Balls

I spun around as fast as my exhausted state could possibly allow, but a second too late. Before I knew it, it smacked me right in the face, in the middle of my forehead. I staggered before succumbing to the shock and shooting pain and fell hard on my back, so hard was the blow.

“Excellent Mark, just great. EYES ON THE BALL, DON’T DAYDREAM!,” came the familiar and endearing bark of my oh-so-beloved coach.

“Ya, do that more, we really need it. Should nail a lot of games this season,” he sneered with gusto.

I was pissed. Like, royally, beyond anything you could comprehend – and it wasn’t from the ball. Well ok, mostly not from it. I scowled at my gym teacher and felt nothing but disgust. Guy was a douchebag of the highest order. If ever you asked me to give you an example of the most uninspiring team-leader I ever knew, he’d be my top pick. I pictured myself just slicing off that bulging chin, that overhanging belly, and shoving it into his fu……….

“Hey, hey hero! Come here!” his voice cracked again, pulling me out of my momentary withdrawal. It was remarkable I could hear anyone or anything in my present mood, seeing nothing but red at the time.

“What?!” I screamed back, out of anger but also from being worn out after more than two hours of brutal training.

“Come here. Hey, I said come here dammit!” he barked again, making a ‘come-here’ palm gesture as he did.

I looked around at the court and my teammates, and then started moving towards him. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of being able to push me around, I took my own sweet time to saunter over. That did not make him any happier.

“Listen hero, ditch the attitude, aannh? Lose it, or leave it at home before you get here. Get me? You hear me, right?” he said, constantly moving his hand around while speaking, as if it would drive the message home. Half the reason for my intense dislike of him came from all that goddamn gesturing.

“What’re you…” I began, but was immediately cut off.

“No no, don’t say anything. Just do as I tell you. I’m experienced, I know better. Keep your eyes on the ball and don’t mess up again,” he said.

Eyes on the ball? Eyes on the ball?! The insufferable a****** seemed to conveniently forget all the points I’d scored for him just yesterday. So what if I hadn’t reacted in time just now? It was only my first error in, like, months. And I’d been clean during the whole of training, until that one moment. Nazir had been screwing up since the day’s session began and he hadn’t said anything to him.

“Yo, what’s your problem? What do you mean don’t screw up? I got us out in the second half didn’t I?” I challenged.

“And what, you think that’s enough to give you a pass for anything?”

“It’s just one small mistake. And what about last week, huh? Or anytime before that? Been bringing in the numbers, haven’t I?” I shot back.

“Oh, so you’re special then. You’re better than anyone here.”

By now, some of the other guys had stopped their shooting and dribbling and were gathering around at the periphery of the shooting mark to watch. There were still enough of them going on with their practice at the other end of the court, or at least trying to, so it wasn’t too awkward. Not that I cared at this point.

“I didn’t say that, and no way would I think that. If I did, you think I’d be staying back after six hours of class for practice I didn’t need?”

“Listen, I don’t care what you did or what you plan to do. Just shutup and follow instructions. Get back on the court and do that play again properly. Go, go. Now.”

“Hey a******, I don’t see you saying anything to Nazir or Jones about their form. What you getting all over me for?!” I said as I started moving towards the court, finally losing all that pent-up, but hitherto well-managed, restraint.

At this point, I was positive that he would kill me. I think he actually could if he tried, or deal some serious damage at least. I was his height but he was wider than me. And despite his overt lethargy, I knew he wasn’t devoid of strength. He could have strangled me if he wanted to then and there, no problem. With the maddest glare I’ve seen on any face, he advanced slowly towards me.

“What? What……...did you say?” he asked in almost a whisper, bobbing his head up as he said so.

I didn’t recoil. The damage was done. I know I said that he could clobber me, but I wasn’t scared. Let him do what he wanted, like I wouldn’t do something back. I was way beyond caring and firmly stood my ground.

“I think you heard me. You really want me to repeat it again, in front of everyone?” I asked, with a smirk of satisfaction.

It seems weird to think about, and even more so considering the severity of the confrontation at the time, but I felt like there was a free-floating flow of words between us at the time, like an invisible bridge linking our exchange. It was like my responses were already tailor-made to his and were ready even before words reached his mouth, and vice-versa.

