“Do you volunteer at any organization in the city? In your neighborhood?”
Neni shook her head. “I volunteered at my church one time, but … I really would like to volunteer more, Dean,” she said, suddenly feeling ashamed, as if she’d been caught stealing. “It’s just that I have no time, Dean.”
“No one has time, Ms. Jonga,” the dean said.
“I have two children, and before my second child was born I was also working. If I had any time, I would be so glad to do something for BMCC because I like the school. But without the time, Dean, I just cannot do anything.”
“I’m not sure what to tell you.”
“I need any kind of help, Dean Flipkens. I only have two more semesters before I can transfer to four-year college. But my husband, he lost his job that pays good money. I really don’t know how I can come back to school in September if someone doesn’t help me with a scholarship. If there’s anything you can do to help me …”
The dean stared at her through his geek-chic black-framed glasses, then turned toward his computer. He couldn’t be less than her age, Neni estimated, though he looked much younger, quite like the flawless-skinned and neatly coiffed young men in the billboards that floated over Times Square. Neni couldn’t help thinking he was sitting in that office only because he had to, not because he wanted to, and that was enough to make her believe the man wouldn’t care if she had to drop out of BMCC.
As he moved his mouse around the pad, she watched his hands, well manicured and soft-looking, the hands of someone who’d never known a day of hard labor.
“I would send you over to financial aid,” he said, turning his attention back to her, “but I see here you’re an international student. I’m sure you know that pretty much every scholarship or grant we offer is for citizens or permanent residents, so there really isn’t much they can do for you.”
Neni nodded, buttoning her jacket and reaching down for her purse lying on the floor.
“Though I must ask you, Ms. Jonga,” he went on, ignoring Neni’s attempt to end the meeting, “I see here that your plan after graduation is to apply to pharmacy school. Is that still the case?”
Neni nodded, not wanting to waste any more words with him.
“May I ask why pharmacy?”
“I like pharmacy,” she briskly replied.
“I understand. But why?”
“Because I want to give people medicine to feel better. When I came to America my husband’s cousin advised me to do it, that it’s a very good thing to study. And everyone tells me that it’s a good job. Is there a problem with me trying to become a pharmacist, Dean?”
The dean smiled, and Neni imagined he was derisively laughing at her inwardly, at the impassioned manner in which she’d just defended her career choice.
“Everyone who told you pharmacy is a great career is right,” he said, still smiling haughtily, “but I wonder—and I hate saying this to students, because I don’t want anyone to think I’m asking them to dream small—have you wondered if it is the right career path for someone in your circumstances?”
“I don’t understand what you mean.”
“I’m simply wondering, Ms. Jonga, if perhaps another career path may be better suited for someone like you.”
“I want to be a pharmacist,” Neni said, no longer trying to disguise her anger.
“That’s great, and I commend you for that. But you came here today because you are desperate for money to finish school. You have two children, your husband doesn’t make enough money, and, by all accounts, you’re having a hard time making ends meet. Pharmacy school is very expensive, Ms. Jonga, and you’re an international student. Unless you change your legal status it’s going to be hard for you to get loans to get the degree, if you can find a way to get your associate’s from BMCC in the first place.”
“So you are telling me you think I should not try to be a pharmacist?”
The dean took off his glasses, placed them on the desk.
“One of my duties as associate dean of students,” he said, “is to offer our students career counseling. And my aim when I counsel students like you, Ms. Jonga, is to guide them toward achievable goals. Do you understand what that means, for a goal to be achievable?”
Neni glared on without a word.
“There are lots of other great careers in the healthcare field, and we can help you get into those. Licensed practical nurse, ultrasound technician, medical billing and coding, lots of great careers which … you know, which will be more achievable—”
“I don’t want achievable.”
“It would be a shame for you to spend years pursuing a goal which you have such little chance of achieving, don’t you think? I’m just … I just want us to talk it out and see what the odds are of you, you know, graduating from BMCC, getting into pharmacy school, and becoming a licensed pharmacist while dealing with financial stress, raising two children, and living in the country on a temporary visa. Don’t you think it would be a shame to start something, spend time and money, only to give it up later because you realize it’s too much for you? And before you think I’m trying to rain on your parade, please know that I’m only saying this from years of experience. You won’t believe how often I see this happen, and what a shame I think it is that we didn’t give the student the best counsel. Because for every student in your situation who does become a pharmacist or doctor, there are four or five more who never make it into pharmacy or medical school and then they have to turn around and start trying to become a nurse.”
Neni laughed and shook her head. The situation wasn’t funny, but in a way it was.
“I don’t think I said anything funny,” the dean said.
“Did you grow up dreaming of having this job you have right now, Dean Flipkens?” Neni asked, the funniness of the situation gone, replaced by a rage bubbling so ferociously within her that she was afraid it would spill out through her nose.
“Actually, I had other dreams, but you know … in life you have to—”
“That’s why you don’t want me to be a pharmacist?” she said, standing up and slinging her purse over her shoulder. “Because you are sitting in this office and not somewhere else?”
“Please have a seat, Ms. Jonga,” the young man said, motioning to the chair. “There’s no need to get—”
“I want to become a pharmacist!” Neni said. “And I will become a pharmacist.”
When Jende came home from work that night she told him nothing of the conversation, except that she was likely not going to get any kind of scholarship. Then why are we still planning to go to the ceremony for this honor society thing? he asked in a tone that made her feel as if she’d sorely disappointed him. Because it would be good to celebrate how far I’ve come, she responded, but he was unconvinced. He wasn’t going to take off work and lose money just to go watch her join an organization that wasn’t going to help them. Go with one of your friends, he said to her. Or ask Winston.