McTyeire Hall. Emory University, Atlanta, Georgia, May 20, 1964.
Adah knew, before she opened the envelop, what the contents would say. It wasn't as if she needed the envelop. She could tell by the way her fellow students, the way some of her professors, the way even some of the people at the clinic would look at her, that it was another rejection. The fact that she hadn't even received it until now was even more proof. Still, she opened it, slid out the folded paper with Emory's medical school emblem on top.
Dear Miss Price,
Thank you for your interest in our summer clinic internship. We regret to inform you, however...
She didn't read any further. She didn't have it. It wasn't the money this time. It wasn't her gender or her inexperience. Or even her ability.
It was, instead, her disability. He eyes easily spotted out phrases: exceptional performance, however, incredibly intensive, however, high complex maneuvers, however, no question of intellectual capabilities, however, however, revewoh...
Adah just sat for a while in her room, until the day turned dark and turned night, and then she let out a slow breath. Then she stood up and limped down the stairs of the dormitory, into the lobby, to the phones, an annoying long journey, and then she picked up a receiver and made a call.
"Yeah," she said, "I'll need to move by next week...Mmhm. I finally want to get started on it, we can get started then..."
And he'd known why she asked of it now, too. He knew that she didn't get in again, too. Adah sat there for a while longer after that, just trying to keep it all in perspective. There was only one thing holding her back, and it was about damn time she got rid of it.
And she thought she was ready for it; doubt wasn't something she was used to, but that was definitely what she felt.
[[ about fifty years later than I had intended, but post can be open, shure! ]]
Dear Miss Price,
Thank you for your interest in our summer clinic internship. We regret to inform you, however...
She didn't read any further. She didn't have it. It wasn't the money this time. It wasn't her gender or her inexperience. Or even her ability.
It was, instead, her disability. He eyes easily spotted out phrases: exceptional performance, however, incredibly intensive, however, high complex maneuvers, however, no question of intellectual capabilities, however, however, revewoh...
Adah just sat for a while in her room, until the day turned dark and turned night, and then she let out a slow breath. Then she stood up and limped down the stairs of the dormitory, into the lobby, to the phones, an annoying long journey, and then she picked up a receiver and made a call.
"Yeah," she said, "I'll need to move by next week...Mmhm. I finally want to get started on it, we can get started then..."
And he'd known why she asked of it now, too. He knew that she didn't get in again, too. Adah sat there for a while longer after that, just trying to keep it all in perspective. There was only one thing holding her back, and it was about damn time she got rid of it.
And she thought she was ready for it; doubt wasn't something she was used to, but that was definitely what she felt.
[[ about fifty years later than I had intended, but post can be open, shure! ]]