He looked like he was struggling to breathe and couldn’t draw the words out of his mouth. Perhaps no one had spoken to him like that before. Not a single student when he threw verbal barbs at them or a member of the faculty when he talked down to them.

“You………alright, go. Give me fifty rounds.”

“What the hell for?”

“Give me fifty rounds!”

“Why?" 

That was his breaking point. I’d gone too far. He’d finally had it and started walking towards me, but I didn’t wait. With a parting “f****** a******” under my breath and a smirk, I charged up and started running. Felt good. Nice day.

Oh Dear....

Oh good, five minutes to one. Man I can’t wait. Come on, man. Cumon cumon cumon………aw come on already! Every second is agonizing, every minute feels like a year. One o’ clock just can’t get here fast enough….

I’ve been staring at the clock for what seems an eternity. I’ve been working non-stop since eight. At this point, I can barely keep my eyes open or prop myself up on my own elbows at my desk.

I dragged myself to the office early today to get some stuff out of the way and free up my weekend. I also hoped it would get my boss’ attention. Not that he ever comes in this early, but word is that he goes over everyone’s check-in time on his way in.

I’d also skipped breakfast this morning. Bad move.

I have to deal with a lot of things at the same time. Whining clients, lazy-ass colleagues and whatnot - all this on top of my regular workload.

I’m back to looking at the hands on the nearby clock hanging on the wall. I wait in agonizing silence as the large hand slowly inches towards the number twelve. I can barely wait, the moment is nearly here.

I don’t even feel like caring right now. I’m completely spent at this point and my stomach gives off an audible rumble. Let the damn phone go off, let the losers search frantically for me as they go nuts trying to solve their own mess. With things so hectic and me overstretched, I literally haven’t had the chance to get off my table since the morning.

Oh, and it’s also sweltering outside, as expected around this time of the year, meaning that even the short walk I have to take from the park is almost unbearable.

            And why do I leave my car all the way at the park? Because the ever-so-considerate wanks from the neighbouring office take up all our slots.

I try to not give in to the overwhelming urge to close my eyes. It’s happened before. My eyelids start drooping and suddenly I’ve dozed off, my head jerking and bobbing on the chair. Kinda funny, really, when you see it. Actually no, it’s not….

Three to one……

Two to one, come on, come ON……

Yes! It’s finally here! I breathe a huge sigh of relief as the hand settles over twelve. Pushing my chair back with perhaps more force than required, I get up and proceed to make my way to the pantry downstairs. For now, all I need is a quick fix. I knock over a stapler on the way down and don’t bother picking it up.

I press the elevator button and wait for it to arrive at my floor. This I can easily wait for, no problem. Don’t know how, but always been able to. Sitting on that confounded chair is maddening. Everything that follows after getting up from it seems a cakewalk.

I walk into the elevator as the doors slide open and press the button to go downstairs. It’s not that far below so doesn’t take too much time.

Even before the doors are fully open, I get out of the elevator before anyone else has a chance to and walk towards the pantry, inviting strange looks as I do so. Ah, yes, there’s the beverage-machine. I go there first before doing anything else.

I hastily yank out a cup from the dispenser on the side, lock it into the cup-holder inside and jab the button that would activate the flow of some much-needed hot cocoa. I wait for the familiar sound of pouring liquid, followed by the beeping sound signalling that it was okay to withdraw the cup. After pressing the button, I wait and look around absent-mindedly.

Except that there was no flowing sound….

Or the usual beeping….

I press the button again. Nothing. I chuck the cup into the trash, take out another and put it into the holder. After all that, I press the “choco-milk” button again.

Still nothing.

I look up at the small green display that shows the operational status of the machine and preparation stage of the beverage last ordered.

“Sorry. Currently Out Of Order.”

What the……

What the f****** hell, are you kidding me??!!!

Melancholia

Once was a boy named Fortune.

And he was afraid.

Why he was so, none could tell.

Fear, omnipresent fear wherever he turned.

Leering at him from every corner.

A bilious, foreboding mist, suffusing every fibre within, reaching every crevasse.

Overpowering what may have held on before, taking over.

At other times, an indomitable wall before him.

As if challenging him.

He was afraid.

Afraid to look here, to look there.

