As soon as the worst of it passes, I force myself to stand.
My room is a mess. Clothes are scattered from being tossed after cycling through outfits before deciding on one. I apparently slept in it. My makeup bag is halfway open on the dresser, brushes sticking out like casualties in a civil war. My phone is lying face down on my nightstand—dead, probably.
Reaching for it, something else catches my attention.
The flyer sitting perfectly tucked under my phone.
Oh. Right.
Picking it up, I stare at the image for a beat too long. The bright, bubbly text, the stupid little graphic with the people holding hands in the middle. The paper is creased awkwardly a few times from how I stuffed it into my bra last night, and there’s a cornermissing that I don’t remember seeing when I took it off the light post.
Teach English abroad. We pay BIG BUCKS.
The bold headline taunts me. Why did I take this with me?
I shift my weight to settle back down onto the edge of my bed and stare down at the contact info printed neatly across the bottom of the page. A phone number, an email address, even a tagline promising“fully funded international opportunities for motivated applicants”.
It almost sounds too good to be true.
And yet, for some inexplicable reason, I catch myselfactuallyconsidering it.
Would it be so crazy to see exactly where this program would be taking place?
I mean, maybe it’s Thailand. Or Japan. Or some small country I’ve never even heard of. Maybe it’s teaching English to kids who’ve never stepped foot outside their villages. Maybe it’s teaching business language to adults in a big corporate city. Or maybe it’s nothing like the glossy promises at all.
I’ve always wanted to travel in that whimsical kind of way people romanticize with Pinterest boards and travel hashtags. The chance to see something outside of this state, to feel like I didn’t have to apologize for wanting more than working doubles on the weekends at Old Navy in order to scrape together rent one month at a time.
Even getting to another state always felt like some far-off fantasy. I could never justify nor afford blowing that kind of money without some reason other thanwantingto. But at thispoint in my life, there’s not much holding me here other than my friends, and soon enough, they’ll be moving on too.
They’re all graduating this year with their shiny bachelor’s degrees and polished resumes and well-paved roads stretching out in front of them. Me? I’m still pathetically struggling to make it through my associate’s.
It won’t be long now before they all move on. They’ll get their “big kid” jobs and start posting photos of their new apartments, tagging their coworkers in fun team-building activities while climbing their way to salaries that would make me weep. All the while, I’m still trying to figure out if I can afford textbooks and groceries at the same time.
It’s not their fault. It’s just life. But it’s also… inevitable. Sooner or later, they’ll leave and I’ll be here.Left behind.
So what’s keeping me here, really? Another shift schedule at my dead end retail job? A campus that feels more like a punishment than an opportunity? A town I’ve already grown too familiar with?
With a sigh, I grab my phone. My thumb hovers over the screen for a second, just long enough to let doubt creep in.
What the hell am I doing?
But the thought slips away as quickly as it comes. I take a breath, roll my shoulders back, and punch the number in before I can talk myself out of it. My fingers tremble slightly, which is ridiculous because this is just a phone call. I’m not committing to anything just yet.
As soon as the line rings twice, a bright and peppy voice picks up the other end. “Hello! This is Miss Dori with Bright Horizons! How may I help you?”
I scramble for words, but my mouth decides now’s the time to remind me I’ve been breathing through it all night. “Uh, hi… I’m calling about a flyer I saw? About a teaching job abroad?”
“Oh! Yes, wonderful!” she gushes, practically clapping through the phone. “You must be calling about the Moscow English Abroad Program I’m hosting!”
Moscow?I blink. “Moscow? As in… Russia?”
“Yes! That’s right!” she chirps. “It’s one of our more exclusive programs at the moment, but such a beautiful one. You’re going to love it!”
“Uh… yeah, maybe.” Does she think I’m already committing to it?
“Perfect! So the program includes housing, a weekly stipend provided by the family who will be hosting you, and training before you go over. We also offer cultural immersion activities and language classes to help you acclimate while you’re there.” Miss Dori’s voice practically vibrates as she speaks.
Weekly stipend? Housing? Cultural activities?
