Rayna
As soon as I arrived, Michelle allowed me to move in with her and her new boyfriend, Mark. Mark was a handsome dark haired Italian man. He was about five feet eleven inches and weighed at least two hundred twenty five pounds with dimples to die for. He was all solid muscle enveloped in olive skin. I could see how Michelle had given him a chance. He was extremely pleasant and welcoming. Technically Mark didn’t live there. He had his own place in Santa Monica but spent almost every night with Michelle. He asked to marry her and make it official but sadly she declined his offer. I always wondered why but seeing that she didn’t offer an explanation, I didn’t ask.
Immediately after moving that May, I applied to California State. After doing a little research and learning they offered an accredited Physical Therapy program, I applied. I was sick of school but knew I needed to further my studies in order to pursue a career in Physical Therapy. I’d always maintained at least a 3.8 GPA in undergrad and therefore knew I could apply for scholarships just as I had done in undergrad. The application deadline had long passed but my dearest friend, Michelle, had her uncle pull some strings to have my application considered for the fall semester.
Although I had money stashed away, I didn’t want to dig into it. The largest Physical Therapy practice in the state offered scholarships year-round. I applied but didn’t get it. Apparently, it was quite popular because from what I was told I just was one of thousands of applicants. I needed money; CSU was expensive! How was I going to cover tuition for graduate school, pay off my loans from undergrad, continue to pay Akeem’s lawyer, and live? I was already close to twenty grand in the hole, graduate school would double that. My solution came by way of a guy I casually dated months after arriving to California, something I would eventually regret.
I fell into a groove very quickly. I started at Michelle’s uncle’s practice, Smith, Katz & Adams Sports Medicine Center. It was relatively large. I wasn’t yet a Physical Therapist Assistant, also known as a PTA, at the time but boy did they treat me as such eventually. When I started out, I was asked to answer the phones, retrieve messages, take appointments, assist patients with paperwork, and order supplies. Oh, and I can’t forget—order food for the physical therapists, often referred to as PT’s, and sometimes warm up their food. I was offended initially until I began to speak to classmates who never wasted an opportunity to tell me how lucky I was to even work for such a practice. I remember going home feeling so guilt ridden from my unappreciative attitude that I couldn’t bring myself to share it with Michelle.