The Cabinet

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            “A writer!”,  I had exclaimed; with an air of dignity rushing from my words and flooding the room with a commanding silence.  Chest outward and poised, I tossed the Bridgeworth Law School application down onto the counter with as much regard as one would give last month’s newspaper—its slap upon the cold marble causing their heads to jolt back from so arrogant an insult.  The seconds stretched in the deafly quiet debate, and the tips of my fingers began to quiver in anticipation of their response.  Then, with a quizzical sigh, my mother sat back down onto her stool, while my father leaned his back against the cabinet behind him, sealing the small crack between the door and its frame.  She looked up at me, with a loving glaze that coated her eyes, implying her support.  A tear crested her cheek as she picked up the application and tore it in half.  She handed it to my father who mournfully turned and dropped it into the pail beside him.  He then turned back to me and a pleading grin imbued from his lips.  They had always supported me, these giants of their craft.  Their finely tuned calculations and judgments had intimidated their peers and granted them the respect of a virtuoso in the business industry.  They were the best at what they did, and so would I be.

            That was too long ago, yet how unforgiving one’s memory can be.  And now here I stand, sipping my black coffee, in the finest steakhouse in the city.  This was to be the culmination of my efforts—to afford to be welcome in such a lavish environment.   My tongue would salivate over the various spiced meats and tingle upon the world’s richest grapes, while intellectual babble would surmount and soften around my ears like waves on a private beach.  The soothing light from the chandeliers would dance upon the fine wood trim and reflect a haloistic glow about my cheeks.  I would sink my back deep into the leather cushion and release a pleasant sigh of my earned achievement.

             “Hey Shakespeare.”

            A nickname my peers so tritely coined snapped me from my thoughts.

            “If you’re not busy, do you mind running some of that delicious coffee you’re enjoying to the man at table three?”

            “My pleasure.”  I replied whimsically as I straightened my tie.

            “Oh please make sure to show off that fine piece of cloth while you’re at it.”

            Her words mocked every syllable they could as she continued on her way.  I had found the tie’s design and colors to be artistic and daring, though my opinion was not shared.  The ridiculing of my taste, in fact, had grown into an offhand joke around my employment.  Yet it is the only personal touch allotted to my position’s dress code, and so I learned to laugh off the frequently stale comments.

             I evenly arranged all the necessary accoutrements onto my tray—the cup and its saucer, a coffee pot, and two separate ramekins of sugar and fresh cream—and then raised it with one hand to level with my shoulder.  I raised my chest and straightened my posture, altering my demeanor to one of dignity and respect, and then, with a slow, even sigh through my nostrils, walked out of the kitchen alley and into the dining area.

            Obnoxious chatter overwhelmed my eardrums, like repeated shotgun blasts, as I passed the surrounding tables toward my destination.  My pathway was barely visible from the dim lighting of the restaurant, and I imagined a spelunker walking deep into a cave with the light from its exit fading slowly behind him.  The worn look of the wood trim annoyed my every glance, curious if the morning crew would ever get around to re-staining it.

              I turned the corner and gracefully approached the table.  The man was alone and his head was down, diligently scratching notes onto the various papers he had scattered about him.  I noticed on the top left corner of one stationary the name Milton & Small, recognized as the best law firm in the southeast.

            “Your coffee sir”, I said plainly.

            “Oh, thank you”, he replied and finally lifted his head to look at me.

            A nervous chill shot across my skin and my heart stammered in its beat while, for a moment, I could do nothing but stare back at the face before me.  I must be exhausted and delusional for no form of reality could explain what I thought my eyes perceived.  I wanted to ask—the question prying at my teeth like bars on a jail cell—, but the expression the man and I shared understood full well the futility of the answer.

            “Nice tie”, I commented instead.  He returned with a gracious nod.

            I lowered the cup and saucer down onto the table and filled it with coffee from the pot.  I reached for the cream and sugar, but halfway through the process I corrected my decision and left them on the tray.

             “Is there anything else I can get for you at the moment, sir?” the question delaying my leave a moment further.

               “No, that is all, thank you.”

               I nodded and turned to leave the table.  However, my feet grew heavy and my body only permitted me a step before turning me back around to face him again.  The man’s eyes had never left me, and he waited, politely.   With a solid breath I cleared my throat and straightened my posture once again.

               “Are you…” the words began as dry and cynic as the thought that invoked them.  “Are you happy?”

                A quizzical look shaped in the man’s eyes and he looked down at the table and his work.  Then he looked back towards me and a pleading grin grew from his lips.

                “Are you?” he replied casually.

                I never answered the man’s question.  I walked back toward the kitchen alley, passing each table along the way quicker than the one before.  Never have they been so loud.

Comments (2)

Posted by thirteen 03-05-2008 22:01,   ... I thought it was a nice bit of writing.I assumed it was his dad at the end. enjoyed.   » Report this comment to administrator » Reply to this comment...   Posted by cookingWine 03-07-2008 08:56,   ... That was remarkable.     The "Nice tie" line is so perfect. That was the puzzle piece that made it really click for me. Good beginning and it followed through.    You have a very strong command of language, and at parts, I wish it was finer tuned to help it read like a brick path instead of a dirt road with rocks just barely big enough to hurt through your shoe.    Great transition between an overly descriptive writers gaze at the world, to a fantasy-breaking order from a boss.    There were so many good elements, and I'm struggling to find a bad one. This is the kind of story that has the depth and potential to keep going.    The dialog was very well timed and entirely realistic, which is tough and commendable.    The adjectives were never beaten to death. I care about the plight of this guy after his decision. You open me up feeling good with the intro, and quickly drop me down, without waiting until the last paragraph to do it so I get to simmer.  Cheers. Keep on keeping on.   » Report this comment to administrator » Reply to this comment...

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