To go here, to go there.

Everywhere he turned, it was there.

Unceasing in its pursuit, reaching out to him at every opportune moment, cackling away.

Harrying him even at the very best of times, those verdurous, light-filled moments we all cherish and hold so dear.

One would think this a contest, a duel to wrest complete control.

Oh no, this was no battle between equals.

Even the smallest of victories held a sour aftertaste.

Even on the verge of overpowering it, a vestige would remain.

To seep in again and conquer, as it always did, like a breach in a mighty hull or a tear in a waterskin.

Time didn’t matter, it could always wait.

For as long as it took to take hold.

Would there be no respite for the boy?

Where it came from, who knows?

Perhaps it had always been present inside, waiting to strike.

Or maybe it came from the outside, the boy’s ill-luck somewhere or with someone.

But the boy grew strong and as time passed, he learnt.

He learnt to look up and look out.

He grappled with it, day after day, every breathing moment, such that the two came to be equals.

Sometimes he overpowers it, but fear still rears its head.

And he has come to accept it, for he realized that all is not lost.

Now he can control it.

Now he can do as he will.

Why live in fear forever?

Freewind

            He soared across the open fields as if on wings, joy unbridled. It was always so, moments like these being few and far in between. The air in these northern climes was sweet and pure and the grass that his hooves skimmed felt cool. It was times like these that brought back his childhood, when he, his mother and the rest of the herd roamed the plains free and there seemed not a worry in the world.

This was the world he enjoyed, becoming utterly lost in it. Many were the countries he had trod on. He had trundled along busy alleyways, charged on the sun-soaked wastes of the southern deserts and trudged through the bitter snows of the far north. But this was where his heart lay. The cool northern wind blowing back his golden mane and the untarnished endless green spurred him further on. He could stay and live here forever.

“Freewind! Freewind! Come here! Come here and rest awhile,” a voice brought him out of his reverie.

At those words, Freewind stopped abruptly and wheeled around towards the voice. He did not wish it, but had to and knew the words meant well. He was almost resentful that the man had chosen that very moment, the most precious of all, to call out to him. But as always, the resentment would pass. He understood. Pack and warhorses seldom knew when rest was needed. And rest was always needed, especially at the right time. Running unhindered on the plains made him forget that he had a master to answer to.

But running for too long made the blue and green of the sky and ground blur into flashes. Flashes of that day, that one day. Several years had passed since that fateful day, when a great commotion of rapidly approaching men had forever shattered the peace of the plains. Freewind had been captured by the horse traders that day and sold to the first bidder who came along. Even though he had always been strong, bringing food when others from the herd were too weak to fend for themselves, the capture had greatly broken him. He was separated from those whom he loved and had grown up with. The very will to live seemed to hang by only a thread.

This dispiritedness did not go unnoticed and most of the traders favoured releasing him or worse, getting rid of him. Against all reason, they decided to try their luck at the nearest horse market. And indeed luck did favour them – especially for the horse. A noble was passing by and would surely have overlooked the broken animal had it not been for his son by his side.

“Please, father, please,” implored the boy. “He is not broken yet. There is a greatness in him. Please buy him for me, father. I shall bring back the light in his eyes. You will see”.

The trader who had his palms coiled around Freewind’s rein smirked upon hearing this. But the boy stepped forward to stroke him and Freewind felt something different. It was much like his mother’s caress. The boy had a reassuring touch, and for what seemed the first time in his life, rather than after weeks, his perpetually bowed head rose.

But the white stallion had never begrudged the boy anything. Freewind could not have asked for a better owner. No, not an owner, but a friend. A friend who loved him and tended him as if he were his own. Garwin’s father was not of great means and was loath to purchase the beast. Seeing the determination of his son compelled him and the pair had brought him home. For the first few weeks, the lord’s servants instructed the boy on how to care for the animal. The boy was very inquisitive and wanted to know everything - at what times of the day to feed him, how to check for a fever, how to clothe the animal in case of an unexpected deluge. This Garwin did that he might restore the beast’s spirits himself. In time, he dismissed the groom and servants and took charge himself.

“You are a wonderful animal, though you may yet know it not. I look at you and I see loss. Father and I too have lost,” he said, pausing for a moment, as if to recollect himself.

