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5. Meeting Gabriella

Meeting Gabriella

When I first met my new boss Gabriella, she was just some dude's girlfriend that I just met and would probably never see again. But the day I met her, it was a day that altered my path from its unsteady course, to the one where my life continually unfolds each future moment, wave after wave, which immediately dissolve into past, leaving me just enough beneath my feet to propel myself forward into the next wave, and so the cycle continues again, allowing me to experience the essence of the Eternal Tao by accident, and quite terrifying for someone caught off guard.
When I first heard that Tao literally translates to "a man running on a path," I brushed it off as interesting but otherwise completely irrelevant to me, as I had no interest in adopting any beliefs or religions anybody else was practicing, including the mainstream Judaeo-Christian rituals I was convinced were pointless, since I had lost my faith at around the age of ten, give or take a year or two.
My future was no longer a sentence to be carried out well into retirement. The train that derailed at the start of my life's journey finally corrected the heading onto the path led by this new career opportunity. Though steering towards the same goal does not imply that the original path and adjusted path are either the same nor do they achieve the same results. That is to say, if I was off course from my destination, then when I turn towards it from whatever course I was on, it doesn't have the same effect on me that I would have experienced had I never lost my faith in Our Creator at such a young age.
That day I met a social predator, who I think actually wanted to sleep with Gabriella, even though her boyfriend, who we nicknamed “House” due to his massive size. The predator was supposedly this dominant alpha male and a slimy womanizer who was alleged close friends with both Gabriella and House. However, he was a smooth talker with a very high emotional quotient, which put him at the top, the apex predator (socially), but lacking honor and loyalty didn’t prevent him from retaining employment at an otherwise ethically sound organization. But social bullying can quickly turn criminal if a certain line is crossed, making it more serious. So that fool and his machismo attitude turned out to be the catalyst that showed me how to hop into a more hip life at work; which I think is the more interesting purpose he ended up serving before getting himself fired for misappropriation of the petty cash. His story, the one where he stole funds to support his musical endeavors, is now just another void in the emptiness of our office that nobody ever speaks of, and rightfully so. His negativity still lingers in the kitchen area where he spent most of his time not working.
However, that predator was not alone. As it turned out, I was always being hunted by predators since I was little. It was a dream that I started having shortly after emigrating here. When it started reoccurring, it grew into nightmares that always started the same, but each had a unique ending every night. They would start with me being at home, either inside or on the lawn right outside. My family would then approach me, keep in mind, I was the youngest, so half the size of the next youngest sibling. As they drew near, they would each tear off the skin on their face and shoulders. And every time, they would reveal that they're alligators and I'd be surprised and horrified nightly. Maybe it was crocodiles, I was too young to understand them as two different animals back then. And then, I would run, and run, and run, but as it turned out and continues to be true, I simply can’t escape these wolves in sheep’s clothing.
So, they all turn and advance like zombies, but as fast as I run, they always managed to eventually outpace me with their zombie-style gator walk; similar to penguins is how my dreams had them moving once the fake skin came off. Another time, my teeth all fell out, so I tried to call a time-out but they didn't stop attacking, so I just ignored them because I was so worried about my teeth, and it was the only time that they ever caught me in those recurring dreams; all other times I'd wake up screaming or crying or both before being eaten by them. Another time, all the neighbors joined them, so I darted through the crowd--that dream seemed to go on endlessly for hours, with every neighbor joining as I ran passed all the houses. Because I didn't know anything other than houses and the block I was not allowed to leave. So, in my dream, my world was one long street with houses just like ours extending endlessly in either direction. Makes perfect sense to a four year old.
I think now, looking back, it was the feeling of not having somewhere to arrive at when I run to safety, without a country to call home, become overwhelming as it brewed inside the unfamiliar foreign land I now call home. So, that's some chasing in my early youth for a good few months, which relates to our apex predator and his aggressive behavior. Those details seem minor now in comparison with what I ended up discovering for myself soon after.
So one day, I'm having a beer at a bar a solid twenty minute walk from my fancy, overpriced condo. There were others along the way, but this was the new trendy hot spot, and near my old apartment from years back. I lied to my girlfriend at the time just to get an hour or two away from nonstop depression, and her constant crying and refusal to medicate the condition led me to the conclusion that she simply wasn't happy with me, or at least she wouldn't be happy with me in the long run, so I set her free, no matter how perfect she was.
So there I am, minding my own business, first sip of Guinness reminds me of my days serving others at Poor Man Rafferty's, a few blocks from the main campus, where I learned to hate working in the service industry while avoiding my professors. On the plus side, I certainly appreciate those who provide excellent service consistently; it is definitely hard work. As a result, to this day, twenty plus years later, I still over-tip every time I go out; my minimum is twenty percent, and that's if the service was terrible. And as nostalgia comforts my grip of the stout, I find myself sipping steadily subconsciously.
