The Older Man

Fifteen

I wasn't one to feel guilty. Guilt requires shame. Shame requires self-respect and morals. In my life, guilt, shame, self-respect, and morals never served me. They did leave their mark, though. Like a brand, I am reminded of who I am daily.

Clara was a constant reminder of my guilt and shame. She looked at me like I was just as innocent as her. She treated me like I was just as moral as she. And I am. Or, I was. But, that was years ago. That was before everything went to hell. She doesn't judge me. She doesn't mind how harsh I am to others. She excuses my behavior.

I worry about her. What if I'm undeserving of her favor? What if she grants the same grace to the wrong person? I can't help but look at her like she is some rabbit: she is incapable of outrunning the coyote. I suppose it's not my place to judge or decide what is best for her. However, I am older than her. I have been the rabbit. I am terrified she will be eaten alive by her own goodness.

I suppose that's why when she called me authoritative I felt like vomiting. I could not control how I felt about her. I could not control how I viewed her. Yet, I was trying to control how she perceived me. I tried to shield her from the businessman. Of course, she's not stupid. I don't know why I assumed that I could deceive her. Maybe I underminded her ability to observe because she treated me so gently. It never occurred to me that she might be this kind to me because she, too, was afraid of my anger.

No, that can't be it. After all, she did stand her ground. She was honest and she didn't hesitate to offer her wisdom. If you feared someone you wouldn't act that way. Nonetheless, her words touched a part of me I haven't seen since my dad died. I am terrified she is going to leave me.

I did not want to do casual Friday. Mainly because I didn't have many casual clothes. Most of my old casual clothes were too small. Nonetheless I sent the email. I was met with very strange looks. I don't think people could comprehend how an ass like me could exist outside of a stuffy suit.

When I pulled up to work Friday, I was humiliated by being the only person wearing casual clothes. That garnered enough weird looks. I practically ran to my office and when I sat down I felt like crying. I was so embarrassed. I tried to reason with myself. After all, no one wants to wear suits five days a week. I thought the opportunity to be comfortable on a Friday would be easy enough. I checked to make sure the email sent. It did. I looked at who I cc'd. Everyone. Yet, I was the only one wearing normal clothes.

I spent over an hour hiding in my office. Just as I thumbed Clara's contact, a knock broke the silence.

"Here's your coffee," my assistant placed the cup on the desk. Her garb was casual: sneakers, t-shirt, and jeans. She gave me a smile. For a moment I felt like a kid again. Like my mom just kissed a boo-boo and held me while I cried. Like my mom patched my favorite pair of jeans and gave them back to me as a surprise. Yes, that soft and drizzly warmth only a mother can provide.

"Thank you," I choked on my words. It was a foreign sound. Akin to a sob, but not a sob at the same time. I sounded vulnerable. I sounded like a child.

"No problem. I'll be back with the report later. I already sent the doc over."

She was out the door before I could muster any words. It was strange, really. That woman worked for my father. She was his assistant and mistress as well as his confidant. When my mother discovered their affair, the wrath my mother tried to inflict on my fathers lover was great. Yet, my father protected her from it all. Even in his death, he prohibited her removal. She was special to him. I resented her for it. Her presence was a reminder of my fathers absence. She was a walking reminder that my parents were unhappy. That I was unhappy.

Yet, despite my cruelty this woman stood by my side. She did an excellent job and she never questioned my choices. She was loyal. I was a bastard.

I sipped my coffee. It was bitter and sweet; I enjoyed the initial bite, though, it reminded me that I was here.