Page 8 of Go Back to December
“Manny’s visiting his family. I’m keeping an eye on his place while he’s gone.”
More accurately, I’m mooching off his generosity until his lease runs out in a few weeks. He’s moving in with a friend and in exchange for selling the remaining furniture that won’t fit their shared townhouse, and handing over his keys to the leasing office, I’m living rent-free. For the last months of student loan payments, I’m taking any opportunity to save money.
“Oh.” Mom’s tone drops in disappointment as my phone pings with an email notification.
“Mom, I’ve got to run.”
“Okay, honey. We’ll call you from port. Love you Mellie.”
“Love you too.”
From: [email protected]
Dear Melody,
I’d like to echo the selection committee’s congratulations at being named one of this year’s finalists for the Lightman Fellowship Grants.
All finalists must provide a nomination letter from a colleague, sponsor, or other individual who can speak to your work and the communities you serve. We also request that each candidate submit a personal statement responding to the following question:
As a socialpreneur, what process did you follow to turn your idea into an enterprise? Please explain the steps that you took to turn your concept into a working business by detailing:
Research about the unmet business need and the market you support
How you raised funding and capital
Other challenges you surmounted to sustain your business
As a reminder, disclosing your status as a finalist on public channels, such as social media platforms, is prohibited and will result in the withdrawal of your application.
Sincerely,
Sung-jin Yang
Director, Lightman Fellowship Program
I read the email twice, and the attached form three more times before I finally look up from my phone. White spots dance across my vision. Mounting panic squeezes my lungs.
One question separates me from the pursuit of happiness. And I can’t answer it.
The twenty-first-floor reception of Blackhart & Steele exudes the same level of warmth as the Death Star.
Whoever re-decorated the office last year embraced that design aesthetic. They must be overly fond of industrial-gray carpet and dark walls. If you’re not careful, the glare from the overhead LED tube lights bouncing off the glossy white desks will blind you.
Lacy meets me in the open-plan fishbowl some Gen X-er lovingly dubbed the Mosh Pitt.
“I’m working to find time on Badger’s calendar for you to meet with him about the fellowship nomination letter,” she says without preamble. “His assistant swears he’s on vacation until January, but she lies to everyone.”
Stifling a whimper, I yank her from the cluster of desks and throw her my phone so she can read the Lightman director’s email.
“Are you seriously freaking out about two thousand words? You’re an excellent writer.”
“About things that are true.” I moan. “I can’t answer any of this.”
“Sure you can.”
As a lawyer at a big firm, bullshitting is a daily practice for Lacy and her colleagues. She forgets I don’t have that luxury. I should make her re-watch Working Girl again. Remind her that it’s fine to circumvent certain standards of practice when you’re already up here on the twenty-first floor. But it’s not okay while you’re trying to climb your way up.
