DO Overs

“I know what you did.”

The words had followed Shawnna for years.

Not spoken aloud by one person, but whispered by every doubt, every setback, every reminder of the choices she had made to survive.

She knew what she had done.

She knew the sacrifices.

She knew the nights she stayed awake studying after putting Diamond to sleep. She knew the mornings she rushed through assignments, work, and motherhood, wondering how she would possibly balance it all. She knew the moments she questioned whether choosing herself was selfish or necessary.

And whenever life seemed determined to test her again, she answered herself with the same words:

“Believe me, I know.”

Shawnna’s life seemed to be a never-ending series of repeats and restarts, but she’d never let that deter her.

She had earned her Master’s degree last December, but due to a clerical error, her degree was not officially conferred until this past May.

Another delay.

Another correction.

Another moment where something she worked so hard for was almost taken away by circumstances outside of her control.

And today would be another in a long line of do-overs and déjà vus.

That morning, she dressed, groomed, and reviewed her portfolio like any other interview morning.

She wore her gray snakeskin and suede pumps—the most sensible pair of shoes she owned. She paced around the basement studio, checking and double-checking to make sure she had everything:

The printed confirmation email.

The school address.

Her phone.

Her keys.

Her portfolio.

Everything.

She repeatedly stopped at the corner mirror—one of only three mirrors in the entire basement studio, if you included the angled one at the top of the stairs—turning in all angles, scrutinizing her dress, her blazer, and her burgundy braids, which she attempted to disguise as “professional” by pulling them into an oversized French braid.

Who braids braids, you ask?

Shawnna does.

She smiled slightly at herself.

Because that was the truth about Shawnna.

She had always found a way to make what she had work.

Diamond, her six-year-old daughter, had dressed herself and was independently completing her morning personal care routine.

“Baby,” Shawnna called.

“Yes, Mommy,” was the reply she heard as Diamond entered the hallway.

“C’mon, munchkin. Mommy has to go to her interview, and you have to go to Nana and Pop Pop’s.”

“I’m ready!” her tiny frame exclaimed. “Can I pack a snack?”

Shawnna smiled.

“Quickly, munchkin. Get what you want from your cabinet, and I’ll put it in your bookbag.”

One would swear they were going on a hike or an extended excursion instead of walking right next door.

Once snacks were packed, they ventured up the stairs, hit the light switch, and stepped outside into the hot, sunny summer day.

Before leaving, Shawnna paused for one last look in the mirror.

There it was again.

That voice.

That familiar question.

Are you enough?

Did you prepare enough?

Will they see what you bring to the table?

“I know what you did,” the voice seemed to remind her.

“You fought for this.”

Diamond interrupted her mother’s internal self-criticisms and doubt.

“Mommy, let’s take a picture.”

Shawnna looked down and smiled.

Her daughter always seemed to know exactly when she needed saving.

She locked the door, turned around, squatted, and took a selfie with her babygirl.

Then they casually walked over to her in-laws’ house.

As soon as Shawnna got into her car, she unbuttoned her gray blazer, placed her portfolio and purse on the passenger seat, and plugged the auxiliary and USB cords into her phone.

She searched the school’s address to find the quickest route.

Parking was uncomplicated since alternate-side parking was not in effect that day.

She parked her seventeen-year-old faithful SUV and carefully crossed the street toward the building’s main entrance.

Shawnna adhered to the building guest protocol—presenting her Department of Education-issued identification and signing the security log.

She proceeded to the main office.

“Good morning. My name is Shawnna Nicholos,” she introduced herself to the secretary standing at the counter.

“Good morning. Here you go.”

The nameless secretary handed Shawnna a clipboard with an unlined sheet of white construction paper and a fresh pack of Mr. Sketch scented markers.

“Mrs. Blackmon would like you to write and decorate your name on this paper while you wait.”

Wait. What now?

Shawnna sat in the vacant black office chair.

Physically, she had been in this exact spot nearly two years ago.

But everything was different.

The walls were now painted a sky-blue hue. The personnel had changed. There was a new building leader.

Yet somehow, the feeling remained familiar.

Another chance.

Another beginning.

Another moment where she had to prove herself.

Shawnna shifted nervously in the black office chair, hunched over so she wouldn’t hit her head on the punch-card time clock, while also trying to avoid eye contact with the other applicants, office staff, and custodial engineer.

She chose the bluest marker from the pack and began writing her first name in her most “teacher-like” calligraphy.

She decorated her paper with hearts, starbursts, balloon-like figures, and even attempted a butterfly.

She stared at the page.

Was this good enough?

Did I do it right?

The question echoed louder than she wanted it to.

She closed the marker box.

Enough.

She had spent years questioning whether she was enough.

Today, she needed to remember something else.

“Believe me,” she whispered quietly to herself.

“I know what I bring.”

A woman called from the doorway.

“Ms. Nicholos?”

Shawnna looked up.

It was time.

She gathered her portfolio, purse, clipboard, and markers and stood.

As she approached the gate, the still-nameless secretary smiled.

“I’ll take those.”

She collected the clipboard and markers just as cordially and efficiently as she had distributed them.

Shawnna continued into the large lavender office and tried to convince herself this was not the same room where she had interviewed previously.

Was this the same conference table?

The two interviewers introduced themselves.

“I’m Principal Blackmon,” stated the polite, petite, soft-spoken woman who had called Shawnna’s name.

“I’m Vice Principal Glasgow. Please have a seat,” stated the other tall, attractive woman with milky-white skin.

“Hi. Nice to meet you,” Shawnna uttered meekly as she sat and offered copies of her resume and portfolio.

“Oh, no. We’ve seen your resume,” Principal Blackmon stated. “We want to talk to you.”

“Wait…do I know you?” Vice Principal Glasgow interrupted.

“I don’t think so,” Shawnna nervously replied.

And suddenly, Shawnna realized something.

Maybe this wasn’t another repeat.

Maybe this was the moment where everything she had done finally mattered.