The conference room was nearly full. The four of them stood around prattling on about the important stuff in life, throwing in a bit of gossip about who had purchased what car and who had done what to get on the boss’ bad side. A few jabs at people they knew who they didn’t agree with, the kind that if someone called them out, they could claim were jokes. The Keurig clicked as it dumped another miniature plastic coffee holder (fifty a pound for that stuff) into its waste bin. The heat pumping into the room was just strong enough that a couple of them began tugging at their starched collars, glancing around for the thermostat as the perspiration began forming at their hairlines. Creativity could see them in there from down the hallway, thanks to the recently renovated glass wall installations. As he walked toward the conference room, he did some deep breathing to settle the butterflies in his stomach. He didn’t want to appear nervous during the negotiations. Confidence is king, he repeated to himself.
Entering the room, he started toward the head of the table, where he rightly belonged, just as Conformity – that shark – made a move for the same spot. Conformity made a grand sweeping gesture toward the chair, obviously wanting everyone to see, and, feigning generosity but without budging a millimeter, said, Oh, please, you take it. Creativity pressed down the knot in his stomach, gritted his teeth, and sat down, bumping the shark out of the way ever so slightly with the chair back. Thanks. Conformity (obviously not one to be bumped very often) shot him a dagger of angry surprise before he realized that everyone was watching, and the fake grin quickly returned to his face.
As they all settled into their spots around the table, Creativity took a moment to glance around the room at the pictures hanging on the walls. Pictures of previous adversaries, all of whom he’d had to negotiate with in the past, some of whom he had discomfited, others against whom he had not been so successful. Busyness, of course, with her headphones (she had a fear of silence). Pressure, in his box that was forever slowly closing in around him (poor guy). Clutter with her blue-streaked hair and facial piercing (she was always trying to distract people). Derision, with his nose in the air, and his Siamese twin, Conceit (they had tried to surgically separate but there was no doctor skilled enough to perform the procedure). Fear, who never left his house. And finally, Lack Of Priorities. He cringed as he remembered negotiating with each of them. Not his favorite memories – he never could stomach the knowledge of what losing would mean – although the negotiations in which he had prevailed had opened a door to another world for his clients. Warm sunshine, abstract landscapes, new adventures, stress and cities left behind in search of meaning.
He brought himself back to the present and surveyed his current adversaries. Other than Conformity, the shark, with his societal expectations and comparisons, there was Productivity, Education, and Insecurity. They were all pristinely dressed and he could tell by their cool demeanors that they were well prepared with charts and data and the expectation of winning. Not today. The man, woman, and their children were too fragile. He wasn’t going to fail these clients.
One by one, he took them on. Hours later he emerged as though from a bullring, hot from his high heart rate and from too many bodies in the room. He couldn’t wait to get home to his small cozy house, where his clients were waiting for their results, and his Chemex with its fruity aromas and the calming release of tension. Maybe he’d mix in a little whiskey tonight, have it with some maple-buttered toast…
When he walked in, the man and woman looked up, the man from his emails and ads, and the woman from her to-do list. The older boy looked miserable as he worked on yet another stack of math sheets, which stuck out from his homework folder above a crayon drawing from his school art class (crayon art, in second grade??). Meanwhile, the little boy added another crumpled up ball of paper to his overflowing waste bin, never having reached a moment of satisfaction or pride with the art supplies scattered around him. The baby was the only one who seemed content, dropping her doll and scooping it back up again with little shrieks of glee. She lived her life in the moment, still too young to have any conception of the war going on in the world around her.
Well?, said the man. Are we free? Creativity gave them a nod and a smile and their pale, sour expressions lit up with relief and possibility. They jumped up to hug each other, the math papers flying and the little boy breaking out in a wild, happy dance that seemed like mixture of break dancing and “Little Kicks.” Where would they live next? Why had they chosen this city, again? Oh, yeah…they remembered. (Although being honest with themselves, it wasn’t their proudest choice.) However, when the man quit, the world could be their oyster! Hand-finished tables, sleeping under the stars, pastels and clay, working for Creativity instead of those rotten autocrats. Drinks with Ken Robinson and Pete Adeney. Heck, drinks with each other!
The man and woman gathered up their children amidst giggles and promises of back scratches and a game of jackpot (the kids were already making up the game as they put on their coats). The boys raced down the front steps out into the crisp autumn air and just before he closed the door, Creativity saw the man and woman give each other a fleeting smile over the baby’s mohawk hairline – the smile of two people falling in love with a dream.
They headed home talking of coffee shops and European citizenship and what they could part with in their home to be able to move easily to a place of their own choosing. The wind got colder and the newsers started reporting with excitement the possibility of a Nor’easter (anything to get people to turn on the evening news).
The family didn’t have any desire to watch the news. Nor did they mind the cold in the least. Life felt, for the first time in a long time, as carefree as a Courier and Ives postcard.
Now, what would they make for dinner…? It had been a long day of waiting, and needless to say, they were hungry.