Tuesday, June 14, 2005

High School Revisited

He’s worked on some of the coolest films released in the past eight years. He’s got a great job and a great haircut. He’s smart, worldly and incredibly funny. He has achieved a level of cool in adulthood that his high school peers would not have believed – his love of math and physics branding him odd and unpopular in their eyes. Twenty years ago, those who noticed him thought he was a geek. They called him a nerd. Others simply didn’t know he was there. Yet, today, people will pay a decent amount of money just to hear him talk about what he does. At a gathering of industry peers, people feel lucky to be sitting at his table. His job has permitted him to live in Hawaii, Los Angeles and San Francisco. When he thinks back to his adolescence, he must doubtlessly feel vanquished, vindicated, validated.

He is in Santa Barbara, attending a conference. During a break, he takes a stroll along the garden path. He stares out at the Pacific Ocean and feels the warmth of the sun on his face. He smiles and then realizes that he should probably get back lest he miss the beginning of the next session - one he is eager to attend. He jogs back to the meeting room and speeds up a bit when he realizes the course is already in session. He runs across the back of the room heading towards his seat. And then, the unthinkable. The teenager he once was finds his way back into the adult’s stride. He thinks, “No, let this not happen” even as his feet betray him. He feels himself start to fall. His momentum is too great – he cannot correct his misstep.

Time slows painfully down as he feels himself sprawling to the floor. He pushes out his arms and breaks his fall, spinning himself onto his back. He looks up to see three faces frozen in horror, staring directly at him. He does not rush to get up. He lies back, propped upon one elbow, and slowly shakes his head. He smiles to indicate that he is not injured – three faces smile back sympathetically. He holds one hand over his eyes and sighs deeply. He picks himself up off the ground and walks slowly, deliberately towards his seat. The presenter raises a subject he has been struggling with at work. As his attention begins to shift from his embarrassment to the topic, he experiences a moment of gratitude to the speaker whose subject has kept 60 sets of eyes turned away from his spectacular fall. Before his attention is fully captivated by the presenter, he thinks, “Note to self: don’t run.”

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Ah the joys of adulthood. Now he gets sympathetic glances instead of a semester's worth of "Hey, did you have a nice *trip*?" or "Hey, it's summer, not *fall*."

12:06 PM  

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