I have a large forehead. Not huge like from the movie Mask, but large enough. It's like when God finished putting me together he had an extra forehead left over (you know...like those few extra screws left over when you put together a piece of Ikea furniture?), didn't know what to do with it, and just slapped it on top of the one I already had.  I was in high school in the eighties right when an E.F. Hutton Law commercial was very popular. The slogan was "when E.F. Hutton talks, people listen." Well, one of my "friends" decided that I should be graced with the name E.F., which stands for extra forehead. Nice. Needless to say I wore bangs for decades after. My dad always tried to make me feel better about this by saying "in Africa, a large forehead is a sign of intelligence." Okay, two things: we don't live in Africa so my forehead was just a big ass forehead, not a sign of intelligence, and I sucked at math AND science. My dad's logic was highly flawed. Now that I am an adult, I have embraced this abundance of forehead God cursed, I mean blessed, me with. I kind of don't have a choice since I have chosen to embrace my natural hair. This means that I no longer get my hair straightened and now have a very cute little afro. But this also means that my forehead shows. People don't make fun of my forehead now (that I know of).  But now Ethiopians come up to me all the time hugging me. Imagine the scene.  You're in a store and you feel the heat of a stranger's stare. Now, you're a born and raised Jersey girl, so gazes fixed on you too long illicit an immediate "you lookin' at me?" response, with full-on Jersey accent.  Then this person smiles and proceeds to hug you and speak to you in a language that you don't understand. After confirming that you aren't having a stroke and losing the ability to understand the English language, the conversation goes down like this:

     "How long have you been here?" stranger asks.

     "Been where?" you ask. 

     "Here, in the United States," stranger responds. 

     "Oh, I was born here."

     "No! You're Ethiopian!"

     "Bruh. I was born and raised in Jersey." 

     "No!"

     "Yup."

Then I always get this stinky side-eye from them like I'm trying to deny my true heritage. This happens at least 3 times a month. Seriously, though? I need a shirt that says "no, I am not Ethiopian." There's nothing wrong with Ethiopians, I just get tired of them all thinking I'm a traitor. I will admit that the people that come up to me thinking I'm Ethiopian have foreheads like mine....and keen noses like mine....and eyes....like....mine. Excuse me, will you? I'm going to go order one of those DNA tests everyone gets (and I'll hold off on the t-shirt idea until I get the results back).  

The door flew open as if some invisible force was suddenly freeing them from the room they were trapped in. The red gel they were suspended in slowly melted to the floor and evaporated into reddish-purple mist. Araminta and Caleb both began gasping for air. Caleb was able to gain control of his breath more quickly.  He slowly took a step forward, placing his weight on just one foot, unsure of what was beneath him now. Once sure that there was something solid was beneath him, he lumbered to the threshold of the door and tilted his head to peak out slightly into this new world he and Araminta had been transported to. He couldn't see anything, but the deep, guttural sounds of the fauna of this world put images in his mind of creatures with statures much more immense than his own, and the sounds were getting rapidly closer and filling his stomach with fear. Araminta stumbled over to Caleb, still in a daze from this alien way of transportation, and hunched over beside him placing her hands on her knees. She was trying to quiet her coughs but couldn't seem to steady her breath (the Vorsha told her the human male lung capacity would allow Caleb to adapt faster than her to the new atmosphere). Caleb placed his hand on Araminta's back without breaking his stare into the white void and began patting her as if he were burping a new baby. His patting quieted her coughs long enough for her to hear the sounds that were vexing his senses. 

     "What is that?!" she hissed.

Caleb looked down at her and put his index finger over his mouth and shook his head and shrugged his shoulders in one simultaneous movement. Araminta finally stood up and moved behind Caleb, standing on her tip toes to peer over his shoulders. Caleb remembered the small purple object the Vorsha gave him and the instructions of what to do with it once they arrived. He pulled the object from his satchel (also given to him by the Vorsha) and stared at it for a moment. 

     "You aren't really going to put that stuff on your eyes are you?" Araminta said as she grabbed his wrist.

     "It's the only way to see what's out there, Ara!" he whispered. 

Caleb placed his finger on the object just like the Vorsha showed him. After a few seconds the top of the object suddenly popped open to reveal the same red gel they were transported in. Caleb gently dabbed at the gel with his index finger. He closed his eyes and rubbed some over his eyelids. He steadied himself not sure of what he would see. He opened his eyes. He gasped. The world was suddenly filled with emerald green landscapes. There were Vorsha and Nekmits (the source of the low, guttural sounds) walking everywhere.  Caleb now had noxu (the ability to see and instantly have all knowledge of Hexateria--the planet they were on--that happened once the gel was placed on the eyes).  The scene reminded Caleb of rustic farm scenes back on planet Earth. 

     "It's beautiful!" he said. 

     "What's beautiful? There's nothing there," she said.

