Rescuing Destiny

My poetry professor disowned Destiny. He, who raises his arms in praise when speaking of the beautiful language of poetry, who strokes the reddish blonde hair on his chin while gladly absorbing silence, and who recites the words of Robert Frost using his redneck alter ego. He completely dismissed her as mumbo jumbo during the critique of my last poem. And again after class while we stood in Bozorth’s lobby, facing muted television sets. So I decided to rescue Destiny from Professor X’s skepticism. While the NASDAQ numbers flashed across one of the television screens and Larry King’s lips mouthed words on another, I recounted the events that allowed me to accept the intangible…

I slept atop my full-sized bed, covers over my head though it was almost the end of August, when my cell started singing its version of a salsa. I fumbled my way toward my night stand - fingers jingling keys and moving aside bobby pins - before finally grabbing onto the slick metal. My thumb nudged itself between the mouthpiece and earpiece and flipped the phone open. Twelve bright blue numbers appeared: 856-256-4000. I brought the phone closer into view and pressed the green ignore button. The half note of the salsa became a quarter note before I closed the silvery flap and fell back into my trance.

At 12pm, I finally opened my eyes. I lay on my back and stared at the cracked white ceiling above me, tracing the zig-zag of the lines with crusty eyes. One of the lines had joined forces with another, to continue on with the destruction of plaster and white paint. They had created the symbol of infinity. The number 8. Eight, I thought. Eight, five, six. I jumped out of bed and grabbed my phone. My thumb pressed the missed call button and there it was - the unknown number. My thumb then pushed send.

“Hello and welcome to Rowan University. If you know your parties extension, please dial it now.”

I took the phone away from my ear and closed my eyes. The blurry details zoomed into memory: unbearable buzzing of my cell informing me of a message, dialing *86 and my password, retrieving a message from someone in the ESL department somewhere in Rowan University, pushing the number seven at the end of the message, hanging up and falling back into a zombie like comma.

My eyes watered as I realized the gravity of my mistake. I had erased a message about a possible graduate assistantship, the second offer I had received from Rowan University in a 2 week time span. My legs trembled, like two piano keys that had been struck over and over again but I managed to pull myself together. I held my long legs up to my chest, inhaled, and let go. My legs repositioned themselves, dangling over my full-sized bed. My toes barely skimming the floor. I lay on my back again facing eight, infinity, forever.

I stretched out my arms and decided I would forget about the assistantship. But before I could do that I needed one more look. I walked over to my laptop, directed the arrow towards the little blue e on the screen, and went on to the Rowan website. A picture of a lit building appeared. Its tall glass windows welcoming me as did the words, “Welcome to Rowan University”.

My eyes scanned the site and absorbed the information that attracted me to Rowan - the flexibility of the writing classes, the course descriptions and program requirements. And that’s when I saw it across the page - ESL Faculty and Staff. I held my breath and hit the Enter key. And there they were. The twelve magic numbers.

“Rowan Camden, how may I help you?”

I recounted the events to the secretary once and was placed on hold. My breath began to quicken. My temples ached. My fingernails exposed the pink that lies underneath the nail bed.

”Sorry to keep you on hold. I don’t know who called you exactly but I’ll transfer you to someone else who may be able to help you,” she said.

“Ok. Thanks for trying,” I replied.

I closed my eyes again. Memories of another kind filled my thoughts. Massive branches of Red Oak trees. Blades of grass dripping wet from rain. The face of a man I didn’t recognize –

“Hello Sujeiry, how are you? This is Janet."

"Hello Janet. I'm doing well." I replied.

"I was actually the one who called you about an interview for a graduate assistantship."

My eyes shot open.

“Oh, it was you. That's great!" I replied.

“Can you come in on Thursday at 3pm? Does that work for you?”

“Thursday is perfect.” I replied.

"See you then".

I hung up the phone and exhaled. Thursday would be the day to receive what was meant. I knew it was Destiny.