This was the first time that Freewind had ever seen pain in a human. Not the fleeting kind that could be tucked away but genuine pain, the same that had taken hold of him months ago and still lingered.

“Freewind I name you herein. For though you be bound to me and my family, I would that you have your freedom and not be chained as others would have it. Do not forget though that I shall still have great need of you.”

As weeks, and then months went by, the boy nursed him back. He would even forsake a good night’s sleep to see that the horse got his. At other times, he would be chastised by his father for neglecting his studies to spend more time with Freewind. Both horse and boy grew up together.

Before the sweetness of adolescence flowed away, Garwin, in upholding the family name, enlisted as a soldier in the King’s Forces. Initially assigned to remote outposts of the kingdom, he proved himself and won much fame, among his own people and others, shielding borderland villagers from hostile raiders. And always bearing him would be Freewind, for Garwin would have no other mount. Together, both horse and master accomplished feats of glory, and hope would be rekindled in the harassed who saw the armoured knight borne upon the fair steed furiously riding down the attackers. Tales grew around Garwin and Freewind, such that it seemed both had morphed into a single being.

The drilling was hard, and Freewind had not been exempted. The Pallantine Corps were regarded as some of the best horsemen in all the realms. Before being formally accepted into its elite ranks, drawn from the military’s finest, both man and horse had to undergo the most rigorous training. Men of the Pallantine tended to be stationed in the far-flung parts of the king’s dominions, to keep his peace and deliver his justice if warranted.

Such assignments ill suited those weak of body or faint of heart. A rider did not fight in isolation – his mount had to be equally conditioned as well, to adapt to conditions and withstand the strains of battle.

It was a far cry from before, when the most effort required by Freewind was running across the open meadows at home with the boy on his back. Yet Garwin and Freewind had impressed the king’s inspectors who had received recommendations from boy’s drill officers. The horse seemed to be in exceptionally good health and spirits. Garwin had received some instruction from his father in swordplay, as did every noble’s son. But while the boy’s skills were not remarkable by any means, he seemed to have a hawk’s eye for surroundings and, inexplicably, a sense of justice bordering on retribution. It was the kind of attitude needed to serve and survive in the hinterlands. Thus the pair were accepted, at least nominally, and sent to the Pallantine camps. Freewind was trained to run faster, swerve at ever sharper angles at a moment’s notice, canter in formation and take on the added weight of armour and rations.

On the rare occasion that he would sojourn in the city, Garwin would partake in the lord’s trade. Being the son of a merchant, he was destined to take his father’s place someday. Neither horse nor master relished navigating the clogged streets of the big city but this was another task that both knew had to be carried out. A sign of the special place accorded to him, Freewind would be spared the burden of baggage. Garwin was firmly against it. Instead, he was used to lead the way for the long column of other pack-animals through the narrow walkways.

It was on his first errand riding to the northern plains that Garwin noticed something different. He was as yet unaware that this was Freewind’s first home. The horse became restless as rolling hills and taller grasses came into view. Upon approaching a patch of land with nothing but a solitary tree and a few shrubs, he stood strangely rooted to the spot. Even when Garwin dismounted, Freewind would not move and it took all his effort to get the horse to budge at all. This had never happened before, not even in the harsh deserts of the south where most horses did not fare well. Even the fearsome clash of steel against steel did not cow Freewind anymore. This was something completely different. In that moment, the man knew.

Garwin then leaned in and whispered in the stallion’s ear, “Go now, Freewind. Run. The world is yours. This place is yours. If only for a little while, I release you.”

With some hesitation, Freewind had started taking his first few steps, unsure whether it was wise to tread the path of old memories, memories that were pure joy but also reminded him of that which had rent his world apart. The familiar feel of the cool grass under his hooves and the melodic hymns of birds perched on the treetops gave him new confidence – but only for a while. They also reminded him of his mother and kin and the now voiceless plains that confronted him.

Things are different now, he thought to himself. It is not like before. I can run on these fields again. I have lost, but I have also gained.

That was the thought that finally pushed him. It took a while but he felt his pace quicken. His slow stride spurted into a gallop. Suddenly, the smell of the moist grass and the sweet air entered his nostrils, infusing him with a new energy. He wondered whether he would be able to stop himself. Before he knew it, he was gliding along the green, as if he had been there all his life. He would always tire himself out, and yet yearn for more.

