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Show 7 hesitated. An interview. If she could just get an interview! That afternoon she had skipped a history test to come here, something had to be gained from this. If she could just talk with the personal manager, explain her situation, he would sense her determination. She would request a few minutes with him. Or set up an appointment anyway. It was worth a try. Back to the opened office door she turned, walking back to it. Just in time to see the secretary slip a white sheet of paper into the wastecan beside her desk. Seeing Sharon, she straightened in her chair, eyebrows arching in surprise. That white sheet of paper, Sharon suddenly realized, was her application. The secretary resettled her shoulders, as if her feathers had been ruffled; her mouth hardened. Sharon whirled away. Down the hallway, through the store aisles she walked as rapidly as possible, her head pounding, holding herself back from breaking into a run, an emptiness swelling inside her. Outside the front door, she began to cry. And as she walked the dozen blocks home, the teardrops fell unchecked down her cheeks. They felt good-how good they felt!-the hot stinging of them. She sought the pain in her, pulling it around her like a cloak. She was beaten! That was the way of the world: to hold her down, to overcome her. It was best not to try. To be lied to, to be made a fool. That growing emptiness began to ache. At home on the kitchen counter was a double layer chocolate |
