“Stop lying, everyone knowsBohemian Rhapsody.”
“Seriously, crazy woman, not everyone knows it.”
“You’ll learn.”
Thirty minutes later, we’re deep in our second round of drinks, an order of hot wings, and a room full of people singing Bohemian Rhapsody along with us.
I learned the low parts in record time.
We were both awful and off-key, but that didn’t matter to me, because I’m pretty sure I helped turn what was one of the lowest days Mia’s had in a very long time into a good one.
And oddly enough, it was a blast.
Which is all I ever have when I’m with her.
Pure, unadulterated, fun.
Ten
MIA
Interviewingwith a pro ball team like the New York Nighthawks is a process, even when you have an inside track with the decision makers. After several email exchanges with staff members in the human resources department, it was explained to me I would be applying for a position made vacant by a beloved team therapist who retired to take care of his ailing wife. In other words, I’d have big shoes to fill if I were to get the position.
No sweat.
I eat challenges for breakfast.
Before my phone interview, I am directed to complete an extensive online application including a detailed educational background, job history and personal statement. I decided to bite the bullet and use the personal statement section to explain my injury and how it hasn’t hindered me from performing my job.
After a few days of anxiously biting my nails, I was contacted again via email and was scheduled today for a preliminary phone interview (as he promised) with Rush’s friend in HR who is probably screening me to see if I’m worth passing off to the actual decision makers in the department.
I have a million questions about the other therapists on staff, the hours, and the players that I wish I knew the answers to prior to this interview, but I didn’t want to grill Rush about those things because he’s already gone above and beyond the call of friendship to hook this whole thing up.
I’m also a bit conflicted that this is a phone interview. While I explained myself in the application, Miranda will not see me to be assured that my leg is a non-issue.
For some athletes, a torn ACL can heal with proper medical attention and rest, but after two excruciating surgeries and a long recovery, my leg has never completely healed. I’m one of the unlucky ones. What’s wack-a-doodle about my injury is that there are some days that I don’t need my cane, and then there are other days when I feel like I might fall on my ass if I try to take a step without it.
The inconsistency of my pain can sometimes appear as if it isn’t real or as if I’m faking it. One day I’m walking fairly normally and another day I rather just sit. At my old job, my injury almost faded into the background. No one talked about it and it was never a hinderance to my work, but today I’m reminded just how much my life has been impacted by my knee.
I’m frightened that I’ll never get hired again.
And getting this job would be the dream.
The new dream.
Rush told me that Miranda was tough but fair, so all I can do is play the interview by ear and hope for the best.
“Afternoon, Miss Taylor.”
“Good afternoon, Miss Green.”
“Is it okay if I call you Mia?”
“I’d prefer it, thank you.”
“Great, and you can call me Miranda. So, Mia, I’m on a tight schedule today so let’s just jump in if you don’t mind.”
Okay, so we’re done with the pleasantries.
