Page 20 of Falling for Mindy

I glanced over to see the same notation with J. Chambers for tomorrow. I wished for probably the hundredth time since taking over Dr. Amboy’s internship advisory position that I could meet with them together. Of course, due to privacy laws, we couldn’t do that. There were too many sensitive personal details about the women using the job center, many of whom were involved in active court proceedings in domestic violence cases, to allow classmates to discuss their circumstances. As it was, I had to apprise both interns of the parameters for removing identifying details about clients in their submissions for the internship.

This was a worthwhile program, and it was useful experience for the interns, but the entire situation was a giant headache for me and would have been even if one of the interns hadn’t been Melinda Sayers. Seeing her at the bar last night had been jarring, and I’d felt for a few minutes like I’d dreamt it or hallucinated it. She was so present in my thoughts, sleeping and waking, that it seemed for a moment like I’d conjured her up out of thin air. As if I would use such a power to make her appear in a bar bathroom hallway. It was foolish and whimsical to think such things. I had no supernatural powers. I barely had enough control of myself when she had crashed into me.

My hands had gone to her hips and pulled her to me, steadied her to save her from being knocked down by the impact. That’s what I told myself at least. The truth was my hands settled there as if it were my right to hold her like that and more. It wasn’t a quick, steadying hand I gave her for balance. It was the possessive touch of a lover, and I’d jerked back away from her as soon as I felt the stirring of an almost predatory instinct within me. My chest burned and tension mounted in my body, every sense distilled to this one point of focus. I had to have her. To make her mine.

I tried to shake it off. I had another beer and hung out. I kept my eyes down and would not even look around to see if she had left the bar or if she was still there. If she was looking for me, or if I should go check and see if she was all right.

I needed to stay the hell away from the woman, which was why meeting with her in my office twice a week was the opposite of what I wanted to do with my time. I steeled myself for the ordeal like I’d prepare for my employment appraisal or a particularly unpleasant medical procedure. I had a plan, and I would do only and exactly what was required of me. I would offer nothing else, and I would just endure until I had put in my time and could reasonably dismiss her at the first possible opportunity.

Her knock came two minutes before our appointment time. I had been sitting at my desk clicking my ink pen, irritated and in a hurry to get this over with. All that nervous energy was zinging around in my body. Her knock, although I had expected it, still startled me. I cleared my throat.

“Come in,” I said coolly.

Mindy walked into my small office, took off the messenger bag she had slung across her body and settled into one of the leather guest chairs across from me. She took out her computer, balanced it on her knees and opened it.

“If you’ll give me a second, I have a few notes from today to go over with you and I want to take notes on our sessions, if that’s okay,” she said brightly.

There was no sign of strain in her voice or face. If she was a little flushed, that was probably from the walk to my office in the heat. Perhaps she was a little breathless, a few strands of pale golden hair escaping from her topknot and framing her face. She wore a serious expression as she tapped at the keyboard briefly.

After a moment she looked up and smiled. That smile hit me in the solar plexus like a punch. She was all straight white teeth, like she was simply delighted to be here and discuss her internship with me. While I felt like I was an animal being led to slaughter, a man going to execution without being given the chance to confess his sins. I groaned inwardly.

“How was your first day?” I asked in what I hoped was a neutral tone. I turned my attention to my notes, written evenly on a legal pad in front of me. The questions I’d written down weren’t necessary. They were just something to refer to so I didn’t have to look at her and kept the meeting on track.

“It was amazing,” she said, her voice energetic and her words tumbling out excitedly, “once I gave them my ID and signed all the privacy paperwork, I got a badge.” She reached in her bag and took out a rather commonplace security badge with her photo and name on it. I nodded in acknowledgement, curious as to whether she expected me to admire it or something.

“Then Adeline gave me a tour and showed me where I could leave my bag and stuff. She put me in the computer lab helping women fill out job applications. I got to work with three of them. I was able to help out one of the women who wasn’t sure how to check the spelling once she was in the pdf form and I helped her reword a few things to sound clearer. She told me a little bit about herself and why she was there. Can I—since it’s just you and me, can I tell you the confidential stuff?” she said.

