The Career
Counselor
—
Will Musgrove
THE SUN RISES, THE SUN SETS, RIGHT? Not always. I worked third shift at the Denny’s on Iowa Avenue, so for me, the sun sets, the sun rises. I was living life backwards. A rewinding tape. Today was yesterday, yesterday the day before that, and so on. Kind of like that scene in the first Superman movie where he flies around the planet so fast, he reverses its orbit and travels back in time to save Lois Lane from an earthquake. Another chance at love.
Then this morning my cell phone rang.
“Hello?” I said, eyes closed and still in bed.
“It’s your career counselor.” His voice sounded like someone who reads the plaque hanging next to an art exhibit instead of just admiring the art. “I’m calling to see if you forgot your appointment today at 10.”
Appointment? I thought. Guessed I’d booked it sometime in the past, which was also my future. Guessed I’d booked it to get out of Denny’s, to start moving forward again. The back of my eyelids glowed. I opened them slowly, hoping my pupils would adjust better and prevent too much light from pouring in. No luck. Squinting, I checked the time on my phone. 10:07 a.m. Still hours before I needed to be clocked in.
“You sure you have the right guy?”
After the noise of some papers shuffling on the other end, “Denny’s third shift, worried that you’re regressing, that you’ll eventually be a single cell serving Grand Slams.”
Checked out. Keeping the phone pressed against my ear, I got out of bed and headed to my kitchen. I hadn’t been up this early in years. As I scooped coffee grounds into a filter, I noticed a ring of daylight peeking under the blinds above the sink and thought of an angel squatting in my house during the day, an angel who was waiting to take me back to wherever you stay before existing.
“Can’t come in today.”
I placed my hand on the windowsill, and the halo streaked over it like a highlighter highlighting something important in a textbook.
“That’s okay. I can ask my initial questions on the phone. Ready? Question one: What do you do for fun?”
I opened the blinds, expecting to see the angel rushing back for their missing work hat. Instead, I saw a trident-shaped elm growing in the empty lot across the street. It reminded me of an Olympic podium. I must have driven past that tree hundreds of times but never noticed its unique shape, not without the light. When I was a kid, I’d climb a similar tree in my parents’ yard. Would even time myself sometimes to see how fast I could get to the top. Up there I used to love watching the tree’s seeds float down like little helicopters.
“Du-du-du-du-du-du-du-du-du,” I said, my old helicopter sound effect.
“Can you repeat that, sir?”
I sat my phone on the kitchen counter and walked outside. Next to the tree, I grabbed the lowest branch, the bronze, and pulled myself up to the silver. A record time. My eyes had fully adjusted to the light. I could see the way forward. It was in the past. At the top, the sun shined a gold medal atop my head, and I knew I wouldn’t make it to my shift that day as I headed back down for another run. •
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Will Musgrove is a writer and journalist from Northwest Iowa. He received an MFA from Minnesota State University, Mankato. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Florida Review, Wigleaf, Southern Indiana Review, The Cincinnati Review, The Forge, Passages North, Tampa Review, and elsewhere.
Website | Twitter | Instagram
Then this morning my cell phone rang.
“Hello?” I said, eyes closed and still in bed.
“It’s your career counselor.” His voice sounded like someone who reads the plaque hanging next to an art exhibit instead of just admiring the art. “I’m calling to see if you forgot your appointment today at 10.”
Appointment? I thought. Guessed I’d booked it sometime in the past, which was also my future. Guessed I’d booked it to get out of Denny’s, to start moving forward again. The back of my eyelids glowed. I opened them slowly, hoping my pupils would adjust better and prevent too much light from pouring in. No luck. Squinting, I checked the time on my phone. 10:07 a.m. Still hours before I needed to be clocked in.
“You sure you have the right guy?”
After the noise of some papers shuffling on the other end, “Denny’s third shift, worried that you’re regressing, that you’ll eventually be a single cell serving Grand Slams.”
Checked out. Keeping the phone pressed against my ear, I got out of bed and headed to my kitchen. I hadn’t been up this early in years. As I scooped coffee grounds into a filter, I noticed a ring of daylight peeking under the blinds above the sink and thought of an angel squatting in my house during the day, an angel who was waiting to take me back to wherever you stay before existing.
“Can’t come in today.”
I placed my hand on the windowsill, and the halo streaked over it like a highlighter highlighting something important in a textbook.
“That’s okay. I can ask my initial questions on the phone. Ready? Question one: What do you do for fun?”
I opened the blinds, expecting to see the angel rushing back for their missing work hat. Instead, I saw a trident-shaped elm growing in the empty lot across the street. It reminded me of an Olympic podium. I must have driven past that tree hundreds of times but never noticed its unique shape, not without the light. When I was a kid, I’d climb a similar tree in my parents’ yard. Would even time myself sometimes to see how fast I could get to the top. Up there I used to love watching the tree’s seeds float down like little helicopters.
“Du-du-du-du-du-du-du-du-du,” I said, my old helicopter sound effect.
“Can you repeat that, sir?”
I sat my phone on the kitchen counter and walked outside. Next to the tree, I grabbed the lowest branch, the bronze, and pulled myself up to the silver. A record time. My eyes had fully adjusted to the light. I could see the way forward. It was in the past. At the top, the sun shined a gold medal atop my head, and I knew I wouldn’t make it to my shift that day as I headed back down for another run. •
Will Musgrove is a writer and journalist from Northwest Iowa. He received an MFA from Minnesota State University, Mankato. His work has appeared or is forthcoming in Florida Review, Wigleaf, Southern Indiana Review, The Cincinnati Review, The Forge, Passages North, Tampa Review, and elsewhere.
Website | Twitter | Instagram