And so this became custom. Every year, master and horse would journey to Freewind’s home in the northern plains, where he could shake off all burdens and run free. Upon seeing the familiar grounds and without waiting for rest or food, Garwin would release the horse. There was no need to beckon him forth. As soon as he felt the saddle and reins come off, Freewind would sally forth and not stop for miles.

And so, many hours would pass this way. But ever dutiful, he would always go back to Garwin when called for. 
    

Looming

As the warm waters of the ocean kissed his dry skin, he could not help but feel……

Today is a good day.

            The sea was far from being his arena. But here now, sitting at the bow, he enjoyed the feeling of the water washing against him. For years he had wondered what it was like and what it was that others saw in it. Nor had he bothered to find out.

After all, what was it to him? Were there not enough worries on land, the real domain of men? Years spent listening to songs and tales of the ocean had not aroused anything in him. But now, being here……….if only the circumstances were different. Why did it have to be like this?

What lay before him could not detract the vision of serenity. It was a beautiful day indeed. The wind was favourable; the waters were not wholly calm but not rough either. And of course, there was the sun.

            Oh the sun.

            It shone bright in the summer sky, hanging directly over him, a brilliant orb encased in a magnificent halo. He felt reassured. All would be well. As long as the sun shone overhead, everything would be fine.

And anything that was required of him would be easier to face. There would be no compunction, no looking back.

            The cool breeze intermingled with the soothing warmth and aroma of saltwater to overwhelm the senses. Breaking himself from his brief moment of bliss before being thrust into the demands of the world, he turned around to see those behind him. Those who would follow him. Their lives were in his hands. Some were eager, some unsure, but all knew their duty and their oaths.

            Their weapons and helmets lay beside them. A few sharpened their blades with whetstones one last time. He had been holding his own spear for a while now. If anything, seeing the calm blue had only strengthened his grip. His burnished shield lay flat on the floor of the boat on his other side.

            Yes, it truly was a beautiful day. Conditions were ideal.

            The wind blew with them, pushing the boat faster towards the landing and distorting the direction and pace of hostile arrows. The calm sea made for easier rowing and drawing up to the shore with rapidity. With any luck, they would hit the face in force and quickly negotiate the rise. The clear skies and blazing sun gave them a good line of sight and allowed for discerning oncoming threats.

            The beach had come into view and got larger as they approached. He could make out the trees and the huts sheltered under them, no inhabitants as far as he could see. Standing up and looking ahead, he could make out tiny figures on the beach, running frantically.

            They’re making preparations as well….

            He turned to face his men one last time. Their grim, yet stoic, faces showed their resolve. They had already exchanged words prior to setting out from the ship. Nothing more was needed, no hooting, no coaxing, no final gestures of encouragement – and that was perhaps the best thing about them. Soldiers. They never had to be pushed, at least not the ones he had served with. They always stood ready, unquestioning and aware of what was to be done.

            Adjusting the bands of his lamellar and fastening the strap of his helmet, ensuring its rigidity, he picked up the shield with his left hand. Looking around, he saw the other men, hundreds of them, in their boats doing the same. He could just about make out a mass of enemy infantry and archers gradually settling in a line on the top of the sandy rise, spears and arrows ready.

            Nodding to his men, he leaned forward, ready to jump off and lead the vanguard as he had been tasked back home.

The plaintive notes of the soft violin that had played the other day started filling his ears as he lowered his head, eyeing the nearest troop through the sharp glare of the helmet’s nose-guard, making him hesitate and lose focus for a fraction of a second. Where..…?

The jerk of the boat as it hit the mud snapped him back to reality. A moment slower than his comrades on the other boats, he pushed himself with one leg and leapt, leapt off the front………...and into the midst of chaos.

Unchained

It is too late now, for that which is already sown took root long ago.

Firmly it was set on its path, towards the greatest pinnacles of glory.

Far away such a goal may seem, yet is not everything worth striving for set at such lofty heights?

Seemingly unattainable, yet so compelling, driving the vessel towards it?

The city would not have it. It looks down on hope, on the will that allows one to think.

