The Sweat of the Brow (xxxix)

A breeze blows through the open window. The curtain billows up as if trying to touch our cheeks. Something passes between us I can’t describe. It is one of those moments that will define a life.

Moments are for the young.

“Not good enough,” I say.

She blinks like I just punched the moment in the belt buckle. “Martin-”

“I did a job for you,” I say. “I didn’t ask questions. I don’t. I won’t. But I need to know how I did. I made this up whole cloth. I guessed. If I guessed wrong I need to know. If I guessed right I still need to know because a guess is a coin flip, however it lands. This is too dangerous for me to wait until I do something wrong to get corrected. This is too important for me to just keep trying to succeed until I fail.”

Her mouth is open, but doesn’t seem to be in use.

And suddenly, she smiles.

“Ten out of ten,” she says. “Now sit down.”

And I sit.

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~ by davekov on 1 May 2012.

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