Almost halfway through my pint when a half humanoid and half steam vapor concentrate stumbles in. He was named Bryant, and it was his sniffles and geeky behavior, partying out to a rhythm I haven't danced to in almost a decade, but now can't seem to avoid that alerted me to the fact that this was the same individual once employed at my company. It's certainly a good time to fall apart since I'm breaking up with a girl I want to keep in my life, but in doing so, in ending something I don't want to end, I see it as a real form of self-sacrifice. Just like the old adage, if you love someone, let them go.
Let me explain my understanding of self-sacrifice. This is something I think someone like Bryant would claim to empathize or agree with, but in reality have no clue what it really means to internalize. You want a person close to you, but you decide it's best for them without you, so you forego your own desires and set that person free. In my case, I foresaw dangerous roads ahead; that, and I wasn't thinking clearly or rationally for a good two months straight. She hated me at first; then a few weeks later, she thanked me; then a few months later, she returned to hating me, Still, she's a sweet angel and is going to be a blessing onto the man who manages to happen into her presence and they click, which to her, requires someone capable of reciprocating her emotional connection.
But thinking about letting something you love walk away from you with a smile symbolizing your own satisfaction with the separation, even if below you're being torn apart, to ensure they really go. A smile in that case is just extra salt on the wound; or, in my case, I repeated disgustingly inappropriate sexual comments when she called the first few days, just a horrible technique to help her break free of her childish dependence on a relationship she didn't want to be in. So I was obnoxious, but still it was for all the right reasons, and again, she did thank me, and she is a lot happier now. Not sure that excuses some of the things I said, but I digress.
It's really no big deal the negative impact losing her had on my once happy life. And suddenly it becomes obvious I was dependent on her as well, but dependence is not reciprocation, which is essential for an equally balanced love; true love. In the few times when it's true love and the person returns; can you imagine being the one that watches your loved one take off for a year or so, and then when you're finally together there's that awkward tension.
Do you think that's how Jesus feels about us, waiting in heaven for us to show up? Is He going to make it weird and uncomfortable that we needed to get away for a while when we finally show up? If it's going to be like walking on egg shells, then forget it. But if so, I'd dare say we are unanimously being fashionably late indefinitely, and possible for eternity to the bliss-filled heavenly realm created by our Loving Eternal Motherly Source of Existence, which we have all agreed was made specifically to be gated from us in order to prevent the non-virtuous from transcending. That logic seems like an obstacle we create in ourselves, but it is definitely a hurdle we must all face so we can continue our endless adventures. Maybe we should circle back to that later.
One thing leads to another, and Bryant’s busted ass jalopy doesn't even have gas, so we hop in my fancy Infiniti G37 (the second one, not the black one), and head to some shady corners of our home turf for a quick stop-and-shop, and using my money of course; I think he chipped in like $8 because he needed a pack of Marlboro's and apparently disrespecting strangers at the gate is his mode of deprecation, sorry operation, modus operandi in the familiarly confusing Latin. Yup, no foreshadowing his demise in this tale, though I could see us circling back later to add some amusing laughter to this story; courtesy of Bryant.
A few minutes later, I'm waiting outside, double parked in a high risk neighborhood while Bryant escapes with my half of the cash and into some warehouse with no windows. I'm anxious, for sure, but I have only a single pint of beer to cause any legal claims as of yet.
I had no idea who Gabriella would turn out to be in my life when I first met her. I was even more surprised that I was almost a decade older than her, because she looked older than me, so that was unexpected. And just like Mr. Miyagi pulls on Daniel in the movie, where they first start his training and Daniel has no idea, Gabriella began long before I even knew anything about her, let alone have any idea that she would become my life coach of sorts. She's cool like that. She's the type of gal that judges someone on the spot and that opinion never changes thereafter. So she decided when we first met that she would train me, but no words were ever spoken about the actual content that I learned on the job. Eventually, I realized how much faster and dangerous I had become with her guidance, and that is what propelled my career into an avalanche of success.
As for Bryant, I have no love for him, and I'll explain in great detail how the man he paid to kill or attack me, a mega muscle monster, handed me the money he was paid and didn't say a single word, just turned and left me with the money in my hand, escaping before I realized what that money was intended to be payment for. Ten minutes after disappearing inside the building, he finally comes back out; no doubt of course that he had to take the time to powder his nose. And I'm waiting like the hurb on the ave, no idea how I got into this situation and quickly regretting my newfound friendship with the man I now realize is most likely out for revenge for what he believes was my part in his getting fired from my company. With each passing minute, I debate whether I should just drive away because he just hustled me out of money and isn't coming back down or is coming back down to cause me more problems. When he stumbles back to the car, he approaches my window instead of hopping in the passenger seat.