But that which is already sown is driven too deep and cannot now be turned from path or purpose.

It was not always so, the present was foreseen by none.

And yet, it is seen that things may change over time.

So it was that such a thing came to pass, the seed was forever changed.

Nurtured over the years, housed in the heart of a potent receptacle, the possibilities appeared infinite.

In spite of the beast that now stands before it.

A shapeless behemoth that seems to leer at it from every corner, no matter where it turns.

And over which it must prevail.

Anything less and it is doomed to fail, to be carried away on a wisp of wind, its name nothing more than a whisper of doom and futility.

A blurred memory, even to its own kin.

Many are the naysayers who hail the name of the city, this faceless mass of steel that swallows beings whole.

They say to live in it is to accept it, and to accept it is to embrace it wholly.

Unquestioningly.

For the city knows all, stifling anything that attempts to raise itself, looking down on all and clamping down on the faintest slivers of light.

Eventually, everything succumbs to it, they say.

But they have not reckoned with the seed.

For that which was sown long ago has now grown roots too deep, firmly entwined in the sinews of the vessel.

In another time, this looming steel behemoth may have won.

Like it has over millions before.

But not now.

The path is set, the prize is lit.

Long and arduous the journey may be, but it matters not.

The time to look back is long past, for that which took root long ago now holds sway.

Frayed

She waits in anguish for every phone call.

This is her existence every minute, of every hour, of every day.

Without end.

Each ring bringing her more hope and with it the promise of a renewed future.

But also grief inconsolable and unbearable pain.

Something no mother should suffer.

With fondness she remembers what was the best day of her life, and will ever be.

As two swathed bundles were handed to her.

But that smile slowly curves downward, revealing an embittered shell.

Will she ever come to terms with what happened?

For while one improves, the other decays.

While one embraces the joyous rivers of childhood, the other shall wither away.

A life lost.

Beyond all help, say the healers.

The soft words of others are worthless.

“They’ll be alright” “Give it some time” “Don’t worry so much.”

“You’ll be fine.”

Nor does she have ears for them, silky and ingratiating.

What do they know, naught but fools.

In agonizing silence does she sit by the phone, blank eyes, idle hands.

Waiting, just waiting.

Glistening slivers run a trail down her dry cheeks, to quivering lips.

To let go of one, to hold on to the other.

The phone rings.

A shaking hand inches towards it......

Little Fingers

For a six-year old, it could not have been more boring. She missed the outdoors, being on the swings, or the sandpit with the other kids. And her bicycle. Oh, her beloved bicycle. She loved the warmth of the sunrays falling on her face and the sweet air of spring filling her nose as she wheeled down the sloping sidewalks and lanes of her neighbourhood. She did not completely understand the place she had been brought to right now.

It was a place filled with a bright yellow light pouring out of a huge lamp that was hanging from the ceiling. She tilted her head to look up, leaning so far back that she almost fell over. It was a very high ceiling. We can’t be at someone’s house, she thought to herself. Who are these people in the funny clothes? The funnily-clothed people seemed to be serving food and drinks to her parents and their friends.

Everyone seemed to be showering attention on her mother. Her mother might be the toast of the party, but the little girl did not feel like joining in. She had seen many of these gatherings, and they were all the same to her.

She broke away from the group, lost in herself, and started walking around hoping to find someone to talk to. They all adored her but would eventually turn away with a small smile and engage in themselves. Big people, talking about big, grown-up things. She started prancing around. Soft music was coming from somewhere. She could not find the source but found it very calming, if too slow for her taste. Her frock and curly auburn hair swayed behind her as she went running under a table or chair, emerged on the other side only to repeat the whole thing again. As it was with her cycling in the neighbourhood, her scampering ended with her mother calling, “Come here sweetheart. Alanna, come here sweetie. You’ll get lost.”

v   

“Lost somewhere, Paige?” A voice shook her out of her languor.

“N-no, not at all…….yes, the Agermeyers tomorrow. Please, carry on.” the woman replied.

The grating voice of her boss, after going on incessantly about the case for over a hour, was getting to her now. Haven’t we gone over these enough already? she fumed silently. Not that there had been any slip-up at court, but her boss would insist on running over every single detail, even the ones that had long been dealt with and put to rest.

