Life Through a Lense

Chapter Nine

Michelle had invited me over to go over our resumes together. She told me that this was a sign from God that it was time for her to move on and get a job that could actually turn into a career.

"What did you major in?" She asked me.

"I was majoring in photography," I told her. "I was only about halfway through when my mom got sick."

She puckered up her lips like she always did when I brought up my mom. Some people did that. It's not that they didn't care, but they weren't sure how to deal with it. With people that I knew that were my age, the closest they came was having a grandparents die. Michelle, though, had both grandparents still living, parents still together, and no student debt. She was lucky and there was nothing wrong with that.

"Maybe you could finish your degree up here," she suggested.

I shook my head. "Maybe if it were just me. What about you? What did you major in?"

I already knew that she was majoring in English, but I was deflecting.

"English," she answered. "The closer I get to graduation, the less sure what I'm supposed to do with it."

I shrugged. "Librarian, teacher, editor, journalist, author...?"

"Teacher..." she muttered to herself, her eyes lighting up. "You really think I'd be a good teacher."

"Yeah, you'd be a great teacher," I told her, suddenly imagining her surrounded by a bunch of kindergarteners while she read them a picture book.

I looked at my own resume. Ever since high school I had been doing odd jobs. Babysitting, waitressing, I had even done some of my friends senior pictures after their parents saw my photography on Facebook and it went semi-viral. Maybe I could make some extra cash with Ivy's friends senior photos? I had lucked out big time at Old Man Finnegan's. A week after I had returned home and started working there again, a manager had quit and Mitchell basically handed me the job. But now? I was 22. I didn't have a degree. That doesn't exactly scream employee material beyond entry-level. Gritting my teeth together, I figured embellishing a little wouldn't hurt.

My leg tingled when my phone vibrated in my pocket. Pulling out the phone, I brought it up to my ear without bothering to look at who it was.

"Hello?" I answered.

"Hi, Dana!"

I instantly recognized the owner of the voice as Chris.

"Hey, what's up?" I responded.

I had gotten one text from Chris since the day we'd gotten coffee almost a week ago. Too busy to really think about him much, I had lost track of how much time had passed. Maybe he had met some other nice girl at a coffee shop that wasn't going to be forty minutes late for a date (I was still confused on whether or not that was a date).