Dream Another Day: the interview

                    The Interview







“How old are you?”
“Seventeen,” I whisper.
“Seventeen years old,” he screams, the pen falling off his hand to the floor.
The madam at the other end, ogles, lifts her eye glasses, then put them back quickly, flipping through the copies of my papers.
“Children learn early this millennium. May be next year, wedding bell will toll.”
They laugh. Then there is quiet. My heart begins to beat fast.
I know we are many for the interview. I am the thirtieth on the line. And everyone has good qualifications.
My body becomes hot as I wait for the verdict. Then they passed their votes. The tall elegant lady at the centre takes the collection, then read,
“Chizu Joyce Adi,”
“Madam”
“We unanimously agreed you are the best candidate for this job. Your testimonials assure us you have the best hands and brains and heart to push this company to the next level. You start duty now unless you want to reschedule it.
“No, Ma. I’m ready to start now.”
“Then HRD will give you further clearing up,” she said, smiling, looking at her colleagues. They nod their heads.
“Please Tod dismiss others waiting in the hall. Pay them their fares after coffee and tea.”
 She stands up; others follow. I stand up too.
“Congratulations, Chizu!”
“Congratulations, Joyce!”
Everyone is smiling and congratulating me. The ladies embrace and pat my shoulders. Then they leave one by one. As the door shut, I sit down, close my eyes, clutch my file and gasp a sigh of relieve. I do not believe I am the most beautiful or intelligent or brilliant for this luscious lucrative job. It’s just chance, time and place. No, how can it be! Someone is responsible. Someone has set my foot along this path. My Lord God thank you. I know you are the One. Then she kneels down to thank him. The door opens, and the Head of HR comes in. He saw she was babbling.
“Is it alright, Miss Joyce?
“It is.”
This way, please,” he says, pointing at the door
“Thank you, Sir,” she says. Then she gets up, picks her files,  smiling, tears spilling down her face. Then the clinic bed rustles. The door opens again.
“Grandma! Grandma!”My children have come, shouting and jumping to my bed. My frail fingers barely touching their faces. My five daughters and two sons and in-laws are behind them. They hug and kiss me. And to sing for me a hundred year birthday wish. Then they cut a cake. And share it. I shake my head, refusing to eat. Oh this children they know I hardly eat anything...only liquid.
I'm grateful. I am smiling at them.
Then her head goes deeper into the pillow, her eyes wide open, the smile still continuing at both dimples on her cheeks. Ada, the oldest moves her palm quickly on her mother’s face, and shut her eyes.
Nobody say a word. The room is quiet. They know it will come. They know the battle is over. And they have the victory. The first son asks for prayers. They thank Almighty God for His mercies. Then women lead the children away. And the men begin their meeting.