He turned to Araminta and placed some of the gel on her eyelids. Once she opened her eyes she had noxu, and could see beauty Caleb spoke of. She took the purple object from Caleb and stared at it for a moment.  Suddenly it all made perfect sense.  Caleb grabbed Araminta's hand and, armed only with the satchel the Vorsha gave them, they began to explore Hexateria.  Their new home. 

Did I get it or not? Today will be a really good day if you will just let me know—either way. I know, I know. I need to be patient, have faith. And I should have plenty of that because it is my name. To be honest, God, if one more person tells me to be encouraged, I think I'm going to scream. It's been a month since the interview. A month. If it isn't meant for me that's...well... just let me hear something today. I don't mean to sound pushy or arrogant, well, okay maybe pushy but can you blame me? I'm kind of tired of waiting. It's time to start my day. I'm thankful for the tomatoes in my garden, they really are lovely this year. Amen.

Faith prays every day, yet it's the thing she feels most conflicted about. She won't admit to anyone that sometimes she thinks God just helps her cope with what life throws at her. She knows what is expected of her: go to church, keep God first, pray hard, work hard, don't complain. But sometimes it makes her insides curl. She walked down the bright hallway to the Student Activities office. She paused and took a deep breath before walking inside. She knew today is the day that she would hear about the big decision. She put her hand on the doorknob, drew in a deep breath. “Smile. Breathe. Be ready for the day,” she said to herself. She turned the doorknob and walked in.

     “Good Morning, everyone!”

The office was busy, as usual. It was always busy at the end of the semester. Lots of activities and meetings to wrap things up.

     “Good morning, Faith,” said Cherie.

     “Good Morning, Cherie!”

     “Listen, after you get settled, why don't you come in here so we can chat for a bit.”

     “Sounds great. Let me just throw my things down and run to the bathroom.”

     “Take your time. I've got tea brewing. Earl Grey.”

     “You know, the bathroom can wait. You're brewing my favorite tea so it can't be good.”

     “Faith, come in. Have a seat.”

Cherie handed Faith a cup of Earl Grey in a smiley face mug. She pulled up a chair beside Faith and put her hand on Faith's arm. Faith felt her hope take a swan dive into her stomach.

     “I'm so sorry. Dean Tyler gave the job to an external candidate,” Cherie said.

Faith placed that stupid smiley-faced mug on a coaster that said “shit happens.” She looked down at her lap and tried to gather herself. She could feel the tears welling up and her throat tightening. She tried to swallow the wad of disappointment stuck in her throat.

     “He feels you need more time to establish yourself as an administrative figure in order to be taken seriously in a position of authority by the students and other administrators.”

     “So...I didn't get the job as director of student activities because I have a good relationship with my students? That makes perfect sense.”

     “Faith,” Cherie put her hand on Faith’s hand, “I understand how disappointed you are. But...did you really want this?”

     “Of course, I wanted it Cherie! I've been your assistant for five years! You're retiring. I know this office like the back of my hand. This is the next logical step for my career.”

     “Well, yes, when you look at it like that I guess it is. But something is pulling at you. I've been in this profession long enough to know when someone's heart isn't in it.”

     “My heart's been in nothing else, Cherie. Education is all I've ever known. I have dedicated myself to these students and this office.”

     “That goes without saying. You are an extremely hard worker but... it's almost like...well...you do it because it's what's expected of you. It's not your passion.”

     “Education is what fits, Cherie.”

     “Does it really fit, Faith? There's a difference between what fits and being fit for something,” said Cherie.

     “I need some time to think. This is just too much to take in.”

     “What's too much, Faith?”

     “This. Not getting promoted. You telling me it's not my passion. I worked hard for five years for nothing.”

     “I wouldn't say that, Faith. You've contributed a lot to this office. You've been my right hand. We wouldn't be as successful as we are without your enthusiasm.”

     “My enthusiasm seems to have cost me a promotion.”

     “Faith, let me be real with you. This,” Cherie waved around as if showing off her office, “doesn't drive you. When we sit around in meetings and talk about student development theory, your eyes glaze over after about fifteen minutes.”

     “So I'm not driven because I don't enjoy sitting around with a bunch of people that love to hear themselves talk?”

     “Faith. I know you are upset. Try and listen. Education is what you do, but it doesn't make you want to get out of bed every day.”

     “So what, I just leave education? Find a new career? In what? Education is what I went to school for. What would I even do? And what would my parents think if I just up and changed careers?”

     “Faith, I can't tell you what's right for you, only you know that. You could stay on as the assistant director.”

Faith let out a disapproving hmph sound.

     “and….AND” Cherie was trying to calm the storm brewing in Faith’s mind, “in the meantime you can apply for director positions at other colleges...you'd be great at it. I know you’d be great at it. But I don’t think it’s what you really want. And there truly is nothing worse than waking up one day and realizing that your whole life was a mistake. I've seen people live with that kind of regret.”

     “Name one.”

Cherie stared at Faith for a moment and let the silence hover between them. She walked over to her bookshelf and grabbed a picture of herself in a graduation cap and gown with a wide smile on her face. She showed it to Faith.

