I got a lead in Jackson for a 6 month public relations internship, followed by an opportunity to be hired into the company. Let’s be honest: I slept through the two PR classes I had to take. But I dropped my resume online and was called almost immediately for an interview. This was a good sign, I could feel it.
“Sexgate” was 6 days ago.
We don’t discuss it. Dad has been giving me awkward looks and Mom is her usual bubbly self, seeming unaware of how psychologically damaged I have become. I’ve heard them three more times since the original incident. I have been camping out in my car whenever they get started.
The air got a little thinner in my Malibu. Was I having a panic attack? I rested my head on the steering wheel and took a few deep breaths. “You can do this, Erica,” I repeated to myself, not entirely convinced. Moving back home was a HUGE step backwards. I had already jumped feet first into life when I decided against all the Michigan universities, unlike my high school peers. I applied to the private Windsor University, which was 45 minutes south of Chicago, and was accepted with an almost full ride. 5 years, my diploma and $5,500 in loans later, I moved to Chicago in hopes of becoming the next hotshot protegé.
I graduated from Windsor University two years ago with my Bachelors in Interpersonal Communication with a minor in Marketing. Somehow, Malcolm Henderson Jr. High School thought I was more than qualified to serve as their guidance counselor, a cushier job than I expected fresh from college. I didn’t realize the reason behind my hiring was the fact that the school was nearly broke and they could only afford a “guidance counselor” who didn’t think to go into negotiation concerning salary. So when we received the mass memo that the school would not be reopening for the 2015-2016 school year, my jaw hit the floor.