May 20, 2014 Teaching and Learning
… who are you?
You seem to be an email-only follower of my blog, but since I have no idea who you might be (known or unknown, since there’s no WordPress identity), I’m curious.
Have we met, Benyardim?
Send me an email and let me know.
Love,
Dreamer of Dreams
May 20, 2014 Original Short Stories
Regret
Or: Slam the Door Quietly
(A Short, Short, Short Story)
©May 20th, 2014
By Vijaya Sundaram
What Shankar remembered from his day was this: The Goddess had been with him for a while.
Shankar lost his temper in a meeting that afternoon.
That was not nice.
He had been in a happy mood all day, and was in a pleasant frame of mind entering the meeting, but it took a turn, where he was pointedly (if cluelessly) ignored, while the “in-group” faced each other, each bolstering the other’s ego. He tried to insert his voice into the general discussion, because, in fact, they were trying to reach a decision about a tedious, if important matter, and all of their voices were to be heard, or so it was expected. So, he tried — and failed.
He began to fume. At one point, one of the chief offenders, Julia Dascoli, made a “Hold! Stay!” gesture to him, as if putting him on hold, while she went on, holding forth, just as he was trying to clarify an issue they were discussing. As if in passing, she said, “I’m sorry,” and turned to her yay-sayers.
His ears became hot.
Don’t get mad, he said to himself. They’re clueless, they don’t know what they’re doing, in the same way that the privileged rich in the dominant group does not really know it operates from a place of privilege. You know that, surely. Stay cool. Hold on.
He’d done this before, because it was TOO much effort to let them know that they were wrong in doing this. Besides, not one of them forgave easily, especially the chief offender. It cost too much to go against them, so he had gone along, saying nothing much.
Today was different, though.
He had been ignored, talked over, snubbed and condescended to by his power-mad peers once too often, and too openly, for him to take it any more.
He finally had enough. Getting up pointedly, he walked to the door. Julia, a power-broker if there ever was one, said, “I said I’m sorry!” Yes, she had, at one point, after she’d waved away his question, but she had NOT said it as an apology. She had been dismissive, and had turned away, after the so-called, putative “apology.”
That was what made Shankar snap. He said in his coldest, hottest, hardest, most grating voice, “DO NOT EVER SNUB ME EVER AGAIN!” His eyes blazed like a demon’s; he certainly felt demoniac. His ears felt hot, and he sparked mad anger in the direction of Julia and her minions, all united in their condescension.
They started to sputter, like a bunch of flustered tea-kettles on the boil.
Shankar was past mollifying and “making nice.” It took a lot to push him to that place in his head.
Flashing pure rage at all of them, all still spluttering, he grated harshly, “STOP!” They stopped and stared, stunned.
The Goddess was with him.
Then, he walked out, and slammed the door. The sound echoed in his ears.
That was the “not-nice” part. The Goddess shook her head, sadly.
Now, sighing, he knew he had to think it over and go back and “regret slamming the door – but can we talk?”
He felt obstinate, adamantine. He didn’t care. All he wanted to do was to tell them all a few home truths about themselves.
Would that help? Of course not!
But it would feel good, if only for a brief moment. What had he to lose? They didn’t like him, so?! Ah, but they wouldn’t get it, anyway, and wasn’t that what he wanted? For them to “get it,” apologize, or, at least, start over? Yet, he knew, from having worked with them for so long, that they would never get it. Not even if it happened to them.
That last thought stopped him. Why bother, he thought. He went back to work, shuffling papers blindly.
The only thing that consoled him was that within decades, all of them, including him, would all be dead, relegated to the dust of history.
Hurrah, he thought darkly. He didn’t feel jubilant, though.
Next time, he thought, next time, I won’t slam the door.
He picked up his briefcase, looked out the window, saw the sun streaming in, and said aloud to the empty room, ‘Time for a cappuccino.”
The Goddess waited in a corner of the room, willing the universe into a more stable state around her beloved Shankar.
Things sometimes get in a flux and that’s we need a calm hand upon the waters.
Shankar left work, and took care not to slam the door.
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Tags: #Original Short Story, #Stubbornness, angry outburst, clash of personalities, door-slam, exclusive behavior, pride