| "You Make The Choice – |
| To Be What You Are." |
THE MAGIC LIFE - A Novel Philosophy
by Ace Starry
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Chapter 7
After quickly consuming a couple of slices of pizza and slugging down my orange soda, I wiped the tomato sauce off my chin and headed back to work. My mind was still swimming from the intensity of Max's discussion. "What am I?" I thought that I had already answered that. I would really need to examine this question carefully since I had thought it was exactly the same as, "Who am I?" That afternoon, I pulled into the parking garage feeling very full and almost drowsy, as though I were in a fog. Somewhere in the misty corners of my mind was the answer to this riddle, but presently the solution eluded me.
After I parked the car, I sat for a moment just thinking, "If who I am is that which I was given – so to speak – then what am I must include everything that I became." I didn’t feel comfortable with the obvious answer. What I was, was more than just ol’ James, the accountant. The answer, I knew, would take a lot of inner searching. Upon entering the elevator, I hit the button for the 25th floor and breathed a heavy sigh of submission. Maybe I’ll figure it out later. I walked out of the elevator, past the receptionist and headed to my desk. The receptionist, glancing up, stopped me before I had traveled all the way down the hall.
"James," she said, "Mr. Lee asked to have you drop by his office as soon as you returned."
"Are you sure he wanted to see me?"
"Oh, yes, I took the message myself," she replied.
Suddenly weak in the knees, I felt the butterflies congregate in my stomach. What did he want to see me for? I had rarely ever been called into his office, except when I messed something up. He was usually pretty reasonable, but I hated feeling like an idiot – pretty much the case whenever I screwed up. After dropping my briefcase and jacket off at my desk, I picked up a pen and yellow note pad and headed back down the hall to his office. When I reached his door I paused, took a deep breath, then addressing Mr. Lee’s personal secretary, Molly, I said, "Tell Mr. Lee that James is here to see him."
"Go right in, James," she said, "He is expecting you."
Cautiously, I opened the door, ready for a royal butt-chewing session. Mr. Lee sat behind his big oak desk with his glasses pulled down low on the bridge of his nose, reading some computer spread sheet. He reminded me of Ben Franklin only with much shorter hair.
Not even glancing up for a second to affirm my presence, he said, "Come on in, James, pull up a chair." He finished what he was doing, and then peered at me over his glasses. After a long pause he turned his eyes toward the window and in a commanding voice, clearing his throat he started, "Hrrmph, I have a problem and I need your help. I think that we have something we need to talk about."
Then, on the credenza by the window, I spied a dozen red roses, my roses – oh my god, Gina's roses! They may have looked beautiful, but I smelled trouble. I felt unsteady, almost faint. I had done it now; he was going to fire me for sure.
Then my brain kicked into high gear, "Maybe he doesn't know that I sent them." Not wanting to play out my hand just yet, I zipped my mouth shut as I reviewed my phone call to the florist very slowly, over in my mind. I’m sure that I had sent them anonymously. Yes, I positively said to sign the card, "From a secret admirer." There was no way her father could have known that I was the culprit who sent them. Perhaps she had just placed them in her father’s office. Maybe my visit to his office had nothing to do with the flowers.
"James, do you see those flowers that are sitting behind me?"
So much for that theory. Oh well, I was history. "Yes, sir. They’re very beautiful," I said, not knowing how to respond and not yet ready to admit my defeat and beg for mercy.
"Well, they weren't sent to me," he said. "That’s why I need your help. I caught someone delivering these to Gina, my daughter. Well, I know that she is sort of a friend of yours, and I think that she kind of likes you. Isn't that right?"
"Yes, we get along fine, uh, very well," I said, feeling like the mouse sitting on the trap nibbling at the cheese, any moment the spring would snap and whaaack!
"Well, I haven't given them to Gina yet, because I wanted to talk to you first. You see, I don't know who sent these yet, because the chicken S.O.B., pardon my French, didn't have the guts to sign his name. That's why I called you in here – to help me out before this thing gets out of hand. I would really appreciate it if you would find out who in the heck this "secret admirer" is.
"You just don't know Gina's past history with men. The last guy that sent her flowers was a motorcycle gang member, a real bad egg. You know, sex, drugs, rock and roll. Well, not this time. I want to you to find out this creep’s name before he gets his grimy paws on my daughter. No sir, I don't want to see her wrapped up with another useless no account bum. If you only knew what it’s like being a father to a beautiful girl. I don't know why, but she never seems to want to get involved with anyone with a sense of responsibility. You know, someone with his head in the real world, like you and me."
Dazed, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Like a bad situation comedy: here was the over-protective father putting his foot in his mouth up to his knee. Luckily, I hadn’t spilled my guts when I walked into the room; even though I would‘ve loved to see the look on his face if he discovered I was the scoundrel who sent the flowers. The absurdity of it all almost made me laugh, until I realized what a truly horrible situation I was in. Somehow it lost its humor.