Already nervous, I'm wondering what could be the reason he's not jumping in the car so we could get the hell out of there. As the window rolls down, I start guessing what the possible reasons might be. All are along the lines of me getting beat out of my bread and then possibly beat up senselessly.
"Hey, des guy wands ta meet'yoo," Bryant barks almost incoherently.
"Yeah? Alright," I respond without any concern or hesitation.
"Park right there, you'll be fine for a few minutes," he suggests, pointing to a tow-away zone at the corner of the block.
"Nah, I'll go park over there," I say as my finger leads his blurred vision to a legal spot just on the opposite corner.
"Yeah okay, whatever," he states as if I betrayed his trust by failing to acquiesce my lady's safety to his careless directions. It's interesting how people with very high EQ's, not necessarily IQ's, are masters of weaving extensive falsehoods, well lies, and convincingly declare as truth with such conviction, even they believe that the universe has shifted to allow their lies to be true and the truth irrelevant.
Regardless of his social power play, I keep my mind unattached from those childish games we all have been programmed to play on anybody with vulnerabilities we can perceive.
My beautiful transport, freshly washed over at the spot near Haven’s Wood, safely tucked between two SUVs, heavy and slow, like a pair of linebackers protecting my beau, and of course just inches away from the curb to reduce the risk of a passing car swiping or scratching my baby girl. I walk over to where I was double parked, because Bryant is still standing in the same place from when he came over to my window.
"Alright, we going?" I ask innocently, uncertain of what would unravel behind the double reinforced doorway I followed him to. He withholds a slight smirk, that I guessed at the time and still now think that it was an uncontrollable gloating of what he planned for my immediate future.
A foul odor of mildew and unattended mold immediately invades my nostrils before I can reach the fourth or fifth step of the surprisingly high stairway for a warehouse entrance. Typically, you expect a door within a larger door that opens up to a giant empty room with some boxes piled in three of the corners.
The woman he introduces me to is standing behind what seems to be a bar, and the fridge behind him supports my assumption.
"yo um Serra," she says as she reaches out his right fist for the bump between strangers being acquainted.
"I'm Grace, well it's not my real name, but nobody speaks Hebrew, so I'm Grace," I nervously reveal my sweet friendly personality to a hardened convict of a lady recruiting for those who are willing to shed blood and cripple the opposition.
She nods, but very slightly and only once; not in agreement, she was reassessing a prejudgment that she formed of me based on my new friend's concocted allegations of which I had no idea what he could possibly have to say about me, but I’m absolutely positive not one of those things was a compliment.
"Did you say Serra? Or Sharra? Like Sara?" I clumsily stumble with my words, socially crippled by a super high IQ that inherently expands my perceptions so that I have to avoid revealing the insight I see beyond just the words someone says.
I just met Bryant two hours earlier for the second time in my life, and now here I am being introduced to a network of criminal elements, which was and remains absolutely no bother to me. I get it. If you're teachers can't imprint useful knowledge during your youth, there's no other choice but to find any means to survive and procreate. That, in essence, created the monster I know as Bryant, who lost his job for his own immoral attributes, but continues to blame the world while he continues his criminalistic behavior.
He falls back into the center of the room where his uncontrollable temptation awaited his return from collecting me outside. So I was right. What a jerk. He doesn't even offer me any until his brain registers enough dopamine to release his grasp over his desires, which are half mine, but I get it; he's a fiend.
"yooh lie hip hop?" Serra asks.
"Do I like hip hop? Yeah," I respond with a shrug then nervously inject this nonsense, "I like all music except country and opera. Though I saw Garth Brooks in Central Park when he did the free concert with Billy Joel, and I liked it, I guess," another shrug escapes my body language, but wait, when I'm nervous, I just keep going regardless of anyone else's attempts to join in on my monologue sans relevance, "Billy Joel used to have a great voice when he was young, but all that alcohol shredded his vocals. But Garth was refreshing. I still don't like country. Though I did bounce at three country bars in the city for three years, and I guess I got used to some stuff, like Johnny Cash, but I'm more into Bob Marley, Grateful Dead, Phish, I worked for them one summer, they still owe me a hundred bucks for unpaid overtime, but that was over twenty years ago, so they'd have to pay the interest and inflation to correct it, but whatever, it was college, so you know, um… that, I'm not really sure what I'm talking about right now. Had a few beers with that guy, and I really don't drink anymore."
"hmph," she replies, “High vote live!”.