The mail

Zoe's POV

My hands shook as I stared at the email that had just graced my phone. My heart raced; I did not need a stethoscope to know my apical pulse was over a hundred. My blood pressure might already be moving past the normal range because I could feel my chest tightening, my vision was getting blurry, and I was developing a migraine. I also knew what to do to make it stop; as a medical student, I had access to most drugs, but I knew not to abuse that privilege.

A girl to the west of the cafeteria screamed with joy, “I got in! I got in!”. She was jumping as she screamed the words, and I recognized the girl to be Joyce Brian. We came from the same neighborhood. I could also guess she had gotten the same mail as I did, but it was funny how our reactions were polar opposites. When another person screamed for joy, I knew I would most likely have a heart attack if I stayed here for a minute longer.

I meticulously arranged my books back into my bag exactly as they were when I brought them; I was barely out of the cafeteria when my phone rang.

“Dr. Adams.” My mom had announced that she would love to be referred to by her title, even by family. “Dr. Mom” wouldn’t make sense, and “Dr. Lilliana” would not make sense since it would be me calling my mother by her first name.

“Zoe, dear.” My mom beamed over the phone; I wished I could share her excitement. “Congratulations, dear”.

Those words made my heart heavier. “I did not say I got in,” I told her.

My mom’s tone did not falter. “My dear, you should know who I am. I know every single person that passed the residency exam, and I know my daughter topped the list”.

I shut my eyes as I squeezed my next words out, “Mom? What if—”.

My mom didn’t let me finish before she cut me off. “I believe I made it perfectly clear how I wanted to be referred to”. She hissed. That was how easily my mother’s mood could change.

“Never mind,” I muttered. “Thank you for the good wishes, Dr.”.

And as usual, she hung up first. My brother called next.

“Hey, Zo”.

His voice was clipped over the phone. But then, so was mine. It seemed like a hereditary trait.

“Congratulations on passing your Residency exam. Welcome to the real deal,” Matthew said to me.

His words translated to ‘Welcome to prison’ in my ears. “I was going to ask Mom if I could take a break”.

I just had to say the words out loud; I knew it was not achievable, but I also knew that if I didn’t say them, they might end up choking me to death. I was numerous pills away from sinking into depression, and I knew I’d end up on the wrong side of my medical profession if I did not find an outlet for this pain.

“Let me guess, she didn’t let you speak after you called her ‘Mom’?”. Matthew gave a light laugh, but nothing was funny to me at the moment. “You should know, Zoe. You’ve come this far. There is no out”.

Pain stabbed me in the heart. I knew from experience that emotional pain could be as hurtful as physical pain.

“Thank you for the reminder, Matthew. I’ll catch you later”.

Luckily, I got to be the one to hang up this time. Leaving the cafeteria was no means of escape; people jumped for joy left and right. Didn’t they know?. Did they think being a doctor was special?. Did they think they would fulfill their dreams and find their passion?. Medicine meant none of those to me; all it was for me was a prison.

My father was a neurosurgeon and my mother was a trauma surgeon. My mom had put me away even before I was a month old. She never breastfed me. She had said her body was too busy doing other things to produce milk. Medicine was a prison that all of the Adams family was bound in. I knew there was no escape, but at least, I should be able to take a break.

I caught sight of myself in front of the mirror; my hair was an oily mess. Thick glasses with double lenses hid my eyes from me, and I was wearing a very old shirt. Doctors didn’t have time to shop. I was still staring at the glass doors when the sign changed from ‘closed’ to ‘open’. It was a hair salon.

It was at that moment I remembered a fashion newsletter I had read somewhere. It had said, ‘Convert that bad day into a hair day and watch it turn into a good day’.

“I want to have my hair done,” I said to the lady that changed the sign.

She was a black girl and had the most outrageous color of braids on her head. It seemed like a mixture of sharp orange and brown. I had never seen anything like it.

“Well, you’re lucky we’re open. Come on in. I’m Rachel”. She was chewing gum and popped it as soon as she said her name.

“Zoe”.

“What would you like to do with your hair?” she asked, still popping her gum as she spoke.

I wondered if it was too late to bail. “I don’t know. A full treatment?”.

Rachel was taller than I was, so it was easy for her to reach up and loosen my bun. She gasped, and I held my breath. Alright, my hair did stink.

“A full treatment it is,” Rachel muttered, and she ran her hand through my hair. “It’s amazing how your hair managed to grow with how badly you take care of it”. She muttered to herself, and I did not see the need to reply.

“I hope you can afford what we’re about to do”. She sighed, but I had a feeling she would not turn me away if I said I could not.

“I can,” I assured her.

Rachel nodded. “Good. Now close your eyes and let me work my magic”.