“So, you’re an activist now? Wow. And here I am still whoring for corporate America. I don’t see how you do it man. Do you even make enough to live on?”
As Reginald and Marcus settled into a deep exchange, Viva felt herself disappear from the table.
She was beginning to connect the dots of her life; identifying her patterns. What was becoming clear through the circles and swirls, the straight arrows and crooked lines that materialized from her handiwork was a creatively designed, multi-colored, multi-textured victim mentality. Everything hurt Viva’s feelings. Her thin skin absorbed minor insults, small irritations, and the tiniest misunderstandings. Hypersensitivity wasn’t an adequate description of Viva’s talent for sopping up the seepage of emotions from every random person that crossed her path.
And that is just what she was doing as Reginald and Marcus discussed the cholera epidemic in Zimbabwe and of course Mugabe’s stronghold on the country. Their words clashed and circled the issues of the day like the gaggle of pundits Viva tuned into daily as she tried to inform herself about the world. Viva participated in those evening debates, finding it easy to yell at the TV and catapult insults at the well-dressed, highly educated teams sewing opposing rhetoric that populated every news program on cable; but holding her own with the real-life talking heads was a little different.
“Cholera is spreading into South Africa, women are still being brutally assaulted in Darfur. I know you’ve read the story about the Afghani girls who had acid thrown in their faces because they were going to school. At this point in my life man, trying to help somebody is more important than my billable rate.”
“Sure, I hear you, Reginald. I pay attention to the news, too. I understand your passion, but couldn’t you do more as a partner in a firm with high powered contacts and a huge salary? Don’t you feel like you’re cheating the people you are advocating for because you’re really only offering yourself?”
Marcus was interesting. There was an easiness about him that Viva didn’t see in Reginald unless they were both naked. Marcus appeared to have no concerns; he was comfortable in his skin. In fact, there was a peace about him just beneath his highly spirited exterior.
“Look, man, money doesn’t help a woman to know that she can change her social security number once she escapes her abusive husband. Writing a check doesn’t assure a fifteen-year-old boy that he can become a doctor or pro ball player even though his father won’t have anything to do with him. Getting involved and making a connection is what gets people over the hard stuff. Money doesn’t do that.”
Marcus shook his head. “Actually, Reginald, its money that does all of that. None of those programs would exist without funding. I still say you’re cheating them. With the type of money you pull in as a litigator, you could give away half of your salary. Hell, you could give all of your salary away if that made you happy because you could live off of your bonuses alone. Either way it’s more than you’re giving them right now.”
Viva always wondered about people like Marcus. People who believed they had been given permission to run their mouths all over other folks. She knew Reginald would be the gentleman and not make a scene. Viva also knew that if she had been feeling like her usual self she would remain quiet and just blend into the furniture. But Viva was not the same. For months she’d felt as though she’d been sloughing off her long worn shell. She felt a need to speak out more, to say those things that she simply wouldn’t in the past because it was hard enough being who she was without calling extra attention to herself.
“Now, if you’d put this no-money making venture aside and join me and my three colleagues at the firm we’re starting, then you could do something real for the sick children and the battered women and feed the hungry all over the world.”
Maybe she was wrong, but Viva thought she saw Reginald tremble just slightly. She didn’t know exactly how to interpret the involuntary motion, but she guessed that he was pissed and too big of a man to respond accordingly. She also knew that Reginald was finally living his dream after the years of law school and clawing his way up the ladder to partner after being stepped over repeatedly by his grinning, less qualified, less skilled colleagues. The work he was doing was important to him, and Marcus was completely out of line.
“I’m not going back into corporate law, Marcus. I’m done with that.” Reginald brought his wine glass to his lips. After draining it, he got the waiter’s attention and ordered a double shot of Jack. As tough as Reginald was, in his core he was amazingly kind and gentle. He needed to help people, as evidenced by the countless times he’d saved Viva over the years. She’d always thought Reginald was too sweet to have gained acclaim as one of the best attorneys in Georgia.
“Listen, man, we have everything set up. And if you came in with us, we’d be off to a great start.” Reginald quietly accepted his drink from the waiter and started pouring it down his throat without a glance in his friend’s direction. Marcus sat back in his chair and watched Reginald for a full minute before turning to Viva.
“What do you think, Viva? Do you want a man with no money and a bleeding heart, or do you want a powerful game player who can buy you anything and save the world in his spare time?”
Viva, who rarely made full eye contact with strangers, or loved ones for that matter, looked directly at Marcus. She was still and silent for a long time. Then she picked up her freshly filled wine glass and before bringing it to her lips, she answered the man’s question.
“What I want is for you to shut-up so I can enjoy my meal. Better yet, move. This is a date and you weren’t invited.”
I Need to Make Promises: A Novella and Stories is available at Amazon.
