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“Some of you are here to practice law. Some of you are here to learn how to teach law.” He cleared his throat. “Some of you are here to do some good for those under-served in our community. Me? I’m here for all of that. I’m the director. If we haven’t met, I’m Max Harrison. This is my twentieth year in the Clinical Program. I oversee all ten clinics. I pick up clients when I can and I also teach a history of law class twice a week. So, I don’t have a lot of free time.” He chuckled.
I shuffled to the right, trying to see past the girl in front of me.
“You should all have your clinic assignments. There are ten clinics, but this year we only had open slots in Taxation, Immigrant Justice, Intellectual Law, International Human Rights, and Women and Law. We did our best to sort you based on experience and personal requests, but it may not have worked out for everyone.
“The positions are for one year. All of this was covered in your interview process, but now that you’re here I want to remind you—you aren’t faculty and you aren’t staff. You are here as a resident of this program. At the end of the year there will be an opportunity to apply for a faculty position, but you can see the competition is going to be fierce.”
This was the part where everyone wanted to size up the person next to them. The tall girl blocked my view from most of the cohorts in the program. I kept my back against the wall and my head down.
I had no way to assess my experience against the people in the room. We were all supposed to be the best in our graduating law classes. We all came from prestigious practices. We all kicked ass in our interviews. None of us would be here otherwise. I didn’t know how they would weed us out.
I thought about the irony of standing here pinned to the wall, preparing once again to compete. I thought that part of law was behind me.
The room was tense. The energy buzzed with sharp focus. We might be here to do some good in the world, but underneath it all each person in the room wanted to win. Each one of us wanted to be the only one standing when this process ended.
Max smiled. “I would like to add that even if things don’t work out for you here at the end of the program, we have had many of our law residents go on to receive full-tenure track positions at other law institutions. And some of them even find that doing pro-bono work is sometimes more rewarding than they could have imagined. This year is going to teach you more than you could have thought possible. I think I’ll finish on that note.”
The tall girl scribbled something on her notepad. I didn’t have anything on mine.
Professor Harrison wrapped up his introduction. “You can break and head to your respective clinics. I’m sure we’ll have a chance to get to know each other over the next two semesters. Good luck.”
Max cut for the door and walked out of the room before anyone could bombard him with questions.
The tall girl turned to me. “I’m Trish.”
I smiled. “Emily. Nice to meet you.”
“What clinic did you get?” she asked.
“I’m in the women’s clinic,” I responded. “How about you?”
“Taxation law. I worked for three years at my uncle’s firm in Atlanta.”
“Oh.” I didn’t know what to say. There was nothing stimulating to me about accounting or the law that went with it. Since I was pre-law women’s issues had always been a part of my studies.
“Maybe we’ll run into each other some time,” she mused.
“Maybe.” I think we both knew it wasn’t likely to happen.
Trish walked out of the room.
This was always the hardest part about starting over. Even in a room full of people I felt completely alone. Everyone was a stranger. Nothing was familiar. The conference room was new. This building. The next building. Everywhere I turned I saw something strange and foreign.
I told myself it wouldn’t stay like this. Each day I’d learn people’s names. I’d figure out how not to piss off the shuttle driver. I’d learn to wear the right shoes. I’d be able to make it to clinic without having to check the map app on my phone. The pieces would come together. But right now as I watched my colleagues shuffle out of the meeting, it was hard to think that day would ever come.
***
I only had a few more steps to go. I looked up at the brownstone I now called home. Why was our apartment on the top floor? The windowpanes glowed from the sunset sinking behind the city. Even the ones on the third floor reflected orange and pink hues.
I knew why. Greer loved the deck. She loved the view. She thought it was cool all of our windows were huge dormers.
And she told me a hundred times on facechat that we couldn’t beat the location. The townhouse was in the heart of Adams Morgan, directly in the center for both of us to go to work. I went northwest and she went southeast.
I hadn’t been here long enough to know if the location was the best. I hadn’t met any of our neighbors. I hadn’t even changed my address with the post office. I still felt as if I were visiting Greer, not living with her.
It had been five years since she was my roommate in college. Neither one of us had expected to live together again.
I glared at the front stoop. I couldn’t take it anymore. Not another step. I reached down and peeled the stilettos from my feet. I almost expected to see dried b
