My mind often floats back to our conversation at Ricky's but is speaking to me this morning in a voice louder than a whisper.
You asked, What do you consider your greatest achievement?
I paused for moment, took a few sips of my Gin cocktail, rearranged myself on the red cushioned bar stool, and said, The Ivy League, medical school, several publications, getting a job that I'm starting to like, having a decent Savings balance, and a few other things... My voice trailed off to the blare of a Middle Eastern man singing Cry Me A River at the bar's karaoke contest. Somehow saying those things out loud made me suddenly uncomfortable. A flush smudged my temples. I was, as if, reading a checklist, being pompous and self-conceited at the pride in which I considered my past a brocade of achievements. Unease sprouted on the tip of my tongue; I felt motionless, ashamed, show-offy in a way I detested when other people spoke. Humility is a virtue most people have lost, in today's age of showiness, constant prompting of your voice being heard, through easily-accessible media across the entertainment industry.
But you smiled, and rubbed your palms and a gentle scent of lavender curled out of your finger tips. You readjusted your cotton scarf, patterned like the wings of a scarlet ladybug, dotted with black and orange highlights, and took another gulp of your Stella Artois. You closed your eyes for a moment, hummed a melody with the new karaoke singer at the podium, and broke into a handsome smirk.
And, what about you? What is your biggest achievement? You've probably done a lot to become a manager here, I said, after examining the drawings of cigarette cartons and Patti Smith hanging on the walls.
At first you didn't say anything. Smiled, looked at me with an expression of unfamiliarity, pressed the Home button on your phone, the screen lit up telling you what time it was, 10:13 pm, October 10. And then, finally, you said in a low voice, I came out of the Redneck. That has been and always will be my greatest achievement.
You asked, What do you consider your greatest achievement?
I paused for moment, took a few sips of my Gin cocktail, rearranged myself on the red cushioned bar stool, and said, The Ivy League, medical school, several publications, getting a job that I'm starting to like, having a decent Savings balance, and a few other things... My voice trailed off to the blare of a Middle Eastern man singing Cry Me A River at the bar's karaoke contest. Somehow saying those things out loud made me suddenly uncomfortable. A flush smudged my temples. I was, as if, reading a checklist, being pompous and self-conceited at the pride in which I considered my past a brocade of achievements. Unease sprouted on the tip of my tongue; I felt motionless, ashamed, show-offy in a way I detested when other people spoke. Humility is a virtue most people have lost, in today's age of showiness, constant prompting of your voice being heard, through easily-accessible media across the entertainment industry.
But you smiled, and rubbed your palms and a gentle scent of lavender curled out of your finger tips. You readjusted your cotton scarf, patterned like the wings of a scarlet ladybug, dotted with black and orange highlights, and took another gulp of your Stella Artois. You closed your eyes for a moment, hummed a melody with the new karaoke singer at the podium, and broke into a handsome smirk.
And, what about you? What is your biggest achievement? You've probably done a lot to become a manager here, I said, after examining the drawings of cigarette cartons and Patti Smith hanging on the walls.
At first you didn't say anything. Smiled, looked at me with an expression of unfamiliarity, pressed the Home button on your phone, the screen lit up telling you what time it was, 10:13 pm, October 10. And then, finally, you said in a low voice, I came out of the Redneck. That has been and always will be my greatest achievement.
No comments:
Post a Comment