Silence Is Golden

Where other people have a brain that is a small mound of grey colored mush that controls the body, I have an office.

Today, I had a small moment of quietness in the office. Of course, someone had to mess it up.  Creativity took it upon herself to have a moment and asked me to join her in her cubicle. Maybe it's because there has been so much work related thoughts and plans going on. Maybe it's because of Sobriety moved in and is asking alot of us. Who knows, but she took my moment of stillness and filled it with a dreadful thought:

 

What if you didn't have him? Nothing morbid like death, but what if the tables and times turned against you and he suddenly was bored with you or just plain didn't like you anymore. What if he didn't believe in you and you became one of THOSE people. You know the kind I'm talking about. The ones that everyone loves and adores for a while that anyone would love but who are complete screw ups. People cater to them and believe that they can be more than what they are. "Live up to thier potential" (A shudder ran through me at the phrase because as she said it, I remember so often being told it and was starting to wonder how much of a screw up I really could be but wasn't noticing. She had me hooked into the "what if".)

What if one day he woke up and realized what a lost cause you are and just left. He'd be fine alone, that's obvious, but what about you? (At this point I didn't have the heart to interject and bring to her attention that if he left ME he left us ALL, so I let her finish.) You'd be lost without him. His love is your religion. You worship him and plan your days around his smile. What if he suddenly didn't want it anymore? What if you had to live everyday of your life in the same town and worry when ever you showed your face? Everyone would know you as the girl who lost the awesome guy because she was a stinking loser. Would he find someone better? Would he stay single and not believe in love again? Would he look for another woman to try and save? Would he get someone younger than you?

 

That's the point I slapped her. Slapped her right out of her office chair and that smug little nose crinkle she thought was so cute right off her fat face. She had been sitting there cross legged and slightly spinning around and around while she spoke.  She was completely stunned. Had she not seen what I had done to the drunk who used to be in the cubicle a row away from her two weeks ago? Had she not seen the fire in my eyes when I punched her again and again until she didn't move anymore? Had she not seen how I had taken an piece of me AND her and murdered it without a second thought? Had she not seen the way Shy and Timid looked the other direction along with Calm and Reasoning while Negativity screamed for me to please not let her die and try to convince me I needed her.

 

So what if she was Creativity? So I asked her: What would YOU do, I didn't need you anymore? What if I was one of those people who NEVER create a thing? What if I threw away ever journal I had? What if I never lifted a pen or paintbrush again? Did she not know that people who claim to lack creativity aren't ACTUALLY lacking, they are just surpressing?

 

Yes, she and I have been together a long time, but if she doesn't start stepping up her game, she'll be out on the street right along side Negativity. "Is that what you want??", I asked her as I loomed over her on the spot where she hit the floor and knew better than to stand. "No mamm" she answered. She was remembering the fight I had with Negativity right before Sobriety moved into her cubicle and rearranged the furniture to allow more room for exercise and replaced her liqour cabinet with a mini fridge of premade healthy meals and shakes.

 

 

I saw Anger stand and peak over her cubicle and she was breathing hard when I felt the hand on my shoulder. It was Cooperation. She didn't have to say a word. I knew it was her by the smell of Freshwater Cucumber lotion and coconut lip gloss she wore to please the Beauty department.

 

She kept her hand on my shoulder and offered her other one to Creativity who took it and stood. Creativity stood and there we all were face to face in a small circle of the cubicle. Cooperation reached a hand into the pocket of trench coat (No matter the season, Cooperation wears a trench, a slick backed ponytail at the nape of her neck, and glasses. She doesn't say much and is always on the go.) and pulled out a small silver picture frame. In that frame was our son's first school photo as well as his first photo ever-a sonogram of him in the womb, a black and white photo booth shot of two lovers kissing as though they may never have another chance to and a fortune cookie fortune that read: "when pushed, love digs in it's heels" all set in a collage. I knew that this was special to Cooperation. Cooperation in not always at her desk like the rest of us are. She is usually on the go. Sometimes she misses things at the office because she gets to leave the cubicles now and then. There was a time when she didn't. When we fell in love with him, she stayed in alot. We needed her to. It was a hard situation for us and we needed Cooperation to keep us there to make sure we had our eyes on the prize the whole time. She kept this picture frame on a small table next to a cot in her cubicle. We all watched her sleep in that cubicle everynight, fighting sleep waiting for the phone to buzz or an IM to come up on the computer to give her the next assignment to get us all closer to happiness.  We never see Cooperation actually working. She just walks into the room and she is noticed. That was a hard time for her. She keeps the frame in her pocket with her at all times to remind herself of the reasons she works so hard.

 

She placed the frame on Creativity's desk with the hand she had helped her up with all the while keeping her other hand on my shoulder. She looked Creativity in the eye and said, "Please don't ruin this for us." then gently kissed Creativity on the lips and turned to me. "Please don't let Negativity back into thier lives." was her statment for me. As she said it, she pushed a lock of hair behind my ear and gestured at the walls and walls of cubicles. I could tell she meant for only me to see that her head was swaying towards the cubicles, but her eyes were on the lovers and the little boy. It was an understanging for only she and I. She then stepped back and smiled a thousand watt smile at both Creativity and myself, and for the first time I saw how old she looked. Going out into the real world had weathered her skin and body. She never stopped so we never got to see the wrinkles developing in her skin at the worried space between her eyebrows or the patch of gray hair in her sleek ponytail. She was tired. We had worn her thin. He loved her still. He loved us all.  We have forgotten in all our inner bickering that not only does she have to make sure that we cooperate with one another, that others on the outside see that we are worth the fight.

 

Cooperation turned and walked away. She didn't look back, just stuck her hands into her coat pockets squared her shoulders and headed for the exit. The only sound was the click clack of her heels on the marble floors. Steve Maddens' size 7, hot pink with a killer heal and pointed toe. She wore them all the time. Comedy likes to use her "Forrest Gump" voice and call them her "magic shoes".  Anger was sitting down flipping through a Maxim magazine and mumbling to herself. Creativity said, "I have work to do." and sat back down in her chair and faced her computer.

 

(Creativity never apologizes, but we don't hold it against her.)

 

I walked back to my desk that sat at the head of the cubicles and looked at looked around. A bag of gummie bears that I confiscated from the Health and Fitness department, a bottle of nail polish and a large shiny yellow flower hair pin that the Beauty department had been looking for, the iPod that I clung to for escape when they all started yelling and carrying on. Extra sets of keys to the Cadillac because they ALWAYS lose them. Cameras of various mega pixels for the Art department and my own pink leather bound journal where I documented the whole crazy thing. I turned on the iPod and placed the ear bud headphones in my ears. For the next hour, I put my feet up, let the tracks play in no particular order or playlist, ate gummi bears, and painted my nails something called, "Burgundy Frost".

 

*Ding* The monitor, which had been allowing Windows bubbles to flutter back and forth on my home screen and bounce off one another lit up with activity. I had an email message. It was from Creativity. The subject line read, "New blog post" and in the body was a small message for me:

 

April,
Feel free to title as you see fit.
Fondly,
Creativity

Still no apology. Creativity is a psycho.

Reviews

[nicolo]

"Creativity is a psycho." yeah!