Meeting of the Minds by Neil Jefferies

One. Two. Three. Four. How. Are. You. Today? One. Two. Three. Four. How. Are. You. Today? One. Two. Three… What is that? A mole? When did that get there? Oh god. Fucking fuck. It’s OK, you’re FINE you ugly hog, you. Ian is going to hate this. You think he’ll take you in? With that thing on your face? Keep dreaming. People, better yet, Canada doesn’t care what’s in that peanut brain of yours, they care about what is covering it up. Go ahead, tell yourself that’s a stupid thought. Tell yourself you’re OK.

‘You are OK’.

WOW. Great job living life in ignorance. That mole will still be plastered onto your face like gum on the bottom of a school desk no matter how ‘OK’ you are.

Actually no, it’s not like gum on the bottom of a school desk. You can’t see gum on the bottom of a school desk unless you go looking for it. Gum on the bottom of a school desk is more like the stretch marks on your lower back. The ones you got when you grew half of a foot in a year. Think about that; six inches in a year. That is like zero-point-zero-one-six inches per day! Who does that?

Here is a better analogy for the mole on your face: it’s like a piece of shit on the sidewalk! Right there, ready to be danced around but blatantly obvious and terribly disgusting to look at.

You’re late! You have to send that email before noon or the whole world will come crashing down!

Haha.

Just kidding.

You really should send that email though, if you’re ever going to go anywhere with that cluster of ideas spinning around in your noggin. Dad always used to say noggin.

Apparently.

Before he left you.

That’s what your mom said.

‘Gimme that noggin for a noogie!’ she’d say, doing an impression of him.

No more noggin talk. It’s email time. Typey typey time. Think anyone is going to hear your ideas if you don’t share them? You want someone to pry that skull open to dig for all those ideas? To drag you and your brilliance out of this shady apartment? NEWSFLASH; nobody is coming. It’s just you and that can of clams you call a brain. All those jumbled hairballs of thought floating around, tying themselves together to make something else entirely.

You’re so gifted. So lucky to have a brain filled with hair. Some people are ugly and stupid subjected to poverty for life, but not you. You just might be able to make it in this world if you keep that mole hidden.

‘Your face will transcend into something a little prettier if you spill all of those ideas out of your mouth in a comprehensible, cool way’. That’s what mom would say. The two of you together in her bedroom. Lavender in a clear glass vase next to the bruised brass frame of the mirror. Bills in a pile, wrapped in elastic.

‘Look at yourself, not me’, she’d say, but you just couldn’t keep your eyes to yourself could you? Couldn’t keep yourself from watching that tear stricken face. The one that wished so badly to be born with a pretty face instead of a mathematician’s brain. ‘Nobody wants to listen to an ugly’, she said. ‘Nobody wants anything to do with an ugly’.

So she’d practise spilling those ideas out of her mouth in a way that appeared sexier. A way that could allow her to get a promotion, to pay some bills, to feed… you.

Wasn’t that nice of you? To be so hungry all the time. Your need to eat was like a way to pluck at her insecurities. When she’d come home like she did on that day. Tears falling down her cheeks like raindrops on a sheet of white paper – just soaking in. You would ask for something to eat. From her? From your struggling, terribly depressed, single mother? What did she tell you? Hmmm? She couldn’t make enough money for the two of you? She wasn’t pretty enough?

Oh yes.

That was it.

Look at you now! You’re doing it! What your mom did! You’re mouthing what you’re going to say to Ian when you meet him! All sexy like! And you’re crying! Maybe you should cry in front of him.

No, don’t cry. Stability, stability, stability. Routine! That’s how we got here! I do think we should do something about the mole though. For now, on to the email.

            Dear Mr. Cromley,

I am writing to you today to express my interest in working for your company. I believe I have plenty to offer in the field of ideas and as a successful businessman such as yourself, I take it you don’t like to pass up on a good idea from a fellow great mind.

