
“Hi,” I greet him.
He looks up at me, surprised. Most people on the subway don’t talk unless they are on the phone jabbering about in a way that makes everyone look at them wondering why they can’t just text.
“Sorry, I just noticed you were circling job openings. I’m Rachel,” I say before pulling out my phone, navigating to a website that might be helpful while still smiling at the man. “What are you looking for?”
“Anything that will pay the bills,” he replies quietly. His voice is rough like sandpaper and hollow as if he's lost all hope and is just going through the motions.
“What have you done in the past?” I ask, the job website pulling up on my screen.
“A little of everything,” he answers vaguely.
“Okay,” I murmur, thinking of how to help this man that seems drained of possibility. “What’s your dream job?”
“My dream job?” he questions with a hint of bitterness in his breath.
“What did you want to be when you were a kid?” I ask.
“An astronaut, but I highly doubt that’s going to help me now,” he huffs.
I smile at him softly. “Maybe not, but I don’t think what’s important is that you wanted to be an astronaut. I think what’s important is remembering that, at one time, you thought you were capable of doing anything.”
He sighs. “I’m Kenneth.”
“Hi, Kenneth,” I say. “Let’s find something that makes you remember how capable you are.”
His lips finally pull into something that I’m going to consider to be a smile, succumbing to my sunshine. It’s not a wide grin, but the potential is there for one. “Okay.”
“Okay!” I say brightly.
I’ve interviewed enough people while working at the newspaper that I’ve learned most of us are more alike than we are different. We are all born with dreams, with hopes, with a belief that we can do anything. Somewhere along the way, life makes some of us forget. That’s when life becomes something we are just getting through instead of getting to do.
By the time the subway arrives at my stop, I’ve texted Kenneth a few possibilities along with the ones he’s circled in the newspaper.
“Good luck,” I say to him as I stand up to leave.
“Thanks,” he replies. “Thanks for seeing me.”
My left eye twitches with a tear before I can halt it.I cry easily, especially when inspired by genuine moments. It doesn’t matter if it’s happiness, sadness, or something in between—sincerity is worthy of being felt wholly. Kenneth’s gratitude is sincere.
I smile at Kenneth and scurry out the opening door.
I hustle up the subway steps, pausing when the sun finds my face. I close my eyes and let it warm me, taking a deep breath before I get lost in the busyness of the city.
I know the building I’m going to. I’ve seen it before. I’ve never been inside, but when you want to become an author as much as I do, you know where the success of that career exists in the city as if those places are landmarks.
I find it easily, and when I slip inside, my veins trickle with an excitement that fills me with something between needing to be pinched to make sure this is actually happening and throwing up.
I hate that nausea is often a companion to euphoria, as if your body doesn’t know how to trust something that feels this good.
The elevator takes me to the twenty-second floor and empties me into a foyer of mirrors and marble. This isn’t any publishing house. This isthepublishing house. Ellsworth & Carter Publishing is the largest publishing business and cranks out bestsellers like hens lay eggs—almost daily.
My legs quiver and my vision blurs, making me remember that I haven’t had anything to eat today. It’s hard to eat when you’re excited.
I open the large glass door and I'm greeted by a woman whose voice is so high-pitched and bubbly that it makes me think of cotton candy and Ferris wheels. “Hi. I’m Naomi. Do you have an appointment?”