"James," he said, "you know how much that girl means to me. I know that it isn't necessarily in your job description, but I would appreciate it if you could just ask her if she knows who sent them. Once you uncover his name I will take over and check him out from there. If he is some Colombian drug dealer or ex-convict, damn it, I want to find out!"
Not knowing exactly what to do, I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, thinking to myself, "Should I tell him that I was the secret admirer?" I wasn’t a motorcycle gang member, I wasn’t a drug dealer, ex-con or no account bum.
Considering the situation, I tried to take myself out of the picture. I really didn't know much about Mr. Lee’s relationship with Gina. I’d just taken for granted that they were close because they saw each other so often. I really felt sorry for him now; he was so overprotective that he was making himself miserable. And what about Gina? How in the world did she ever put up with him controlling her life that way? Maybe she didn't. Possibly she dated the wrong kind of men because her father was too protective. Thinking back, however, I couldn't even remember her ever dating a motorcycle hoodlum. That did it! I was going to lay my job on the line. He was going to have to let me date his daughter or he could fire me!
"Well, James?" he asked.
My knee-jerk self-preservation reaction took over. "Yes, of course you can count on me," I hated myself, but I had never handled this type of situation before, and I was, well, sort of winging it.
"Jim, why don't you talk to her tonight? It’s almost two o'clock now; if you asked her to go out for a drink tonight after work she might spill her guts to you."
I couldn't believe my ears. He was asking me to take Gina out.
"Well, I don't even know if she would go out with me," I said, still in minor shock and absolutely not believing this latest development. He wanted me to date her! Ha!
"Oh, I'll bet that she would meet you for a drink or something like that. After all it's not like it was a date or something."
"Okay, I'll give it a shot," I said.
"Good," he said, standing up extending his hand to me. "Thanks a lot for helping me out, James. I'll make it worth your while."
"Don't worry about it."
I certainly wasn’t worried about it being worth my while. Here I was getting him to actually sanction a date with Gina, without even asking his permission – a trick worthy of the incredible Max Vi. We shook hands, after which, I practically danced a jig back to my office cubicle.
Work seemed to be extra tedious after that, with my mind repeatedly wandering to events of the previous twenty-four hours – more excitement than in the last few years combined. It was almost too much to handle. What was I going to do about Gina? And what about Max's question? What about my life? I closed my eyes attempting to concentrate. Feeling a tension headache coming on, I began to rub my forehead.
My hand was joined by a much softer pair of hands slowly rubbing my temples. I opened my eyes and there stood Gina.
"Do you have a headache?" she asked in a soothing and sympathetic voice.
"Yes, and that feels great," I said, before it dawned on me what was happening and how it must have looked to everyone else in the office. "I'll be okay," I said , "as soon as the aspirin kicks in." Sitting up straight in my chair, taking her hands in mine, I reluctantly pulled them away from my temples. Inside I was dying. How was I going to forget about the girl I loved, knowing in my heart that she would love me too if we could just leave the rest of the world out of the picture?
"Daddy said that you had something that you wanted to ask me," she said.
"Oh yes, there is something that he wanted me to talk to you about," I said fumbling for words, "I need to talk to you about something personal."
"What do you mean?" she asked, giving me a rather puzzled look
Stumbling and groping for words, "I don't know what I mean," I said, my heart pounding. I took a deep breath and asked, "I just wondered if you would like to maybe meet me for a drink tonight after work."
"Is that all? Yes, I would love to," Gina replied. "Any place special?"
"Well, I thought maybe," I said, as my mind raced searching for a place to have a drink with a beautiful girl that you want to impress, "we could meet at the ..."
Before I finished, she interjected, "How about the Lake Austin Palace? Do you know it?"
"Oh yes, it’s a beautiful place," I said, knowing of its reputation as a fine restaurant, but never having actually been there.
"What time do you want to pick me up for dinner?" she asked.
She was so forward. I was just asking to meet for a drink and now she had me picking her up for dinner. But, it sounded okay to me! "I guess I could be ready around seven thirty, is that all right?"
"That's just fine. I guess it’s a date," she said with a smile.
Guiding my career right down the drain would almost be worth planting one big wet kiss on her lips. I really wasn't that happy with my job anyway. With what was probably a very stupid grin on my face I just gulped, saying, "Okay, I guess it's a date."
After a couple of "see-ya-laters" she waltzed off down the hallway and was gone.
Somewhere in my state of confusion, I was lost without a road map. Things were really getting complicated. To get me out of this would take a guardian angel – although I really didn't want to get out of this one. That was the tough part. Maybe it had something to do with what Max had said at lunch. Max had a way of providing answers before I knew the questions. But what did what he said have to do with my situation? The question that he had asked was "What was I?" and I knew that he didn't mean the same thing as "Who was I?" but I was still confused. They were the same and had nothing to do with my question at hand.