But Paige had no choice about this working dinner. Her boss was a senior partner, and as a new associate, she had to acquiesce to everything. Such is life, she would constantly say. Repeating those words were the only way she consoled herself during countless late nights. Keep greasing the wheels. Just a year more, another push there, and it’ll be over. She could finally lop off a large chunk of her loans and find another place to work. That wouldn’t be too hard; Landis & Steinbeck looked great on any resume, especially for someone only a couple of years fresh out of law school. Maybe a smaller, less chaotic firm. Hopefully land a position at the DA’s office, like she’d always aspired to.

Now, she was sitting with Landis at a restaurant that even a year ago she would not have dared to step in. Apparently this was where all the city’s hotshots came by. The dinner part had been a disappointment. The salad that had been brought before her consisted of a single sprig of lettuce. The bland salmon that followed shortly after didn’t do anything for her palate – and after such a gruelling day, she’d been starving.

The latest case was a tough one, and really hard on her. A wrongful death suit had been filed by the parents of a young production assistant who had fallen off a suspended dais during a shoot. It had been all over the news, and the movie studio involved was taking a lot of heat. Allegedly, they had made the young man clamber up on the platform to test its strength. The test failed. This is where Landis & Steinbeck came in. The studio was their biggest client and they were on the line. Losing this case could compromise the relationship with them. A preliminary out-of-court settlement had already been tossed aside by the PA’s family. The trial had gotten underway a few days ago and was taking a toll on both parties. Well, more accurately, Landis appeared unfazed, but for the young associate it was a most unpleasant affair.

v   

The girl ducked under the table for what seemed the umpteenth time. She would tire soon and then find something else to do. She always did. Scolding and calls of concern mingled with shouts of laughter and amusement to produce a strange jumble of voices in her ears. This too she was used to. After a while, they would all simmer down and resume their usual grown-up stuff. She wished there was someone to play with. She always hoped that whenever someone new would walk in through her parents’ door, there would be a smiling boy or girl clinging to the grownup’s hand. A new face that she hadn’t seen before, someone that she could take upstairs to her room and share her stuffed teddies with. Or watch her favourite cartoons with. It didn’t matter, so long as he or she could laugh as much or scurry as fast as she did.

v   

No remorse, kept repeating itself in her head. Those were Landis’ words to her in his office the night before the beginning of the deposition. “Don’t think I don’t know exactly what we’re doing here. Or what you’re going through.”

“I was standing exactly where you are right now.” he continued. “Young, idealistic, think you can change the world. It doesn’t work. You’re not doing anything wrong. It’s just business. You’d do well to treat it as such.”

It was easier said than done, but that’s exactly what Paige did. Not like she had much choice, that’s what she had to do, if she was to survive. She had stood there in stony silence that evening, unable to muster a reply. The case itself had disgusted her and it was painful dealing with the grieving parents. It wasn’t too long ago that she too had been a kid at college. But when a name partner was watching your every move as much as opposing counsel, you used every trick in the book. Get the job done, as many constantly reminded her, including her own parents who seemed to be breathing down her neck as much as Landis these days.

Now, brushing away morsels of the pallid salmon that had inexplicably made its way down to her skirt, she couldn’t wait to have this over with and get back to her apartment. A few hours of sleep, that’s all she wanted. And then it was back to the battlefield tomorrow morning, for another bout of mental tussling that would surely drive yet another family to the breaking point.

v   

The little girl had left her dinner largely untouched and gone off somewhere again. The food tasted funny. For some time, she had been looking at the people seated at the other tables. She enjoyed doing this, observing other people around her. Sometimes she would wave to someone or go closer and say hello. Sometimes, she would even nick something from their plates and snack on it mischievously in front of them.

For the most part, the grown-ups did not seem to have a problem. Some even found it extremely cute. Of course, her mother would usually come over and apologize to the unfortunate victim of the girl’s antics. Then she would take the little girl back to the family table and scold her, but not in an overly harsh manner.

Her eyes travelled the room and saw all kinds of people. There was a man and woman at one table who couldn’t seem to stop staring at each other. Two spots from them was another man who sat alone, jabbering on his phone and doing something on the computer-thingy that Father would often use at home. There was one of the funnily-dressed men speaking to another funnily-dressed man in a voice higher than she was used to.

