The Catalyst by Katheryne McMullen
Linda would begin on the 7th floor with the bordering offices; and then snake her way through the rows of cubicles, emptying each wastebasket and performing lite dusting if time permitted. Restrooms were treated to thorough scrubbings before she repeated the same routine on the 9th floor. It was a Wednesday evening in January when she saw the new lady lawyer for the first time – someone who could have easily been mistaken for her more polished twin. Pushing the rolling bin ahead of her, as Linda passed Nina K. Hunt, Esquire’s door in as pleasant a tone as she could manage, she offered “Hello! Working late?” She paused slightly, expecting a reply; but it never came.
On the long bus ride home Linda couldn’t help wondering why the new lady lawyer hadn’t spoken. What bothered her more was that she even cared. By now she should have grown accustomed to the condescension, the lack of acknowledgement. Jay Pruitt on the 7th – one of the worst offenders – avoided eye contact with anyone in the building he deemed beneath him in title and status. If he absolutely had to address you, he tossed words in your general direction. Neither his eyes nor the words ever actually hit the target; they seemed to stop short, falling a few inches in front of your feet. You might as well have been invisible. The next evening Linda decided to give Miss Nina K. Hunt, Esquire a second chance. This time she did gaze up from her new cherry wood desk to momentarily notice Linda’s profile in her doorway; but just as quickly she lowered her head again with no reaction and no response. There was no denying this was a deliberate snub.
Linda turned off the TV. She never understood the hype behind supposedly feel good movies. Rags to riches stories never quite appealed to her. They seemed too unreal; something about them never rang true. Her reality was sharing a cramped two-bedroom apartment in public housing with an uneducated and disinterested mother, a controlling stepfather and two younger stepbrothers. If only she had enjoyed a different upbringing, she too might now be a Miss Esquire. But nurturing and encouragement were luxuries rarely dispensed in her world. Potential and promise were words seldom mentioned – at least as they related to her. The stepfather could always manage a compliment for other girls in the building. “That Cynthia on the 3rd floor. That girl’s going places! She’s got a good head on her shoulders.”, he’d conclude. “That Tanya on the 1st floor with her looks won’t have no trouble finding a man to take care of her”, he’d predict. “Probably some rich ball player.” But no words of encouragement for Linda. No one told her she was pretty. The self-fulfilling prophecy of failure would come to pass. How else to explain allowing Damien – a GED card carrying supermarket stock boy also living at home – to convince her that planning a baby together was somehow a good idea.
Vowing to never again allow anyone to leave her feeling small and insignificant, Linda devised a plan. Anger can prove a powerful motivator and catalyst. “Girlfriend uses toilet paper just like I do. Who does she think she is? I don’t care if she did graduate from a law school. What makes her too important to even speak?” Too agitated to sleep, Linda got out of bed and tried to remember where she’d stashed that Management Trainee Program application – the one she’d been finding excuses not to fill out. Whatever it took, she would finish that training. And one day she’d be the one in charge. “And then lady lawyer will be begging to speak to me once her office is no longer being serviced and she’s marinating in her own trash.”, Linda smirked.
The next day, exiting the elevator on the 7th, Linda found herself facing a distracted Jay Pruitt on his cell phone. Riding down, he was singing the praises of Miss Nina K. Hunt, Esquire to a friend. “A Harvard law degree is accomplishment enough. But given her disability, it’s nothing short of amazing. She’s totally deaf. Been that way since birth.”