Well I am one of those fellow great minds and I have found a way for your company to save on costs. I’m not talking about changing the ply of toilet paper in the staff washroom or installing motion sensing lights to save on electricity, this idea is much, much bigger. As I’m sure you understand, I do not feel comfortable sharing this idea with you via email as it is my intellectual property. Can’t be too careful with all of these locusts and leeches lurking in the shadows of the internet, preparing to purloin another’s brilliance. And they wouldn’t just be stealing from me but also from you. TONS of money that you would have saved, ripped out of your pockets.

            With all of this being said, I’d appreciate it if you could please get back to me about your earliest availability for a meeting and I will book a flight to Toronto accordingly. I am open anytime. The sooner the better.

            Best,

            Cheryl

***

            One. Two. Three. Four. How. Are. You. Today? One. Two. Three. Four. How. Are. You. Today? One. Two. Three. Four. How. Are. You. Today? One. Two. Three. Four. How. Are. You. Today?

Perfect! You got all four this time without getting distracted! Now remember, when you actually meet him, don’t do the counting, that’s just to get you in rhythm. Remember that study you read? The one where they put sixty unathletic specimens onto a basketball court and told half of them to count when they dribbled and the other half to just do what felt natural? They discovered that counting helps rhythm. The counting specimens maintained a steady up and down bounce while the other half sent their balls careening across the gym like a bunch of enraged pinball strikers. What I’m saying is: today you’ve found your rhythm! Now would be a good time to do something about that mole. I know you were googling creams and all, but that won’t be fast enough. We sent that email yesterday, not a year from now! Here’s what we’ll do: grab an elastic and tie it tight to the area surrounding the mole! Suffocate that crap on the sidewalk! Don’t let it just sit there!

That’s a good girl. Just like that, real tight.

Ok now let it sit for a while and in the meantime let’s take a look at other parts of your face that could use some work. Bags under the eyes need makeup. Mouth needs to stop drooping open when in thought. You’re doing it right now. Stop. Close your mouth.

I can’t wait any longer. Let’s cut that freak mole off. Grab that kitchen knife and heat it over a lighter. Good, good. Nice and hot. Ok now we have to do this quickly but carefully. One. Two. Three. Four. How. Are. You. Today?

WOW that hurt. Good god. What the hell? Oh my god that is a lot of blood coming out of your face! But the mole is gone! Look at it down on the ground! I’m surprised it isn’t walking out of here saying something like, ‘I guess I’ll go someplace else where I’m wanted’. Damn right you will, bucko! No need for stinky little moles here. It really does hurt though. All this blood from one little mole.

This was a big step for you. Something your mother definitely wouldn’t have had the guts to do. You won’t end up like her. You definitely won’t end up a poor, sad woman. You won’t end up in that grave the way she did.

Maybe we should follow up on that email. It is rather unprofessional of Ian to test your patience like this. Imagine, someone drops a million dollars in your lap and you’re too busy twiddling your thumbs to notice. That is exactly what Ian is doing.

Don’t talk about him like this though. He’s the one who is going to invest in you.

            Dear Mr. Cromley,

I am following up on an email I wrote to you yesterday in relation to my coming to your office in Toronto. I promise you I am not crazy. It would be a fool’s errand to think that I am such. Would you please respond to me promptly so that we can meet soon?

Better yet, how about I just come on out to Toronto so we can skip all of this organising. I’ve got so many freakin ideas daddling around upstairs, I am very much looking forward to spilling them onto your table like a big old seafood boil. Haha, I love a good analogy.

            Anyways, see you soon, Ian. I look forward to building on our already budding camaraderie ;).

Best,

            Cheryl

            Well that sure went well! Look at you! Gone with the mole, out comes the beast! God, you feel good right now. What was it mom always used to say when she’d come home smelling like vodka? ‘You’re gonna make me rich one day you smart little bean, you’. Welp, your mom ain’t getting rich (seeing that she’s dead and all), but you sure are!

Hey, by the way, maybe you shouldn’t pick at your wound like that? Maybe you should like… go to bed?

***

All of these people on this plane mean nothing. Ignore their glares, you look good. You look better than you’ve looked in years. And you’re about to make Ian fucking Cromley beg for more of your time after he picks your brain for five minutes. You’ve got gold in there honey.

Boy, your face sure is itchy. We cut the mole off and it still haunts you? Funny how that works. It worked when you cut your parents off.