     “That was me when I graduated from college. I had a Bachelor's degree in Fine Arts and that smile was filled with all of the dreams I had of publishing my own magazine. I had a job as a glorified grunt on a magazine and worked another part-time job just to make ends meet. I had a boss that was threatened by me and tried her best to stifle my natural ability. That part-time job in student activities ended up becoming a full-time job. It was good money. I was very competent at what I did.” 

Cherie took the photo back from Faith, wiped the dust from the top of the frame with her index finger, and placed it back on the shelf. She adjusted it back to an angle facing the window. “Forty years later, here I am.”

     “So, you didn't take this job on purpose? I mean, this wasn't what you wanted to do all of your life? That's hard to believe. This fits you.”

     “Yeah, it fits. You can make anything fit. Then soon you get comfortable and you start sleepwalking through life. And if you’re lucky, you wake up before it’s too late. That's why I'm retiring. I'm old now...well, older...and I have a nice retirement nest egg. I'm going to use it to figure out what I really want to do with the rest of this life that I've got left.”

“If you saw all this going on with me Cherie, why didn't you say something five years ago?”

     “Five years ago, I didn't feel it was my place to say anything. I didn’t know anything about you except that you were driven and determined. But I caught glimpses of you over the years when you didn’t think I was looking.”

     “And?”

     “And I hoped that you would come to realize things on your own.”

     “I wouldn’t call not getting the job realizing it on my own.”

     “No,” Cherie said, “that’s the universe giving you a gentle push letting you know that you need something different.”

     “What does that mean?”

     “It means that it's time for Watermelon Wednesday. Did you pick up some watermelon?”

     “Yes, of course I did.”

     “And when will your garden be providing us with watermelon?”

     “Mid-July. Are you going to explain your last statement?”

     “Nope. I think you're smart enough to figure it out.”

Faith is in her favorite pair of overalls and her green crocs working in her garden. She grabs her green plastic bucket and begins to cut the larger lettuce leaves from the plant. She lets out a shriek of happiness when she notices that the flowers on her tomato plants have now turned into tiny green tomatoes. She walks through the tomato patch, brushing the basil plants along the way with her hands. She puts her hand to her nose and breathes in the and breathes in the peppery, minty smell the basil has left behind on her fingers. She walks to the raised bed where her cucumbers are growing.

     “Ah, you’ve begun to climb the trellis, I see! Won't be long before I have some cucumbers!”

She pulls a few stray weeds from around the cucumbers and works her way toward the peppers. As she's weeding, she looks at her peppers.

     “You fellas should be showing me some flowers soon, too.”

She walks over to another raised bed to look at her herbs. They are coming along nicely. She brushed her hand across them, and lets the aromas rise to meet her nose.

     “Oh boy. Smelling your herbs.”

Faith jumps and drops the bucket in her left hand.

     “Cathy! I didn't hear you come through the gate.”

     “Obviously. Okay, sweets, let's have it.”

     “Have what?”

     “Come on, Faith. You're smelling your herbs.”

     “I always smell my herbs.”

     “Yes, but when you start taking deep focused breaths, something’s got your dander up.”

Faith snipped a few sprigs of rosemary, placed her bucket that she dropped upright on the ground and put the rosemary in it. “I didn't get it.”

     “Damn! I'm so sorry. I know how much you wanted it. What happened?”

     “That's the kicker. Apparently having a good relationship with my students is not a good thing for a director of student activities to have.”

     “Oh for the love of all things deep fried.”

     “I will never get used to your sayings, Cathy!”

Faith and Cathy both laughed. Faith picked up the bucket and motioned it towards Cathy.

     “The usual?”

     “Of course.”

     “I have some nice radishes. Can you use them?”

     “Yes. Now tell me why the heck good relationships with your students keeps you from being a director of student activities.”

     “It means that Dean Tyler wanted someone who could be seen by the students as more of an administrative figure head.”

Cathy stared at Faith like she was waiting for the punch line to an awful joke.

     “I don't believe it. There's gotta be something else.”

     “Nope. That's it! And, even worse, my boss says I'm great at what I do but it's not my passion. Said there's a difference between something fitting and being fit for something. Like I'm supposed to know what the hell that means.”

     “Uh huh.”

     “You agree with her?”

Cathy pats Faith on the shoulder and walks past her to look at the watermelon plants.

     “Your watermelons are starting to sprawl. That means flowers soon, right?”

     “Yes. And when you say uh HUH like that and change the subject, you are avoiding telling me something.”

Cathy laughed and Faith threw some lettuce she was cutting at her. Cathy picked it up off of the ground and stuffed it in her mouth.

     “How do you get your lettuce so damn sweet?”

     “Cathy. What are you trying not to say?”

     “Oh, nothing. I've been down that river before.”

     “River?”

     “Denial. I'm keeping my mouth shut. I think you've got to figure this one out on your own.”