-Melissa Brown Levine
www.melissabrownlevine.com
As Reginald and Marcus settled into a deep exchange, Viva felt herself disappear from the table.
She was beginning to connect the dots of her life; identifying her patterns. What was becoming clear through the circles and swirls, the straight arrows and crooked lines that materialized from her handiwork was a creatively designed, multi-colored, multi-textured victim mentality. Everything hurt Viva’s feelings. Her thin skin absorbed minor insults, small irritations, and the tiniest misunderstandings. Hypersensitivity wasn’t an adequate description of Viva’s talent for sopping up the seepage of emotions from every random person that crossed her path.
And that is just what she was doing as Reginald and Marcus discussed the cholera epidemic in Zimbabwe and of course Mugabe’s stronghold on the country. Their words clashed and circled the issues of the day like the gaggle of pundits Viva tuned into daily as she tried to inform herself about the world. Viva participated in those evening debates, finding it easy to yell at the TV and catapult insults at the well-dressed, highly educated teams sewing opposing rhetoric that populated every news program on cable; but holding her own with the real-life talking heads was a little different.
“Cholera is spreading into South Africa, women are still being brutally assaulted in Darfur. I know you’ve read the story about the Afghani girls who had acid thrown in their faces because they were going to school. At this point in my life man, trying to help somebody is more important than my billable rate.”
“Sure, I hear you, Reginald. I pay attention to the news, too. I understand your passion, but couldn’t you do more as a partner in a firm with high powered contacts and a huge salary? Don’t you feel like you’re cheating the people you are advocating for because you’re really only offering yourself?”
Marcus was interesting. There was an easiness about him that Viva didn’t see in Reginald unless they were both naked. Marcus appeared to have no concerns; he was comfortable in his skin. In fact, there was a peace about him just beneath his highly spirited exterior.
“Look, man, money doesn’t help a woman to know that she can change her social security number once she escapes her abusive husband. Writing a check doesn’t assure a fifteen-year-old boy that he can become a doctor or pro ball player even though his father won’t have anything to do with him. Getting involved and making a connection is what gets people over the hard stuff. Money doesn’t do that.”
Marcus shook his head. “Actually, Reginald, its money that does all of that. None of those programs would exist without funding. I still say you’re cheating them. With the type of money you pull in as a litigator, you could give away half of your salary. Hell, you could give all of your salary away if that made you happy because you could live off of your bonuses alone. Either way it’s more than you’re giving them right now.”
Viva always wondered about people like Marcus. People who believed they had been given permission to run their mouths all over other folks. She knew Reginald would be the gentleman and not make a scene. Viva also knew that if she had been feeling like her usual self she would remain quiet and just blend into the furniture. But Viva was not the same. For months she’d felt as though she’d been sloughing off her long worn shell. She felt a need to speak out more, to say those things that she simply wouldn’t in the past because it was hard enough being who she was without calling extra attention to herself.
“Now, if you’d put this no-money making venture aside and join me and my three colleagues at the firm we’re starting, then you could do something real for the sick children and the battered women and feed the hungry all over the world.”
Maybe she was wrong, but Viva thought she saw Reginald tremble just slightly. She didn’t know exactly how to interpret the involuntary motion, but she guessed that he was pissed and too big of a man to respond accordingly. She also knew that Reginald was finally living his dream after the years of law school and clawing his way up the ladder to partner after being stepped over repeatedly by his grinning, less qualified, less skilled colleagues. The work he was doing was important to him, and Marcus was completely out of line.
“I’m not going back into corporate law, Marcus. I’m done with that.” Reginald brought his wine glass to his lips. After draining it, he got the waiter’s attention and ordered a double shot of Jack. As tough as Reginald was, in his core he was amazingly kind and gentle. He needed to help people, as evidenced by the countless times he’d saved Viva over the years. She’d always thought Reginald was too sweet to have gained acclaim as one of the best attorneys in Georgia.
“Listen, man, we have everything set up. And if you came in with us, we’d be off to a great start.” Reginald quietly accepted his drink from the waiter and started pouring it down his throat without a glance in his friend’s direction. Marcus sat back in his chair and watched Reginald for a full minute before turning to Viva.
“What do you think, Viva? Do you want a man with no money and a bleeding heart, or do you want a powerful game player who can buy you anything and save the world in his spare time?”
Viva, who rarely made full eye contact with strangers, or loved ones for that matter, looked directly at Marcus. She was still and silent for a long time. Then she picked up her freshly filled wine glass and before bringing it to her lips, she answered the man’s question.
“What I want is for you to shut-up so I can enjoy my meal. Better yet, move. This is a date and you weren’t invited.”
I Need to Make Promises: A Novella and Stories is available at Amazon.
-Melissa Brown Levine
www.melissabrownlevine.com
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