Faster on My Own: Chapter 10
< Previous Chapter | First Chapter
When the giant enters the room, he doesn't stoop below the doorframe. He and you do not share a laugh at his cramped body squeezing through an opening build for a lower lifeform. No, the door is already high enough, always already high enough. The giant doesn't perch himself on the corner of your desk, sending the other side and everything in between flying into the air. That would be comical, and the giant isn't here to amuse you. He isn't scraping his skull against the ceiling panels to bring you anything other than reality. And when the giant says, "Listen," you do.
And Steven did, as his father refused to take a seat in front of his desk. Some power you have by virtue of your title, or the position in your family. Built-in. Born-in. Other power is dynamic. It expresses itself in conversation, in action, and has no birthplace. Mr. Williams did not believe in holding just one kind of power over Steven, or Ben, or anyone. And Steven knew it. He'd been so careful, flitting around like a bird, always singing the same song, "I'm doing this for Mr. Williams" in E.
Cleverness is a weak shield. Mr. Williams said, "Steven. I want to talk with you about the incident with Bergewicz. About the file."
"Yes, sir." He turned off all of his screens. The suck-up responds when his number is called, no matter the conditions. Steven expected to have a few minutes of silence struggle. He'd have time to collect some thoughts before he broke the tension, affirming his subordination to his father.
But Mr. Williams didn't wait. "Shouting at your superior is not the kind of culture we have here. Wrestling with him for a file is also not part of the culture."
Steven contained his shock as well as he could. In between repeating "neutral face" to himself, he tried to decode what it could mean that his father had spoken first. He hadn't earned a passing of the torch, not yet. It could be a reversal, a way of expressing how wide the gulf of power was. Mr. Williams wasn't playing power games because Steven had lost all of his power, all hope for future power. The gleaming bridge which promised to carry Steven into the future, through the dark fog which obscured the way, tottered. The road twisted like someone was wringing it out and the cables snapped. First, the road in the distance fell into the sea, and before long, it fell around him until it finally dropped out from under him and sent him falling stone-faced into the water. Drowning, he looked up at his father and said, "I overreacted. Bergewicz is a frustrating man. It won't happen again."
Mr. Williams sighed. "You're right. Because you're not going to see him again."
Playing things soft would not get Steven out of the ocean. Apologies couldn't float, groveling wouldn't sail, and ignoring the problem wouldn't dry him off. Instead, he tried to summon the confidence he'd seen Ben employ so many times in their conversations. "Oh. You don't need to fire him. It was my fault."
"I'm not firing him. Don't be an idiot." Confidence didn't bring him toward land.
"Oh. Well, neither of our functions intersect necessarily. So that shouldn't have been too hard to organize. Though I'm perfectly capable of being reasonable if he doesn't spend a full hour antagonizing me. Again." Steven skated through without offering an apology. Nothing could make his situation worse than admitting he was wrong. He went over his bridge metaphor in his head and wondered if maybe he was trying to construct a raft now."That won't happen again. I'm freezing you."
"I'm not sure what that means." Steven picked up a pen and hunched forward, striking an idea-creation pose that the other executives seemed to love. "In fact, I think we would see a huge jump in productivity if we reduced business jargon altogether. We already have clear words for these things."
His father ignored the suggestion. Throughout the conversation, Mr. Williams hadn't moved or changed his expression. To him, it was clearly unnecessary to put on a show for Steven's sake. But now he let a bit of annoyance through. "It means you no longer have any responsibilities with the other executives. No company-wide planning sessions, nothing. You exist above your direct subordinates, but nowhere else." There was no raft. No movement forward whatsoever. Why didn’t Mr. Williams just fire him? Some base sentimentality of a father toward his son? A lonely pink line connecting their two bodies, pulsing and glowing in the black void of their relationship. It made no sound when you plucked it, despite being as taut as a guitar string. Every vibration worked its way back into their bodies, at the cost of great pain to both. Mr. Williams had never severed it, not all the way. For years a lonely pink string wound down to neighborhoods of New York City which he'd never heard of. It held tight then, and now, when they were only a few feet apart.
But Steven could see another thread emerging from his father's back. Not a thread. A cord. A tree-trunk. Blood-red and always vibrating. A constant earthquake shook everything around it as it shot from Mr. William's spine, up through the ceiling. Up through conference rooms and offices, it burst through desks, scattered documents, unconcerned with disrupting the day-to-day flow of a business until it reached Mr. William’s chair at the top of the building. No measly string could compete.
"What you tried to do here is difficult. You spent your entire adult life in the trash and decided to pull yourself up. And you did. But you're not cut out for this. I don't know why. It could be because you spent twelve years with a handful of idiot punks."
"I think I understand, Mr. Williams." Steven rose from his desk. "I'm fired. I knew this might happen. I thought I could make this work. All I ask is-"
"No, you don't understand." His father motioned for him to sit back down, and Steven obeyed without a thought. "You still have a job here. So far you've proven to be an adequate marketer, so I'm going to transfer you over to that department. The social media idea was good. That's where I want you. But you don't have the right kind of killer instinct to be an executive. Look at your brother."
A familiar headache pulsed in the back of Steven's head. Always Ben. Lurking in his shadow, underneath every scrap of paper, hidden under every rustling in the bushes, masked by the smell of popcorn no matter where it was cooked, Ben was present in all things. Steven could not speak as the Bens hiding in every molecule of air rushed into his lungs.
His father said, "He can eviscerate one of his subordinates in ten seconds, wiping out a challenger for years. But he also knows how not to offend the people who can help him rise. You can't learn that, and you won't."
"So that's it, then. I get to trudge along the rest of my life with no chance at advancement. All because I got into it with Bergewicz?"
"Yes."
"Even though I only did something that everyone has wanted to do to him?"
"Yes." With that, Mr. Williams walked to the door. "And if you get into any more fights, I'll fire you. This is a business, we all need to stay focused on what's important."His father was gone, and had slammed a stone door behind him. No hinges, no doorknob, no keyhole. A perfect fit into the mountainside except for one seam of light which peeked through. It taunted Steven, called his name, begged him to scratch at that little crack until his fingers bled. But Steven knew it would never open for him. Higher on the mountain, Steven, the business titan of the future, faded. His tailored suit, his overwhite teeth, his manicured fingernails, all disappeared. But the eyes hung in the air. The analytical, cruel gaze persisted. They stared at the horizon.