Yeah.

It worked.

I mean, I know like, not fully. Sometimes that thing still happens where you can’t get your mom’s face out of your head. Y’know, on that day. The way she looked. Bad day that was. And that feeling that crept up in your gut? Ugh. What was that? Like, guilt or something? For abandoning her?

Might be best to just scratch that itch.

You wrote the address down right? Lets go straight there, why bother stopping to get a hotel? There is a chance Ian will be able to put you up somewhere, seeing that you’re going to be saving him all of this money, I think he ought to.

Look out the window! There it is! The six! That’s what they call it right? Or is it called cowtown? Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Soon enough, you’re gonna run this city and you can call it whatever the hell you want. Cheryl Topia. The city built by dead moles and great ideas. The rich and smart club.

One. Two. Three. Four. How. Are. You. today? One. Two. Three. How. Are. You. Today? One. Two. Three. Four. How. Are. You. Today? One. Two. Three… wait, this is it. The building is right here. This tall emerald one with the water fountain that pours all the way from the fiftieth floor. We read about this, remember? It’s even prettier in person but god, it sure is intimidating. Plus all of these people around you are so beautiful.

Mom used to hate coming to places where beauty coalesced. She preferred to stay in the quiet areas where you could hide. Like behind the meat (other ugly people) in a grocery store. But here we are, out in the open of this pristine palace, catching glares from the professionals left and right. Don’t start freaking out. I can feel you trembling. Ok, inside we go. Through the revolving doors. Let’s start that countdown again, we didn’t get in rhythm.

One. Two. Three. Four. How. Are. You. Today? One. Two… Oh that pretty little lady is waving at you from the front desk. Don’t bother with her. You’ll be her boss in no time. Oh but there are a couple security guards now. Big dummies. They are guiding you towards the front desk and you are just obliging? Following the orders of a subordinate? Ian would never. Ian would tell these little crapsacks to eat it.

God this secretary has an annoying voice.

‘Hello ma’am’

 Ugh, I guess just play her little game for now so that you can get inside. ‘How. Are. You. Today?’. Good, just like we practised. Treat each word as its own entity. Makes it more powerful.

‘May we help you? Are you in need of assistance? It looks as though you are bleeding from your face. We can call someone for you, ma’am’.

Go ahead, tell her you have a meeting with Ian. I can’t wait to see that condescending look on her face wiped away. ‘I have a meeting with Mr. Cromley’. Look at her! Look at how she just smirked! She doesn’t believe you, does she? You emailed! You emailed! I can’t wait for you to fire this little bitch.

‘Ma’am, Mr. Cromley is not here today. He is away on business’.

Wow, and this guy is supposed to be some business mogul? ‘Surely you can fly me out to meet him, wherever he is. It is very important’. Snap, snap, snap. Show this little twat whats up!

‘Ma’am, do you know Mr. Cromley?’.

‘We’ve never met, but I’ve been emailing him’. She did it again! She smirked! Ok calm down. Don’t get angry. Don’t do what your mom used to do when she got angry with you. Don’t. Start. Hitting. You are clenching your fists. Don’t clench your fists! She does look just so, so punchable though doesn’t she? She’s probably had it all since the beginning. The pretty face, the opportunity, the money, the nice apartment, the rich mom. Only one way to make her feel how you feel.

Alright, let her have it.

***

It’s not all that bad. I mean sure, your reputation is probably ruined. In a weird way, you look sort of nice. I know there is blood streaming down your cheek. And that you’re crying. And that you look like a disgraced bleeding shadow of your mother. And the caption of the article reads ‘Is More Security Needed in the Downtown Core?’ Cheryl Fennel pictured after attacking a front desk attendant in the Emerald building on October twelfth’.

Trust me, you’ll build a following from this. You could get rich through donation pages online. People who love and admire you for what you’ve done. There you go. That’s the right thinking. You’re a game changer. You’ve got it all upstairs. Forget about the shame that comes with looking ugly in the newspaper and in real life. Forget about your mom. Forget about Ian. Forget about that stupid little mole. YOU need YOU and that is all that YOU need.

Neil Jefferies

Image: Pixabay.com blue email icons on a white background.