This is it. The moment I’m supposed to swoop in and display my colored feathers to the room, show them what I’m capable of. Though I painstakingly put together the piece last night instead of sleeping, I’m not in the mood to trumpet my achievements. I feel a dull beige. But it’s my turn, and the entire room is staring at me.
“Last night was this big benefit for the Armenian school, and Congresswoman Grove was there promoting her Genocide Recognition Bill—”
“Eh,” he interrupts. “Remember what I said last time?”
Instead of being intimidated as usual, something clicks in me—like I woke up—and in a flash, I remember what I need to be doing.
With more confidence I say, “Right, you said the Armenian genocide was a borefest.”
“I didn’t say exactly that,” Richard says, scratching his head. “I said it didn’t fit the brand of this station.”
He didn’t, but okay. “I got that exclusive interview with Congresswoman Grove,” I say, straight-faced. Mark looks personally offended. Richard doesn’t speak, considering.
I switch my laptop over to the video of my interview with her and show him the still. “Want me to play it?” I ask.
“That’s not necessary,” he says.
I quickly add. “I already edited the segment, I can set it live any time.”
And it was hell. I strung together the interviews, my standups, and the other footage, including shots of Erebuni, which I cried to, especially when I reviewed the film where she smiled right at me, showing how she felt about me in that moment. I could only watch that one time.
His face reddens. “I’ll have to review that footage.”
“Why, Richard?” I ask, and man, I am sounding indignant again. But also, screw him. It’s like he’s getting off on belittling me in front of my colleagues.
“I don’t know how many times I have to say this, but these are sensitive topics and you’re a junior reporter. I have to vet your questions, her answers. We can’t put just anything on the air.”
Just anything. Nope, not today. I am so sick and tired of being treated like this, and I know I’m not the perfect employee, but he is the one behaving badly, and everyone needs to know. I’m done. He caught me on the wrong day. My face reddens and my body braces itself, as if preparing for battle. “I think you don’t want meto be the face of your big story. Even though I’m the first reporter here, at least since I’ve been around, to get an exclusive interview with Congresswoman Grove, you don’t want to air it because, one, you prefer me to be sniveling and submissive and take whatever crap story you shovel my way, and two, you refuse to see that an Armenian story has any merit. So you are both sex—”
“That’s enough,” he cracks. And though I should be relieved for the sake of my career that my boss stopped me short of calling him sexist and racist outright, I’m furious. My entire body is buzzing with adrenaline as he continues. “That’s bullshit. Your ineptitude and bad attitude are too much. You’re off chasing stories we didn’t ask you to cover. I asked you multiple times to stay in your lane, and you keep crossing over.”
Mark coughs. Richard turns to him, red-faced. “Yes, Mark?”
Mark has this look painted on, false humility. It spells danger. “Sir, I wasn’t going to bring this up in public, but considering the conversation... I noticed that Nareh posted an unauthorized story on KTVA’s website. A little cooking class, which you told her specifically not to—”
“I know what I told her. Thank you, Mark.”
I gasp, out loud, like a character on a reality show. Except this is my life, and I have the sudden, horrible realization that I can’t control it anymore. The wheel’s slipped off the track, and it’s grinding onto dirt, into the wild unknown.
I’m sputtering when Richard picks up. “I normally am not one to enable snitches,” he says, glaring at Mark. That feels good, but my body feels like it’s compressing, trying to shove itself away so no one can see, because it knows that what’s coming next can’t be good.
Richard plants himself to face me. There’s no remorse in him. “Nareh, that’s it. I want you out of here by the end of the day.” He looks to the rest of the room as if remembering they’re all there. “Sorry, everyone. You didn’t need to see this.”
Sorry, everyone?The room feels so stiff. My heart is pumping so fast that it’s causing my body to shake, and I don’t want anyone to see me like this. I stand up too fast, but I force myself not to show how dizzy I am, that I need to put a hand on the table to steady myself. A second later I fold my laptop and grab my water bottle, which clanks against the metal of my computer with every step, a mortifying auditory reminder that I’m leaving the room while everyone else is staying.
I can’t believe I remember how to walk. Someone else seems to be carrying me. I’m on autopilot. I’m at my desk. I set down my stuff, ready to clear my workspace. I yank my bouquet of fake peonies by the neck and shove them into my bag. I’d always imagined packing my desk accoutrements joyfully, looking forward to my next gig. Me, quiet Nar, whatever-you-need-I’ll-do-it Nar, fired for insubordination. Now I only wish I had been more rebellious. I could march back in there and scream at him, but the fuse has died out, and I feel myself shriveling, becoming even smaller than before.
Sometime later, maybe five minutes, maybe thirty, my coworkers—no, ex-coworkers—shuffle out of the conference room. I was hoping to have left before the meeting to spare myself further humiliation, but here we are. There’s a presence behind me. Elaine, Winnie, and MacKenzie—the anchor who has never so much as acknowledged me—are at the threshold of my cubicle. I give them a wan smile.
“That was really messed up,” MacKenzie says.
Winnie adds, “You might have a wrongful termination case on your hands.”
A teeny part of my heart smiles at their sweetness. I’m not sure if that’s true, anyway. I did post on the website without approval. I sigh at how I was pushed so far into a corner that I thought sneaking around Richard was my only option.
I thank them in a way that I hope is genuine yet dismissive of their ideas for further action, then wonder when everyone is going to go so I can finish clearing my desk.
Elaine stands up straighter. “Hey, the piece you pitched, it’s all done?”
