Despite the whirring coming through the vents like an old man trying to fill his tired lungs, the room was hot. Every time someone breathed out the humidity became more intense and another trickle of sweat rolled down Isaiah’s back. He dared to peek at the other men and two women in the room and saw each one of their faces was as shiny as his felt. Looking to his right he saw a woman daintily take a handkerchief out of her small, tan purse and dab at her forehead and cheeks. The man next to her sniffed loudly, then wiped his forehead with his own hand and swung the seat onto the floor. His shirt stuck to his chest just as Isaiah’s did, absorbing the rolling sweat drops from their skin.
A strange job interview waiting area, though not always so strange for this country. The thought made Isaiah straighten his back more. He told himself he wouldn’t compare, that it wasn’t fair to do so. He had spent three years in Canada with its icy winds and cool summer breezes studying and now he was home. Where he belonged. Where he promised his mother he would come back. His mother and the university that sent him to Canada in the first place to learn. This interview was the very reason he did come back, so that he could bring a wealth of knowledge to his country that his own university couldn’t give him.
He enjoyed his time in Canada and after giving his country four years he planned to go straight back. Skiing was one of the activities he missed the most. It seemed like such a strange sport at first, but he outlasted every single other friend who went with him every day. When they complained of icy toes, he laughed and relished the strange way in which his half-frozen feet felt as he scrunched them inside his boots.
The memory almost brought relief to his sweating body. Almost.
Isaiah breathed in slowly and closed his eyes.
“Mr. Isaiah-“
“Me,” he interrupted, his voice gravely and heavy with his memories. “That’s me.”
He stood slowly, hoping the bottom of his pants wouldn’t show sweat. The person taking him back didn’t bother looking and Isaiah thought it best to simply pretend he didn’t look a mess.
“Right this way,” the man said, holding the door open, the sound of the sick air conditioner droned on, getting farther and farther away as Isaiah advanced towards his future.