At a table on one of the far corners were a youngish woman and an older man. The man seemed to do a lot of talking and moving around with his hands while the woman sat quiet most of the time. But suddenly, the woman moved her head sideways to look at the little girl. The little girl could make out the faintest smile on her face, as if she almost beckoned her to come closer.

v   

For a while now, Paige had been watching the little girl out of the corner of the eye. Despite the best efforts of her mother, the girl just couldn’t seem to sit still. Pretty little creature, she thought. Oh to be that young and carefree, she mused, with perhaps the slightest pang of longing and regret. She watched with further amusement as the little girl darted in and out of tables and chairs. Her eyes widened when she saw her run under a particularly tall waiter carrying dishes.

By now Landis had simmered down a little, trying to down the remnants of the dessert he had just ordered. Paige’s attention was now firmly on the little girl. As if she could somehow pick up on it, the little girl turned her head to look at her. Paige smiled at her and gave her a small wave under the table.

The little girl was very shy, as many children are. She stood rooted to the spot, perhaps not expecting anyone in the restaurant, least of all an adult, to pay her any mind. Paige couldn’t help but feel a sense of anticipation about what the child would do next, but secretly was quite sure of her next few steps.

v   

Alanna teetered between staying still or going up to the woman, who had a warm and inviting smile. On the other hand, the man she was with did not have the friendliest face and seemed preoccupied with his food. But she did not let that bother her. Things like that never had. There was something about the woman though, innocent and almost child-like, covered up by all that fancy grown-up clothing.

v   

“Hmphh, annoying little brat. And the parents, just letting her run around like that, making a nuisance…….” Landis’ voice, with its usual tone of condescension towards everything and everyone that existed outside of him, seemed to trail away in the plastic air of the restaurant. As she expected, the little girl, overcoming her initial hesitation, drew closer to the table. And then, quite unexpectedly but nevertheless amusing, she picked one of the shrimp that Paige had left on the side of her plate and gulped it down. It took almost everything Paige had to stifle her laughter and give her a hug, so adorable she found her.

But again, mindful of the company, restraint was called for – as it had been, with increasing frequency, since she had joined L&S. She couldn’t remember the last time she could get away with anything. Bringing up the wrong film or artist at work would reflect on her intelligence. She recalled Landis running down a colleague behind his back the other day with a couple of junior partners, when the man had told him about taking his wife to the ballet. Her colleagues didn’t seem to exhibit any semblance of emotion or inclination to bond whatsoever. Even her own parents only asked about work and what she had planned for the future.

At that moment, she had looked at the little girl and wondered. For the first time in her life, she felt as though she was truly seeing. To live like that, unfettered, free of the trappings of the world and the expectations of others. Still innocent, still untouched by the world and what it did to a person. The PA and his family jumped to the forefront of her mind again. They weighed on her each and every day.

After a while, the little girl’s mother came over and made countless apologies, which made Paige smile further. She dismissed it and invited her to stay awhile if she wanted. Landis maintained an overt detachment the entire time, only grunting incomprehensibly whenever the mother attempted to engage him in conversation. At this point, Paige couldn’t care about him or their pending business any less. The little girl herself had gone away somewhere, perhaps satisfied with the shrimp.

v   

A few minutes after the mother walked away, Landis rose from his chair, signalling the end of the dinner. Paige was thoroughly relieved. She had come here feeling tired and slightly downcast but could now feel a palpable smile etched on her face.

“Ready to leave? I’m sure you at least had an eventful evening.” Landis’s voice cracked in.

The next few moments seemed almost like a blur to her. At least that’s what it seemed like later on, when she had time to comprehend what she had done. She couldn’t believe that she had gone through with it, but in no way did she regret it. She didn’t even care about the admonishments she got from close friends and family when she recounted the incident days later.

As they parted at the entrance, she walking down the road in the direction of her apartment and he waiting for the valet to bring his car, she whipped around and called out to him, “Oh Mr. Landis, thanks for such an exquisite dinner.” flinging the black leather-bound case file into the air as she did so, waiting only long enough for its descent to briefly blot out Landis’ astounded face.

Hello...

Hello and welcome all. This marks my first official post, many more to follow....hope you enjoy them.