“Y…yess…yes. I can do that,” I managed to respond, grateful to not have to fully explain the distractions of my morning.
“Ok. I’m going to let you go,” he said with a lingering pause, signaling that he was considering his next words carefully. “I can’t pretend to know what’s going on in your mind. I have no idea. But, we’re not all like what you guys are seeing and hearing about,” he finished, then turned and walked away heading back to his patrol car. I stood still, considering the moment and his final words to me.
“Neither are we,” I said quietly. “Neither are we.”
I turned slowly back towards my own car and allowed myself to drop into my seat and closed the door. With my hands back on 10 and 2 on the steering wheel, I let my face drop onto the center of it. The cascade of tears came with heavy sobs as the entire weight of the morning’s events released itself from my body with the force of a thunderstorm. It shouldn’t be this way—nothing should be this way. I should have more eggs. I shouldn’t have to be this scared. I should have been at work already.
I am Tabitha Abigail Walker, a black girl in contemporary America, and I am personally and emotionally spent. It’s not even 11 am and I already feel as exhausted as my egg supply.
Chapter Two
I would guess that on some days, and maybe for some, every day, people other than me could be found walking into their workplace pretending to be someone they’re not. Somehow the composure of the outside, even if assembled in the privacy of a personal world of chaos, would manage to hide the storm-ravaged landscape on the inside. I’d accept that this could have also been me on other days, but today was the first time that I ever recalled being so acutely aware of the disconnect. I felt held together just as securely as overstuffed packing boxes sealed with scotch tape. After that episode with the police, and after my fateful appointment with that doctor, I should have taken myself straight home to nosedive into an entire bottle of wine. Instead, here I was, taking deep breaths in my car in the parking lot. I told myself that as soon as all the shaking and sniffling stopped, I would go in. I had no idea how I managed it, with the traffic and especially with the police stop, but I was at work and parked, only 10 minutes late to the newsroom meeting. If I could force a quick recovery, I’d make it in time to pitch a story, or at least get staffed on a good story team. Ordinarily, I loved our weekly newsroom meeting, where we discussed the stories we would cover and staffed the longer assignments to tackle in teams. I always tried to propose topics that had at least some connection to LA’s black and minority communities. Most of the time they got shot down, or twisted into an unrecognizable “broader” version that missed my point. Maybe the truth of it was that I needed to start thinking less passionately and more strategically, especially since I was up for my next promotion. With time on my side, and a built up confidence from enough success along my path, I had been choosing to be more authentic than ambitious. I felt like I could reach my Oprah dreams my own way, and still get there. But, if my plans for a beautiful “everything I ever wanted” life with Marc didn’t work out, I’d have to fall back on my relationship with my career and we needed to make more money. My house down payment was already going to be 100% of my savings, but at least with a house, I would have something to show for it. If Marc wasn’t ready to move forward, the only option Dr. Ellis gave me was to freeze my eggs. “Freeze my eggs??” I asked her with wide eyes. She spoke about it like it was the most natural thing in the world and gave me a referral card for a reproductive specialist—well, actually, an infertility specialist. “Isn’t it expensive?” I asked, already knowing it was by the ritzy Century City zip code on the card. Egg freezing? It honestly didn’t even sound right, at least, not for me. I’d heard about it, but never thought once about it because first, I was sure however much it cost, I couldn’t afford it on my reporter’s salary. Second, how could I even know if it would really work? And when would I have the time? I dreaded the thought of having to make that phone call to yet another doctor, to have a procedure. I’d never even so much as gone to the doctor for more than a checkup and antibiotics. But realistically, could I count on Marc being down to move forward so quickly? If he wasn’t, then I needed a raise, so I needed that promotion. As helpless as I was, as helpless as I felt, the only thing I could do today in the form of any kind of rescue, was to pull it together and perform well in that newsroom meeting. I promised myself that as soon as it was over, I’d make a beeline to my phone to set up happy hour drinks with my two best friends, Alexis and Laila. They’d help me figure out what to do about my eggs and maybe even more importantly, how to tell Marc about it. The card that Dr. Ellis gave me for Dr. Young sat at the top of my purse and mocked me. Daring me to call and risk even worse news. It hurt my head to even think about scheduling that follow-up, so it would have to wait, even though I didn’t even have a day to waste.
Finally satisfied with the touch-up on my makeup, I closed my car visor, and exited my car for the third time that day, hoping for a better result than the previous two times. I used my clammy hands to smooth down my skirt as I walked through the doorway under that KVTV sign that I first crossed beneath two years ago. Back then, as a new hire, I was ecstatic to have a reporter position in Southern California and specifically in Los Angeles. Not only was LA a major market, and my hometown, but it was a place where exciting things happened with a steady stream of interesting news to cover. I’d heard stories from so many of my friends from grad school who decided to go into local television news only to find themselves feeling painted into some obscure corner of America. Now could really be my time to try to advance the ranks. I had paid my dues, worked the weekends, and missed the birthday parties, vacations and lazy Sunday brunches with my friends. My next step was most immediately to Senior Reporter, then, ultimately, an anchor role—weekend would be a start, midday would be amazing, and weekday evening anchor—6 pm, that was the Holy Grail. That was the time slot that all of my professional dreams and financial aspirations were made of. I let my imagining embolden and fill me up where the events of today had deflated my sprit. I kept my internal pep talk up all the way to the meeting room.
If I could land the role of Senior Reporter, it would mean rather than just basic day-to-day assignments, I would get a team of people to help me research more in-depth investigations and longer-term reporting assignments. It also meant that I’d get more of a say in the topics that I covered and how they were presented to the viewers. It was important to be represented in the newsroom, that was for certain, and on any other day, that’s why I usually pushed myself so hard in those weekly meetings. Communities that were underrepresented in the newsroom were underrepresented in the news. And sometimes the news was as important as life and death. Like today, what if Officer Mallory wasn’t so honorable? It was some person’s journalistic work that even made him aware of why someone like me might be afraid. That’s why I was never any good at a sole focus on just my own professional ambitions, even if I wanted to be and even if it were in my better interests. There were no African-Americans, male or female, leading any of the reporting teams at KVTV. A pity, because our perspective held value, especially about the goings on in LA. Still, even without my own cultural representation in the news team leadership, I believed that didn’t mean it couldn’t happen. So I made it my responsibility each week to try to be heard, even if I sat around a table full of cutthroat competitors, like my colleague Scott Stone, who was up for the same promotion as I was. He always gave me the impression that he’d step over anyone to get there—and I was the one person in his way. Now that I knew just how badly I needed this promotion, maybe I also needed to learn how to start following his lead.