Mark walked up to my desk and handed me a piece of paper. "I think that you better take a look at this, James."
Looking down at the paper; I turned it over front to back only to see that it was blank on both sides. "What is it?" I asked, totally confused as to why he handed me a blank sheet of paper.
"It’s your job description after Mr. Lee finds out that you and Gina are messing around," he chuckled.
"Sorry to burst your bubble, Mark, but Gina and I aren't fooling around," I said. "In fact we are going out tonight as a favor to Mr. Lee."
"That’s not what it looks like to me and the gang. You may say you’re doing the boss a favor, but it looks more like the "bossanova" to me," he said. "You know what I mean? Not that we blame you – that baby do got back!"
"That’s pretty funny, Mark – really good toilet humor. Did you ever think about becoming a comodian? Well, I have a lot to do. You'll have to excuse me while I get back to work, or we’ll both end up with this for a job description," I said, handing back his blank sheet of paper.
"Hey, sorry if I upset you. I was only kidding around," Mark replied. "I think it’s fine for you two to go out; you’re perfect for each other. You’ve been flirting with each other for the last – what – three years? I would just consider my job if I were you. But, then again, she might just be worth my job."
"Yeah, thanks Mark. I’m not upset, but I really have to get to work," I said, ending the conversation.
He left and I went back to work. But, because of Mark’s joke, I couldn't help thinking about Max Vi’s new question: "What was I?" If you ask a person who somebody is, they will tell you the name of the person, nine times out of ten. If you ask them what they are, they will tell you what they do. In that case I guess I’m an accountant. That's it! What you learn is what you are! I am an accountant because I know accounting principles. I learned accounting. What you are is what you learn to be. If I were a dentist, I would have learned dentistry, if I were a teacher I would have learned how to teach. That’s what he meant. What you are is that which you choose to learn. You have the choice to be what you are.
The thought made a chill shock my spine and I knew that I was on the right track. Max had said to remember that anything was possible with the correct knowledge, training, beliefs and attitudes. I had no control over who I was, but I was in control over what I was. To learn and believe whatever I wished was my choice. Just like the little boy who asked his father. I could be whatever I wanted to be.
Again a chill through me, stronger this time.
Unlike who I was, over which I had no choice, I could choose to learn to crawl, walk, run or swim.
Well then, what was I? Was I just an accountant? I shuddered. Surely I was more than an accountant; I had learned more in my life than just GAP accounting. Really, I, like Max, was a magician, too. At least I could perform some tricks.
At that moment I realized, "what" I was, was just a label. To the kid who was told not to talk with strangers, I was a stranger. He had changed the way he reacted to me, because the label he had assigned to me said that I was a stranger. We all assign labels to everyone, creating what they are. Learning what you are is only part of what you are. I knew who and what I was somehow was not so important. It is more important that I am, just the existence of me is me. I am a storage of experiences and knowledge. I am a person, a real person. There is more to me than just who and what I am.
Was an accountant all that I was? No, definitely not, I had dreams, ambitions, aspirations, emotions, fears, and regrets … I had love to give … Yeah – I had regrets, all right.
The rest of the day passed rather quickly. At five o'clock I straightened my desk and was about to head out to the elevator. I had opened up my desk drawer at least a dozen times to look at the rose, which was now starting to wilt and about to lose its petals soon if it didn't get some water. Deciding to take it home with me, I was just putting it into my vest pocket when Gina walked around the corner.
"Hi, James, I’m looking forward to our date tonight," she said.
"So am I," I said, feeling very good about seeing her again, "Wait a second and I'll walk you to your car."
We got into the elevator and again I found myself fighting back those feelings. She stood there just a few feet from me. I could smell her perfume, Elizabeth Taylor’s Passion. I found myself breathing too heavily, feeling a little light-headed. I wanted so much to embrace her and kiss her. Taking a step toward her, I looked into her blue eyes and said, "Gina." This was it. She looked up at me, and we both knew what was going to happen.
However, nothing was going to happen. Just then the elevator stopped and the doors opened. Several people entered, talking about their jobs. The mood changed; my heart quit pounding. And though I was a little disappointed, I was almost relieved. If the elevator hadn't stopped, would I have kissed her? I quickly recovered from my light-headedness when the elevator doors opened into the garage. As I headed for my car, Gina reached out and grasped my hand, squeezing it with a giggle.
"James," she smiled a sincere smile and said, "thank you for the flowers."
I didn't say a word. I just stood there grinning, watching her practically skipping over to her car. As she drove past smiling like the cat that just ate the canary, she waved and honked her horn. "I really do love her," I said to myself.
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