I cleared my throat, “As long as you remove any identifying details from your write-ups and don’t mention it to anyone outside of these advisement sessions, I suppose so. The goal is that I can mentor you through your experience in the internship and help you gain insight into what you’re dealing with. Provide guidance of a sort. So, go ahead,” I said.

“Okay, good. Jenna, that was her name, Jenna is my age, about to turn twenty-four. And she was with this guy that seemed really great at first, and then when he lost his job, she just let him move in with her until he got on his feet. But he didn’t get a job. He just played video games and ran up credit card debt in her name and then when she confronted him about it—”

“He blamed her for it, beat her up and then said that was her fault, too? For making him feel like less of a man by questioning him?” I supplied.

“Yeah. Pretty much exactly. Only he said he was sorry and got her flowers and even filled out a job application in front of her to prove he was gonna change and it would never happen again. But you know. It kept happening.”

“It’s pretty common, as horrible as that sounds. It’s one of the reasons that internships like this one are so crucial. If you don’t get out and get your hands dirty and face these social justice issues caused by the patriarchal systems, you’ll spend your whole life doing theory and never helping anyone. Just talking to hear yourself speak and congratulating yourself on your brilliance,” I said.

“It’s one of the reasons that I’m pursuing social work. Because the way that mothers in poverty are treated, and the way they can be deprived of their children when there are resources to support them, is just about criminal if you ask me. I’m not talking about abuse. I’m talking about how poverty can set up women to have no way to pay for childcare while they work, so they have their little sister, or their oldest kid watch the younger ones which is considered neglect…you see where I’m going with this.”

“Yes, I do. I felt similarly, which is why I pursued social work myself initially.”

“That basically sets you up as the perfect mentor for me, you know. You can help me figure out how to apply what I know about women’s studies to figure out ways to approach women who are being marginalized and connect them with resources to better their lives and give them more independence,” she said, all the excitement in her voice just bubbling over. “So I’m really grateful to you. I like working with Dr. Amboy, and obviously I’ve been in her classes before, but I think it was just a stroke of good luck that you’re my advisor this semester for the internship. Because we’re the same—our specialties, I mean.”

She was so sunny and enthusiastic, that her energy, her hope for the future was irresistible. I felt the kick of motivation, the contagious passion in her voice, and ate it up like cotton candy. I loved my subject, and loved sharing it with others, especially students who felt as strongly as I did about dismantling a damaging system.

“You want to throw the cage doors open,” I said, a little bit wryly.

“Are you making fun of me? Because I actually think I can make a difference?” she asked. She wasn’t rude. Far from it. It sounded like she was teasing, a playful lilt to her voice and her pretty smile still in place.

“Maybe a little. Your passion is commendable, but I want to caution you against taking too much on yourself. You’ll burn out fast going about it like this, guns blazing. I know from experience.”

“I saw—I looked on your LinkedIn profile—” she looked a little sheepish, “and you were in social work for a while and then switched to teaching five years ago. Is that what happened to you? You burned out?” she asked.

I had planned to be the one asking the questions here, and I looked at my notes as if seeking a safe answer. Finally, I just told her the truth even though it was more personal than I’d planned to get. It was relevant to her internship, and it might be helpful in planning her career, I told myself.

“I was a social worker for nine years. I was hired by the state while I was still completing my Master of Clinical Social Work. They were eager to get me in the field, and thought that me being a big white guy, frankly, that people would listen to me. That the families who were hostile toward the young female social workers would be less inclined to refuse me entry to their homes or ignore my recommendations. And in a sense, it was in keeping with my women’s studies background. I could use all that white male privilege for a good purpose.”

“With great power comes responsibility, Spiderman,” she said, again, just a little teasing. I caught myself before I smiled, but I wanted to. “Sorry,” she said, “go on.”

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