Failing Destiny - Viera

Failing Destiny

‘Step… scuff…step…scuff…’ This sound was not foreign to the limping twenty-something year old man. His shoes scuffed along the tile floor as he made his way closer and closer to his destination. Having recently thrown out his tea, the man’s hand felt empty, and he occupied it by squeezing one finger to his palm at a time, like playing an awkward, one-handed saxophone. What brought this man out of bed on a Saturday morning was a woman, but not just any woman. This woman controlled his fate.
Daniel was already a talented sculptor, having studied in France, Italy, and India before returning to America. He returned for the purpose of studying art at a university. This was his second semester back at his American University, and he had already had some business to attend to. When he was 17, Daniel was in car accident, leaving him with night terrors, three funerals to attend, and a permanent knee issue. So, why had Daniel hobbled his way up three flights of stairs without a cane, ignoring the elevator, just to wait in an office? This answer was no different than any of Daniel’s other answers – art. “Daniel Suzuki?”
Daniel’s thin frame had only just found the seat when his name had been called. “Follow me.” The secretary motioned, waiting impatiently for him to catch up with her. Everything about this woman was obnoxious and intrusive, from the smell of her Bubblicious gum, to the sight of her bright pink blouse. “You hurt your ankle or something?”
“I jumped off a roof when I was twelve trying to save a baby rabbit.” Daniel lied to the woman. She nodded and shaped her mouth to an ‘o’, as if this was an acceptable answer. “Down the hall and…?”
“To the left,” The secretary answered, pointing, “can’t miss it.”
“Great, thanks.” Daniel smiled, before adding, “You’re about as helpful as a onion flavored toothpaste.” Three knocks on the right door, and Daniel was welcomed inside and asked to sit down. The woman that he was here to meet was older, about fifty something in age, and smelled vaguely of peppermint.
“So…” Marie smiled warmly, “you’re failing.” Straight to the point. “However, it says here that if you switch your major, and your courses, you could be a top student.” Marie lowered her half moon glasses and looked down her nose at him. “Thoughts?”
Daniel had many thoughts for this woman. Most of which revolved around her place in Dante’s Inferno, or a piece of sandpaper and where she might be able to place it, but he voiced none of them. Standing up, and leaning on her desk, he smiled. “Marie,” He stopped, “May I call you Marie?” He did not wait for a response from her blank face, “Have you ever wanted something so bad, you could…” Pausing for emphasis, He placed a hand on her shoulder and licked his lips, “taste it?”
Marie gulped, nodded, and stammered, “W-w-well, sure. Hasn’t everybody?”
“And you’d do anything to get what you want, yes?” Daniel’s voice lowered to a husky whisper.
“Oh God yes.”
“Well, I’m good with my hands.”
“Uh-huh.” Marie closed her eyes.
“And I’ve seen things you could never imagine.”
“What?”
“I’ve seen the horrors of the world that you could never fathom.”
“Daniel, I think it’s best that you-“
“I’ve seen death. I’ve bloody well seen death!” Daniel’s voice raised in volume. “When I close my eyes and sculpt, I create death in my hands for the world to see, but you are going to sit here, and tell me that my future revolves around me putting some paint on a paper?!” In his art class, Daniel refused to do anything but sculpt, pose, and read art related literature (magazines, history, etc.), and for that, he was failing. “Shall I slap some paint on a piece of paper and hang it on your refrigerator? Would that make you all proud?”
“Mr. Suzuki!”
“Marie!” Daniel mimicked. “I will not sit here, and be told that because I believe that art is more than drawing something pretty, that I shall fail. Pass me.” Daniel nearly growled at the flustered woman.
“You’re not making your chances any better!”
“Did I ever really stand a chance?”
“When everybody comes in here, they have the same chances that you were-“
“Don’t lie to me. I deal with art, I don’t deal with lies. You want a piece of art so badly that is happy?”
“Do not raise your voice to me, young man. It is not that simple.”
Snatching the pen from the woman’s hair violently, she shrieked and jumped backwards into her bookshelf, as if she had been struck. A couple of Marie’s coworkers had barged in and started to try to subdue Daniel. “Stop!” Daniel yelled loudly. “Here’s my bag, check that if you want to.” Daniel kicked his bag to some office workers. “I think there’s a plastic fork in there… ooh, scary.” Daniel mocked them. “Give me 45 seconds before you attack me again.” Daniel requested, and with a deep breath, grabbed a napkin from Marie’s breakfast bagel and began.
In red ink, on a napkin was an image of three couples – one gay, one straight, and one lesbian couple. In neat script, Daniel wrote, ‘Give Love Equal Chances.’ Handing her the napkin, Daniel laughed. “There’s your happy drawing. I’m not quitting. I’m not failing, and I don’t draw. However, if you ever need directions around the Louvre, let me know, because I’ve got a showcase going up there in two months.” Without another word, Daniel grabbed his bag, winked at the secretary, who looked horrified, and left.